Thank you so much for your reviews-they motivate me to keep writing. (
Here's another chapter for you all. Enjoy!
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Mara Jade kept her blaster held loosely in her hand, mostly for show, as she gestured for Skywalker, his hands shackled in front of him, to precede her into the turbolift. He walked inside, thin shoulders stooped in weariness and defeat, not turning around to face Mara as she poked several buttons that would send the turbolift rocketing down to the sub-level sections of the palace.
The doors slid shut, the transport jolting slightly and Mara's heart thumped quietly in a strange sort of dread. She knew what awaited Skywalker in the dark, underground dungeons of sub-level 12. She'd been the unfortunate servant that had been assigned to escort many a prisoner there in the past, and she'd rarely seen any of them return. But as gruesome as she knew that section of the palace to be, she had never felt such a pounding, eerie, foreboding feeling as she did now. It made her feel nauseous.
She cast a sidelong glance at Skywalker and without really thinking, blurted, "Well was this worth it to you?"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she immediately regretted saying them. The Jedi spun towards her, his hand flailing against the wall for support, his face the color of wet ash, a fiery and bitter retort in his eyes. But suddenly, the wall of his anger seemed to collapse in on itself, the pain and self-hatred in his eyes laid bare for Mara to see.
"I've failed them," he whispered to her, like the words were hitting him with a shocking blow for the first time. "I've failed."
Something inside Mara ached with his words, and she could feel his despair numbing her mind. She looked away from the agonized depths of the Jedi's blue eyes.
The turbolift ground to a halt with a brief flicker of lights. They had arrived.
Mara reached for the switch that would open the doors, but before her fingers groped for the button, she hesitantly turned back to Skywalker, strangely suddenly wanting to comfort him, tell him that things would be okay--ridiculously guide him to an escape from this awful place--but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a quiet, "I'm sorry."
The doors hissed open.
The dank, darkened world of the sub-levels reeked with death and pain, and Mara wondered vaguely how she had not been able to notice it so violently strong before. With a slight grimace, she prodded Skywalker forward down the dark, narrow corridor, directing him into a small, dimly lit room.
Two large, vicious-looking droids waited at the entry. Mara cringed involuntarily as one of them clamped a vise-like appendage on Luke's arm, pulling the unresisting Jedi toward the man-length table in the center of the room.
"Well, if it isn't Mara Jade," said a voice behind her, almost making her jump. She counted to three before turning around to see "Dr." Rhomsteth standing behind her, offering an oily smile. Mara grimaced inwardly. She'd never liked Rhomsteth, the head of Operations here on sub-level 12. Every time the man looked at her, a sickening, crawly feeling clawed at the base of her spine. "How are you today, Miss Jade?"
"My title is the Emperor's Hand, Rhomsteth," Mara growled, ignoring his question.
"And I believe mine is doctor," he reminded her, his expression suddenly cold.
He was no more a doctor than was a child tormenting a small animal, Mara thought in contempt. She ignored his statement and got down to business. "The Emperor sent him down here." She gestured to Luke as the droids stood on both sides of the table, flicking transparisteel binders over his wrists and ankles with practiced ease. The Jedi's gaze was directed at a blank metal wall, empty and lifeless.
"So I've been informed," Rhomsteth nodded, a repulsive sort of half-smile on his face as he eyed his newest victim. Mara resisted the urge to yank her blaster free of its holster and shoot the man dead.
"Yes," she said quietly, almost trying to draw his attention way from Luke. "Palpatine does not want him to be permanently damaged." She paused. "Can you do that?"
"My dear," Rhomsteth chuckled, a patronizing smile distorting his ugly face. "You keep to your job and I'll keep to mine."
Mara glared.
"Well," he said, clapping his hands together and strutting toward the table on which Skywalker lay, wide-eyed, blank despair emanating from him. "Shall we get started?"
One of the droids held a needle up to the light, probably assuring that the Jedi could get a good look at it, before slipping it quickly into a prominent vein in Luke's arm. Skywalker barely flinched. The droid pulled an IV pole closer to the cold table as it dripped some sort of vile bluish liquid into the Jedi's veins. It took only moments for the faint color of Luke's features to turn into a deathly shade of white. His fingers gripped the edge of his restraints, tight and colorless and he looked as though he might throw up. Mara silently cheered for him to aim for Rhomsteth's black, polished boots.
Rhomsteth peered over the Jedi with a patient little smile. "Hello," he greeted Luke. "Welcome to sub-level 12. I hope you survive your stay here, since for some reason, the Emperor wants you to be kept alive. But I suppose that will just make things a little bit more interesting for me, won't it?"
