*******
Twilight was glaring through the large transparisteel windows of the ornately decorated suite. The humming presence of the force field shielding the window seemed to enhance the glare of the planet's orange sun, as it was setting behind the tall buildings. The low buzzing noise was the only sound in the room, next to the quiet breathing.
She sat stiffly, in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair made of expensive Maeleon hair. Like much of the rest of the furniture in the room, including the bed and the thick, plush carpet; the chair was black.
There were other, far more comfortable places to sit, but she preferred to stay alert and remain as close to the elegant, oversized bed as possible.
Her small, compact blaster rested in her lap, its safety still on, but ready to be used at a moment's notice. Not that it was necessary.
He wouldn't be going anywhere.
She duly considered this particular humiliation the price to be paid for her failure. She supposed she should be grateful that the punishment wasn't worse, but inside, her pride was still smarting.
On the bed, her captive shifted with a slight moan and unconsciously she flicked the blaster safety on and off, her hand clenching the grip.
She felt betrayed, disgraced and just plain annoyed that a few weeks ago she had been sent out to kill this person, and now, because of her failure, she received the lowly assignment of guard duty.
Sitting there, she carefully scrutinized the prisoner's features; light brown hair, the fair, pale complexion that accompanied most people who spent more time in space than groundside. The small scar on his chin bore the only lasting evidence of his run-in with the Wampa ice creature less than a year before. To her, with his young, innocent features he scarcely even resembled a Jedi. But of course, the ones she had known were old and decrepit, their ancient abilities all but extinct from the galaxy.
Much of the data they'd collected on him was a couple years old, but according to the holos she'd been required to study, his eyes were blue. She had yet to see them herself because since he'd been brought to Coruscant, four days before, he'd been unconscious. She had seen the angry red energy burns on his arms and wondered idly what he had done to earn such a burst of outrage from Palpatine.
Still, not that she cared, Mara Jade thought as she tucked an errant strand of reddish-gold hair behind her ear. She had been sent here personally to pay the debt of her failure to murder him at Jabba's palace and to keep an eye on him, for he was due to wake up soon. That was all. This particular Jedi had caused her enough trouble as it was and she wanted nothing more to do with him.
Her gaze traveled idly out the window again, taking in the magnificent scene of the cityscape. The large suite, hundreds of floors up in the Imperial Palace, had an enviable view of the world, which was probably good, for little else from now on would be going well for the Jedi.
She turned back to her prisoner to find herself gazing back into a pair of startlingly blue eyes.
Cursing herself for nearly jumping in surprise, Mara hefted the blaster warningly. "Don't try anything, Skywalker," she muttered. From his disoriented expression, Mara could see that jumping a woman aiming a blaster at him was the last thing on his mind. Confusion showed clearly on his face as his gaze traveled slowly around the room, taking in his new surroundings: the ornate furnishings and large windows.
"Surprised you're not dead?" she asked irreverently. "So am I, actually. It's almost too bad. The Emperor will just have more in store for you."
His probing eyes settled on her and he swallowed hard. His voice was a tense whisper. "Where am I?"
"Wouldn't you just love to know," she goaded with a chilly smile.
The cobalt gaze seemed to intensify and Mara suddenly had the unsettling sensation that he could see right through her.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She drew herself up with as much pseudo-arrogance as she could muster and stated, "You may call me the Emperor's Hand."
That figured, Luke thought as he slowly—under the watchful eye of the blaster—tried to ease himself into a sitting position without grimacing too much. He ached in more muscles than he knew he had. Closing his eyes as the room performed a slow, deliberate spin around him, Luke asked through gritted teeth, "do you have anything I could call you for short?"
It was the wrong thing to say, he decided, when the blaster was shoved in his face.
"Since you're in such good humor," she said coldly, "get on your feet."
"Now," she ordered when he didn't move. "Emperor Palpatine wants to see you."
*******
Twilight was glaring through the large transparisteel windows of the ornately decorated suite. The humming presence of the force field shielding the window seemed to enhance the glare of the planet's orange sun, as it was setting behind the tall buildings. The low buzzing noise was the only sound in the room, next to the quiet breathing.
She sat stiffly, in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair made of expensive Maeleon hair. Like much of the rest of the furniture in the room, including the bed and the thick, plush carpet; the chair was black.
There were other, far more comfortable places to sit, but she preferred to stay alert and remain as close to the elegant, oversized bed as possible.
Her small, compact blaster rested in her lap, its safety still on, but ready to be used at a moment's notice. Not that it was necessary.
He wouldn't be going anywhere.
She duly considered this particular humiliation the price to be paid for her failure. She supposed she should be grateful that the punishment wasn't worse, but inside, her pride was still smarting.
On the bed, her captive shifted with a slight moan and unconsciously she flicked the blaster safety on and off, her hand clenching the grip.
She felt betrayed, disgraced and just plain annoyed that a few weeks ago she had been sent out to kill this person, and now, because of her failure, she received the lowly assignment of guard duty.
Sitting there, she carefully scrutinized the prisoner's features; light brown hair, the fair, pale complexion that accompanied most people who spent more time in space than groundside. The small scar on his chin bore the only lasting evidence of his run-in with the Wampa ice creature less than a year before. To her, with his young, innocent features he scarcely even resembled a Jedi. But of course, the ones she had known were old and decrepit, their ancient abilities all but extinct from the galaxy.
Much of the data they'd collected on him was a couple years old, but according to the holos she'd been required to study, his eyes were blue. She had yet to see them herself because since he'd been brought to Coruscant, four days before, he'd been unconscious. She had seen the angry red energy burns on his arms and wondered idly what he had done to earn such a burst of outrage from Palpatine.
Still, not that she cared, Mara Jade thought as she tucked an errant strand of reddish-gold hair behind her ear. She had been sent here personally to pay the debt of her failure to murder him at Jabba's palace and to keep an eye on him, for he was due to wake up soon. That was all. This particular Jedi had caused her enough trouble as it was and she wanted nothing more to do with him.
Her gaze traveled idly out the window again, taking in the magnificent scene of the cityscape. The large suite, hundreds of floors up in the Imperial Palace, had an enviable view of the world, which was probably good, for little else from now on would be going well for the Jedi.
She turned back to her prisoner to find herself gazing back into a pair of startlingly blue eyes.
Cursing herself for nearly jumping in surprise, Mara hefted the blaster warningly. "Don't try anything, Skywalker," she muttered. From his disoriented expression, Mara could see that jumping a woman aiming a blaster at him was the last thing on his mind. Confusion showed clearly on his face as his gaze traveled slowly around the room, taking in his new surroundings: the ornate furnishings and large windows.
"Surprised you're not dead?" she asked irreverently. "So am I, actually. It's almost too bad. The Emperor will just have more in store for you."
His probing eyes settled on her and he swallowed hard. His voice was a tense whisper. "Where am I?"
"Wouldn't you just love to know," she goaded with a chilly smile.
The cobalt gaze seemed to intensify and Mara suddenly had the unsettling sensation that he could see right through her.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She drew herself up with as much pseudo-arrogance as she could muster and stated, "You may call me the Emperor's Hand."
That figured, Luke thought as he slowly—under the watchful eye of the blaster—tried to ease himself into a sitting position without grimacing too much. He ached in more muscles than he knew he had. Closing his eyes as the room performed a slow, deliberate spin around him, Luke asked through gritted teeth, "do you have anything I could call you for short?"
It was the wrong thing to say, he decided, when the blaster was shoved in his face.
"Since you're in such good humor," she said coldly, "get on your feet."
"Now," she ordered when he didn't move. "Emperor Palpatine wants to see you."
*******
