Frozen - Chapter 4
'Ahhh.. Warm at last..' The thought floated to the top of Skywalker's
mind as he snuggled down into the smooth sheets. He barely registered the
deep throated hum of the ship's engines beneath him. All that mattered was
the warmth seeping into him. After months of fighting the deep chill of
the ice caverns of Hoth, he was happy to drift in warm sleep. His bones no
longer ached from the cold, his eyes no longer stung from the wind-blown
ice, and he could feel his fingers. He drifted off to sleep again; feeling
safe, secure, and protected.
Later, he idly wondered if he had died and gone to the paradise he had heard one of the Rebellion freedom-fighters talking about. He felt like he was in paradise- the sheets felt incredibly soft as he groggily ran a hand over them. The engine of the ship was running smoother than any Rebellion ship he had ever ridden on, its deep rumble an effortless bass note deep in the deck. Even the air smelled clean, it wasn't saturated with the smell of old lubricant and too many beings crammed into one ancient ship. And he was warm; wonderfully, beautifully, fantastically warm. 'We finally got off Hoth.'
A dagger of reality began to tear at Luke's peace.
'Got off Hoth.' he whispered, his eyes snapping open.
He sat up, the silken sheets tangling around him as the confusing cascade of memories pouring back into his concousness, rearranging themselves into the events of the past day. Or was it two days ago? He could tell that he had slept a very long time.
The lights in the room slowly came up. He noticed things he had not noticed last night against the thick fog of his exhaustion. A dresser, a mirror, a desk with chairs all in black. The furniture had razor sharp lines that whispered a quiet beauty. A closed door on one wall that led off somewhere else was on his left, the door to the hallway and fresher on the right. He noticed paintings on the walls. Luke glanced at one, he had sworn that at first he could see the Imperial symbol in the abstract design, but now it was gone. There was a sculpture in plass in one corner, black translucent feelers, looking like some underwater weed, reached for the ceiling with red and blue splashes of color. The furnishings were severe, almost painfully so, but they screamed credits to Luke. From the sharp lines of the furniture to the delicate brushes of paint on the pictures, everything whispered wealth, at a level that was totally alien to Luke.
Luke untwisted himself from the sheets, meaning to explore. His feet sunk into the deep carpet. 'If the Empire can afford this for prisoners- how come we can hold up against them?' Luke asked himself, suddenly amused. Nothing of his treatment so far was expected, it was so bizarre as to be unreal. He was beginning to think he would wake up, half frozen, back on Hoth at any minute.
/
Darth Vader had kept one mental eye on Luke all day. Lord Vader had went about his work of leading the twelfth fleet, one part of his brain always on the back bedroom of his extensive private suite. After that first bout of nightmares, Luke had slept on, letting the warmth of the ship sooth his tired body. The young Skywalker's sense of danger completely dispelled- something deep within Luke's brain realizing he was perfectly safe.
Vader smiled unseen behind his mask as he walked the halls from the bridge to his chambers at the end of the day. 'You remember me my son, some part of you remembers me.' Vader thought back to the first time he had held his infant son. Days old, the tiny little life had seemed so fragile. Vader, then Anakin Skywalker, had taken the boy into his arms and held him close. He had smiled down at the boy, who had been sleeping. They, the two of them, had been in the garden at the Jedi temple, under a large shady tree. Anakin had rocked his little boy, willing to take the time from his busy schedule to just hold his child, nothing more. And then Luke had woke.
Anakin Skywalker had felt the little brush of fear, of worry. What if his boy started to cry? He was a new father, and not familiar with the tricks of the trade. But Luke had just looked up at him. Days old, the little infant had smiled and reached out with the Force- effortlessly bonding with Anakin. 'Your instinctive control was unbelievable, my son. You don't have my brute strength, but you will be able to move with the Force in subtle ways that I can't even begin to fathom.' Just a little training, and Luke would leap forward in his understanding of the Force.
Vader frowned as he entered his chamber, dismissing the guards. That had been the last time he had seen Luke. Situations and circumstances had intervened, and Luke and been torn away from him. Their bond had been stretched and broken, leaving Vader wanting the son stolen from him.
Young Skywalker was waking up, his feelings of security dispelling under the influence of what he thought to be truth. Vader almost sighed in frustration. He wanted his son to be his again, and he wanted him back now- but Lord Vader knew he would have to go slow.
/
"Wedge, any word?" It was Hobbie, his voice low.
Wedge looked out over the landing bay of Home One. Wedge blinked back tears, as he sucked in a breath and then let it out nosily. "No. Command promoted me this morning to Rouge One. They. they haven't heard anything from our spies either- so the rest of the Rouges are presumed dead in battle."
"Damn. All of them?" Hobbie asked, he wanted to be sure.
"Yes. Command claims that the Empire would have been throwing a party on the holonet news releases if they even had Skywalker's- Luke's- body. So they assume that he died in battle."
"What? The Empire doesn't know Skywalkers' gone missing?" Hobbie scoffed. The Empire had been trying to find their Commander for over a year now, but the Alliance had always kept him carefully hidden.