The Jedi's features tightened in obvious pain, but he seemed stubborn enough to try not to show it. Mara could see his hands were shaking.
"Well, now, I'm very impressed," Rhomsteth murmured, the tone of his voice indicating that he was anything but impressed. "I guess we shall see how long your silence will last."
Mara was suddenly unable to watch Skywalker's features, contorted in pain. She felt powerless and ill. She turned her head, letting her gaze settle on the dark, musty corners of the room, trying to dispel his suffering image from her mind.
There was a pain-filled gasp that erupted into a weak cry before Skywalker could clamp his mouth shut. Rhomsteth's amused chuckle grated on Mara's ears.
Behind her, the room's door hissed open, and, grateful for a distraction, she turned. With a billow of dark robes, the Emperor entered. "How is our young Jedi coming along?" he asked Rhomsteth. Without waiting for a reply, he billowed in like the draft of a cold wind, and leaned over Skywalker. Luke was lying flat against the table, eyes unfocused, his breathing coming in sporadic gasps.
"Your pilot friend is dead," Palpatine told him gleefully. "Had you cooperated, your entire Rebellion would not now be facing extermination, and you, my young, foolish friend, would be living a life of comfort and luxury instead of the one of pain and misery that now faces you."
Skywalker's hands balled into tight fists, pulling uselessly at his bonds. Palpatine laughed. "I shall truly enjoy breaking your pig-headed stubbornness. But all in good time, of course." He turned to Rhomsteth. "My apologies for interrupting you. Please continue."
The Emperor stepped back, looking like a spectator observing a championship smashball game and his hunched, dark form blocked Skywalker from Mara's view. She slid back against the dank wall, almost feeling relieved that she couldn't see him anymore.
What sort of power did Skywalker hold over her that could turn her, Mara Jade, the Emperor's hand, into a spineless, fearful, overprotective weakling? She didn't know why she should care what happened to the Jedi, why she should be so concerned for his welfare, so preoccupied with his mannerisms, ideas and convictions. She had been raised never to show weakness and once upon a time, she had succeeded in fulfilling her missions and making Palpatine happy with her. But since then, this blasted Jedi had come along and wrecked her life--destroyed her ideas and philosophies-- simply by his very presence. Mara shook her head. The maddening thing was that she couldn't bring herself to hate him, or even dislike him any longer.
The Jedi cried out weakly, moaning something unintelligible. He was answered only by Palpatine's cruel cackle of laughter. There was another scream, louder, and more intense than the first. Involuntarily, Mara bit down on her bottom lip, trying to shut it out. She could hear Luke's voice, half-sobbing as he shouted something before his words exploded into another cry of pain.
"Stop!" he cried now, shuddering sobs wracking his body. Mara flinched, still seeing in her mind's eye, the Jedi atop the cold metal table, tightly gripping the edges of the restraints. Yes, at one time she had hated him, had wanted to kill him. But now, she only felt a deep sense of genuine hurt for him. What has he done to deserve this? She wondered helplessly. "Please stop!" he pleaded again, another cry of pain escaping his throat.
Mara's heart was pounding. She could not listen to any more.
Before she knew what she was doing, her feet were propelling her forward, out of that evil torture room and down the glaring corridors.
In the wake of the gut-wrenching screams of the Jedi Knight behind her, Mara Jade fled.
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Leia Organa Solo was suddenly awakened from a deep, restless sleep by the sound of her own screams. There was darkness all around her and pain and death..
Someone had a solid grip on her upper arms and was shaking her. Voices echoed cavernously in her ears, drowning out her own terrified cries. She was cold and trembling, and--
"Leia!"
She opened her eyes and realized where she was. Han's face was mere inches away from hers, hair tousled, eyes dark with concern. He wore a dark linen shirt, his strong hands still gripping her arms so tightly that it hurt. Leia blinked.
A sheen of cold perspiration on her forehead and face, combined with the residue of sticky, hot tears let several strands of her dark hair to be plastered to her skin. The bed sheets were twisted around her, the pillow damp from her crying.
Han reached up to brush her hair away from her face. "Are you all right?"
Leia shivered in her dampened nightgown, the images assaulting her mind afresh. "It was Luke," she whispered. "I had this horrible dream about Luke. Evil people were hurting him--they were hurting him." She tried to shake the pictures from her mind, but didn't quite succeed. It was too vivid, too real.
"It's all right," Han assured her quietly, pulling her close, partly to comfort her, and partly in relief that she was okay. "It was just a dream."
