**
It was finally dawn.
Mara had rarely felt so relieved to see Coruscant's wan sunrise wash buttery light over the endless horizon of skyscrapers that was the city- planet. It filtered hazily through the palace's large windows-in staterooms and grand corridors alike-and the sunshine felt soothing and cleansing, scaring away the shadows of the night's horrors.
With some small regret, she passed a large, transparisteel window, overlooking the apricot-colored sunrise, and then stepped into the waiting turbolift-ignoring her flanking escort of two stormtroopers as they followed-preparing once again to descend into the gloomy depths of the palace.
After her impromptu flight from the sub-levels early that morning, Palpatine had chided her on being so squeamish and had ordered that she return to the underground dungeons of the palace-probably to teach her a lesson-and retrieve the broken Jedi from the dripping, molding cell where he'd been so casually tossed after hours of being tortured. It wasn't exactly a chore she was looking forward to, but she supposed that was why the Emperor had ordered that she do it.
The turbolift braked to an abrupt halt with an ominous jarring sound and Mara steeled herself as the doors opened like jaws to the darkened recesses beyond.
As they entered sub-level 12 again, her ears unconsciously strained against the cloying silence, but she heard nothing. Dim lights overhead marked the narrow corridor that branched out in front of them, and reluctantly, Mara started forward. She winced at the damp, fetid odor that seemed to permeate the very walls. Sub-level 12 was the bottommost level of the Imperial palace, a hole dug deep underground in a world that built higher and higher toward the sky, piling more and more new layers on top of the old and decaying. Even as Mara continued, she noticed the barely perceptible downward sloping of the floor and the thin rivulets of water trickling down the rusty, corrugated metal walls. The level's considerable depth underground and the seeping water, down walls and ceilings, contributed to the uncomfortably damp chill that pervaded the air like a dark cloud.
They reached the prison cellblocks, an old, rusted A-1YT protocol droid waiting patiently behind what might pass as a desk. Behind the droid, an old-fashioned grille-work of durasteel bars blocked the corridor.
"Good morning," the droid greeted them pleasantly, one yellow eye gazing unblinkingly back at them. "May I see your ID?"
Mara casually tossed the plastene card onto the desk for the droid's inspection. The robot scanned it briefly, then returned it to her. It reached a slender-jointed limb to the inset keypad and punched a series of numbers. With a rusty, metal clang and the whir of strained mechanics, the wall of bars parted like a curtain. "The prisoner is in cell A-25."
Mara turned to the two stormtroopers. "Stay here," she ordered.
It took little trouble locating Skywalker's cell. She swept her ID underneath the door's small scanner, slapping the illumination switch as she did so. With a hiss of repulsors, the door opened and white, glaring light suddenly flooded from the small cell, stabbing her eyes with pain.
As soon as the dark spots disappeared from her vision, she cringed inwardly at the sight in front of her: Skywalker lay like a broken puppet against the corner, unconscious. Bruises and deep lacerations marred his boyish features and stained much of his torn and shredded tunic the dark crimson of dried blood.
Carefully, Mara knelt at his side, seeing that the dented, tarnished durasteel of the floor was also streaked with blood. Beads of perspiration marked the Jedi's waxen skin and she did not like the way he was breathing.
Cautiously, she reached out to lightly touch his forehead when Luke suddenly jumped as if struck, gasping to full consciousness. His blue eyes, drunk with pain, speared her with an expression of bright fear as his hands flew up to push her away.
"Skywalker!" She pinned his arms down as easily as she would a child. "Hey! It's just me. Hey!" But that brief struggle seemed to be all he had the strength for, she decided, as he fell limply against the floor again, eyes closed.
For a moment, Mara thought he was unconscious again, but then, with some obvious effort, his bruised lips tried to form words until his voice cooperated in the form of a faint whisper. "What do you want?"
She put her hand to his forehead again, this time with only a suppressed wince from the Jedi. His skin was cool and clammy. "It's moving day, Skywalker," she murmured, pursing her lips. "Palpatine wants you aboard the Conqueror in twenty minutes." She surveyed his battered form. "If you can walk, you won't have to be dragged by these thugs that are waiting for you just down the hall."
Skywalker barely shook his head. "I can't walk."
"Can you sit up?"
The Jedi clenched his teeth, eyeing her like a wounded animal watching its attacker. "Maybe," he whispered.
Mara moved forward to help him, accidentally bumping into his left leg. Luke only gasped in a silent scream, arching forward on the floor.