"Apparently. Commander Skywalker's bounty is still posted by the Empire. Maybe they don't know." Wedge was silent. "Hobbie, I know that he's dead- but something keeps telling me otherwise. I keep expecting to hear from him, I. I don't know what to think."
"I know Wedge. He was untouchable. All those dogfights- that mess he pulled us out of above F'llean- everything. I can't believe it either."
Later, he idly wondered if he had died and gone to the paradise he had heard one of the Rebellion freedom-fighters talking about. He felt like he was in paradise- the sheets felt incredibly soft as he groggily ran a hand over them. The engine of the ship was running smoother than any Rebellion ship he had ever ridden on, its deep rumble an effortless bass note deep in the deck. Even the air smelled clean, it wasn't saturated with the smell of old lubricant and too many beings crammed into one ancient ship. And he was warm; wonderfully, beautifully, fantastically warm. 'We finally got off Hoth.'
A dagger of reality began to tear at Luke's peace.
'Got off Hoth.' he whispered, his eyes snapping open.
He sat up, the silken sheets tangling around him as the confusing cascade of memories pouring back into his concousness, rearranging themselves into the events of the past day. Or was it two days ago? He could tell that he had slept a very long time.
The lights in the room slowly came up. He noticed things he had not noticed last night against the thick fog of his exhaustion. A dresser, a mirror, a desk with chairs all in black. The furniture had razor sharp lines that whispered a quiet beauty. A closed door on one wall that led off somewhere else was on his left, the door to the hallway and fresher on the right. He noticed paintings on the walls. Luke glanced at one, he had sworn that at first he could see the Imperial symbol in the abstract design, but now it was gone. There was a sculpture in plass in one corner, black translucent feelers, looking like some underwater weed, reached for the ceiling with red and blue splashes of color. The furnishings were severe, almost painfully so, but they screamed credits to Luke. From the sharp lines of the furniture to the delicate brushes of paint on the pictures, everything whispered wealth, at a level that was totally alien to Luke.
Luke untwisted himself from the sheets, meaning to explore. His feet sunk into the deep carpet. 'If the Empire can afford this for prisoners- how come we can hold up against them?' Luke asked himself, suddenly amused. Nothing of his treatment so far was expected, it was so bizarre as to be unreal. He was beginning to think he would wake up, half frozen, back on Hoth at any minute.
/
Darth Vader had kept one mental eye on Luke all day. Lord Vader had went about his work of leading the twelfth fleet, one part of his brain always on the back bedroom of his extensive private suite. After that first bout of nightmares, Luke had slept on, letting the warmth of the ship sooth his tired body. The young Skywalker's sense of danger completely dispelled- something deep within Luke's brain realizing he was perfectly safe.
Vader smiled unseen behind his mask as he walked the halls from the bridge to his chambers at the end of the day. 'You remember me my son, some part of you remembers me.' Vader thought back to the first time he had held his infant son. Days old, the tiny little life had seemed so fragile. Vader, then Anakin Skywalker, had taken the boy into his arms and held him close. He had smiled down at the boy, who had been sleeping. They, the two of them, had been in the garden at the Jedi temple, under a large shady tree. Anakin had rocked his little boy, willing to take the time from his busy schedule to just hold his child, nothing more. And then Luke had woke.
Anakin Skywalker had felt the little brush of fear, of worry. What if his boy started to cry? He was a new father, and not familiar with the tricks of the trade. But Luke had just looked up at him. Days old, the little infant had smiled and reached out with the Force- effortlessly bonding with Anakin. 'Your instinctive control was unbelievable, my son. You don't have my brute strength, but you will be able to move with the Force in subtle ways that I can't even begin to fathom.' Just a little training, and Luke would leap forward in his understanding of the Force.
Vader frowned as he entered his chamber, dismissing the guards. That had been the last time he had seen Luke. Situations and circumstances had intervened, and Luke and been torn away from him. Their bond had been stretched and broken, leaving Vader wanting the son stolen from him.
Young Skywalker was waking up, his feelings of security dispelling under the influence of what he thought to be truth. Vader almost sighed in frustration. He wanted his son to be his again, and he wanted him back now- but Lord Vader knew he would have to go slow.
/
"Wedge, any word?" It was Hobbie, his voice low.
Wedge looked out over the landing bay of Home One. Wedge blinked back tears, as he sucked in a breath and then let it out nosily. "No. Command promoted me this morning to Rouge One. They. they haven't heard anything from our spies either- so the rest of the Rouges are presumed dead in battle."
"Damn. All of them?" Hobbie asked, he wanted to be sure.
"Yes. Command claims that the Empire would have been throwing a party on the holonet news releases if they even had Skywalker's- Luke's- body. So they assume that he died in battle."
"What? The Empire doesn't know Skywalkers' gone missing?" Hobbie scoffed. The Empire had been trying to find their Commander for over a year now, but the Alliance had always kept him carefully hidden.
"Apparently. Commander Skywalker's bounty is still posted by the Empire. Maybe they don't know." Wedge was silent. "Hobbie, I know that he's dead- but something keeps telling me otherwise. I keep expecting to hear from him, I. I don't know what to think."
"I know Wedge. He was untouchable. All those dogfights- that mess he pulled us out of above F'llean- everything. I can't believe it either."