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Mara Jade kept her blaster held loosely in her hand, mostly for show, as she gestured for Skywalker, his hands shackled in front of him, to precede her into the turbolift. He walked inside, thin shoulders stooped in weariness and defeat, not turning around to face Mara as she poked several buttons that would send the turbolift rocketing down to the sub-level sections of the palace.
The doors slid shut, the transport jolting slightly and Mara's heart thumped quietly in a strange sort of dread. She knew what awaited Skywalker in the dark, underground dungeons of sub-level 12. She'd been the unfortunate servant that had been assigned to escort many a prisoner there in the past, and she'd rarely seen any of them return. But as gruesome as she knew that section of the palace to be, she had never felt such a pounding, eerie, foreboding feeling as she did now. It made her feel nauseous.
She cast a sidelong glance at Skywalker and without really thinking, blurted, "Well was this worth it to you?"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she immediately regretted saying them. The Jedi spun towards her, his hand flailing against the wall for support, his face the color of wet ash, a fiery and bitter retort in his eyes. But suddenly, the wall of his anger seemed to collapse in on itself, the pain and self-hatred in his eyes laid bare for Mara to see.
"I've failed them," he whispered to her, like the words were hitting him with a shocking blow for the first time. "I've failed."
Something inside Mara ached with his words, and she could feel his despair numbing her mind. She looked away from the agonized depths of the Jedi's blue eyes.
The turbolift ground to a halt with a brief flicker of lights. They had arrived.
Mara reached for the switch that would open the doors, but before her fingers groped for the button, she hesitantly turned back to Skywalker, strangely suddenly wanting to comfort him, tell him that things would be okay--ridiculously guide him to an escape from this awful place--but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a quiet, "I'm sorry."
The doors hissed open.
The dank, darkened world of the sub-levels reeked with death and pain, and Mara wondered vaguely how she had not been able to notice it so violently strong before. With a slight grimace, she prodded Skywalker forward down the dark, narrow corridor, directing him into a small, dimly lit room.
Two large, vicious-looking droids waited at the entry. Mara cringed involuntarily as one of them clamped a vise-like appendage on Luke's arm, pulling the unresisting Jedi toward the man-length table in the center of the room.
"Well, if it isn't Mara Jade," said a voice behind her, almost making her jump. She counted to three before turning around to see "Dr." Rhomsteth standing behind her, offering an oily smile. Mara grimaced inwardly. She'd never liked Rhomsteth, the head of Operations here on sub-level 12. Every time the man looked at her, a sickening, crawly feeling clawed at the base of her spine. "How are you today, Miss Jade?"
"My title is the Emperor's Hand, Rhomsteth," Mara growled, ignoring his question.
"And I believe mine is doctor," he reminded her, his expression suddenly cold.
He was no more a doctor than was a child tormenting a small animal, Mara thought in contempt. She ignored his statement and got down to business. "The Emperor sent him down here." She gestured to Luke as the droids stood on both sides of the table, flicking transparisteel binders over his wrists and ankles with practiced ease. The Jedi's gaze was directed at a blank metal wall, empty and lifeless.
"So I've been informed," Rhomsteth nodded, a repulsive sort of half-smile on his face as he eyed his newest victim. Mara resisted the urge to yank her blaster free of its holster and shoot the man dead.
"Yes," she said quietly, almost trying to draw his attention way from Luke. "Palpatine does not want him to be permanently damaged." She paused. "Can you do that?"
"My dear," Rhomsteth chuckled, a patronizing smile distorting his ugly face. "You keep to your job and I'll keep to mine."
Mara glared.
"Well," he said, clapping his hands together and strutting toward the table on which Skywalker lay, wide-eyed, blank despair emanating from him. "Shall we get started?"
One of the droids held a needle up to the light, probably assuring that the Jedi could get a good look at it, before slipping it quickly into a prominent vein in Luke's arm. Skywalker barely flinched. The droid pulled an IV pole closer to the cold table as it dripped some sort of vile bluish liquid into the Jedi's veins. It took only moments for the faint color of Luke's features to turn into a deathly shade of white. His fingers gripped the edge of his restraints, tight and colorless and he looked as though he might throw up. Mara silently cheered for him to aim for Rhomsteth's black, polished boots.
Rhomsteth peered over the Jedi with a patient little smile. "Hello," he greeted Luke. "Welcome to sub-level 12. I hope you survive your stay here, since for some reason, the Emperor wants you to be kept alive. But I suppose that will just make things a little bit more interesting for me, won't it?"
The Jedi's features tightened in obvious pain, but he seemed stubborn enough to try not to show it. Mara could see his hands were shaking.
"Well, now, I'm very impressed," Rhomsteth murmured, the tone of his voice indicating that he was anything but impressed. "I guess we shall see how long your silence will last."
Mara was suddenly unable to watch Skywalker's features, contorted in pain. She felt powerless and ill. She turned her head, letting her gaze settle on the dark, musty corners of the room, trying to dispel his suffering image from her mind.
There was a pain-filled gasp that erupted into a weak cry before Skywalker could clamp his mouth shut. Rhomsteth's amused chuckle grated on Mara's ears.
Behind her, the room's door hissed open, and, grateful for a distraction, she turned. With a billow of dark robes, the Emperor entered. "How is our young Jedi coming along?" he asked Rhomsteth. Without waiting for a reply, he billowed in like the draft of a cold wind, and leaned over Skywalker. Luke was lying flat against the table, eyes unfocused, his breathing coming in sporadic gasps.
"Your pilot friend is dead," Palpatine told him gleefully. "Had you cooperated, your entire Rebellion would not now be facing extermination, and you, my young, foolish friend, would be living a life of comfort and luxury instead of the one of pain and misery that now faces you."
Skywalker's hands balled into tight fists, pulling uselessly at his bonds. Palpatine laughed. "I shall truly enjoy breaking your pig-headed stubbornness. But all in good time, of course." He turned to Rhomsteth. "My apologies for interrupting you. Please continue."
The Emperor stepped back, looking like a spectator observing a championship smashball game and his hunched, dark form blocked Skywalker from Mara's view. She slid back against the dank wall, almost feeling relieved that she couldn't see him anymore.
What sort of power did Skywalker hold over her that could turn her, Mara Jade, the Emperor's hand, into a spineless, fearful, overprotective weakling? She didn't know why she should care what happened to the Jedi, why she should be so concerned for his welfare, so preoccupied with his mannerisms, ideas and convictions. She had been raised never to show weakness and once upon a time, she had succeeded in fulfilling her missions and making Palpatine happy with her. But since then, this blasted Jedi had come along and wrecked her life--destroyed her ideas and philosophies-- simply by his very presence. Mara shook her head. The maddening thing was that she couldn't bring herself to hate him, or even dislike him any longer.
The Jedi cried out weakly, moaning something unintelligible. He was answered only by Palpatine's cruel cackle of laughter. There was another scream, louder, and more intense than the first. Involuntarily, Mara bit down on her bottom lip, trying to shut it out. She could hear Luke's voice, half-sobbing as he shouted something before his words exploded into another cry of pain.
"Stop!" he cried now, shuddering sobs wracking his body. Mara flinched, still seeing in her mind's eye, the Jedi atop the cold metal table, tightly gripping the edges of the restraints. Yes, at one time she had hated him, had wanted to kill him. But now, she only felt a deep sense of genuine hurt for him. What has he done to deserve this? She wondered helplessly. "Please stop!" he pleaded again, another cry of pain escaping his throat.
Mara's heart was pounding. She could not listen to any more.
Before she knew what she was doing, her feet were propelling her forward, out of that evil torture room and down the glaring corridors.
In the wake of the gut-wrenching screams of the Jedi Knight behind her, Mara Jade fled.
****
Leia Organa Solo was suddenly awakened from a deep, restless sleep by the sound of her own screams. There was darkness all around her and pain and death..
Someone had a solid grip on her upper arms and was shaking her. Voices echoed cavernously in her ears, drowning out her own terrified cries. She was cold and trembling, and--
"Leia!"
She opened her eyes and realized where she was. Han's face was mere inches away from hers, hair tousled, eyes dark with concern. He wore a dark linen shirt, his strong hands still gripping her arms so tightly that it hurt. Leia blinked.
A sheen of cold perspiration on her forehead and face, combined with the residue of sticky, hot tears let several strands of her dark hair to be plastered to her skin. The bed sheets were twisted around her, the pillow damp from her crying.
Han reached up to brush her hair away from her face. "Are you all right?"
Leia shivered in her dampened nightgown, the images assaulting her mind afresh. "It was Luke," she whispered. "I had this horrible dream about Luke. Evil people were hurting him--they were hurting him." She tried to shake the pictures from her mind, but didn't quite succeed. It was too vivid, too real.
"It's all right," Han assured her quietly, pulling her close, partly to comfort her, and partly in relief that she was okay. "It was just a dream."
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