"Don't touch my leg," he gasped when he could speak again. "Whatever you do, just don't touch it."
Mara stiffened, noticing his leg for the first time, realizing that underneath the dark gray material of his tunic's pant-leg, the limb was twisted in a way it aught not to have turned. "What did they do to you?" she gasped.
"What do you think?" Luke shot back hoarsely, his jaw still clenched in pain as he sagged back against the floor, eyes shut. "They broke it."
Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away and focused on his face; the damp strands of hair plastered to his forehead, the fist-sized bruise forming near his left eye and the side of his head, his strained breathing. "Believe me when I say I'm truly sorry to do this to you," she murmured. "But we have to leave. Either you let me help you, or someone else is going to drag you."
He didn't open his eyes. "And where are we going this time?"
He didn't say it, Mara thought, but he could have. The Jedi knight seemed to pose as nothing but a threat to thousands of good, innocent people just by being alive, just by possessing the power of the Force. The Emperor was no fool. He knew just how to make the young man miserable. And Luke knew it too.
"To a small world called Tangrenenarr," she said quietly. "Out on the rim. Have you ever heard of it?"
Judging by the way his face went rigid with recognition, she saw grimly, he had. All signs of life blanched from his features, his distressed breathing the only thing that proved he was still alive. His voice was a single, unrecognizable moan. "No," he whispered, almost to himself, the familiar blank gaze of despair returning to his features. "Oh no."
Well, if she had needed any proof as to the possible whereabouts of the hidden Rebel base, that certainly clinched it, Mara thought grimly, feeling a hollow knot form in the pit of her stomach. "Skywalker, you have to get up," she told him again, helping him, as gently as she could, to a more-or- less sitting position.
"No," Luke whispered again, his features contorting in pain as she- faltering under his deadweight-tried to help him stand. Mara wondered momentarily if he was protesting the move or her revelation about his friends' likely fates. "Please."
His head fell limply on her shoulder, his breath hot on her cheek. Mara staggered, mindful of his injured left leg, not wanting to drop her burden. A moment later, she realized that her caution was wasted: The Jedi was unconscious again.
From the corridor came the sound of clanking boots, and she realized it must be the stormtroopers coming to her aid. Heaven knew she needed it, she thought, feeling her face warm slightly. She twisted toward the door, waiting for them to reach her, when she realized belatedly that the hissing sound of the breather and the heavy footsteps were not those of a stormtrooper. They could only belong to one person.
Darth Vader entered the small cell like a shadow, stopping as he came upon Mara who was still struggling to hoist the unconscious Jedi. She only stared back at his polished, black eyes, wondering what he was thinking. She should feel like a fool, she reasoned; standing in front of the Dark Lord like a tenth-rate servant hoisting a battered prisoner, but something in Vader's stance indicated that he somehow understood.
Wordlessly, the Dark Lord stepped forward, carefully hoisting the Jedi up and cradling him like a doll. Mara regained her balance, her muscles trembling in relief, and she just stared. Had Vader suddenly gone soft?
"Wha-why are you doing this?" she whispered.
The Dark Lord turned toward the open door, Luke lying limply in his arms.
"Because," he said quietly, turning away from her toward the door. "He's my son."
*************
It was finally dawn.
Mara had rarely felt so relieved to see Coruscant's wan sunrise wash buttery light over the endless horizon of skyscrapers that was the city- planet. It filtered hazily through the palace's large windows-in staterooms and grand corridors alike-and the sunshine felt soothing and cleansing, scaring away the shadows of the night's horrors.
With some small regret, she passed a large, transparisteel window, overlooking the apricot-colored sunrise, and then stepped into the waiting turbolift-ignoring her flanking escort of two stormtroopers as they followed-preparing once again to descend into the gloomy depths of the palace.
After her impromptu flight from the sub-levels early that morning, Palpatine had chided her on being so squeamish and had ordered that she return to the underground dungeons of the palace-probably to teach her a lesson-and retrieve the broken Jedi from the dripping, molding cell where he'd been so casually tossed after hours of being tortured. It wasn't exactly a chore she was looking forward to, but she supposed that was why the Emperor had ordered that she do it.
The turbolift braked to an abrupt halt with an ominous jarring sound and Mara steeled herself as the doors opened like jaws to the darkened recesses beyond.
As they entered sub-level 12 again, her ears unconsciously strained against the cloying silence, but she heard nothing. Dim lights overhead marked the narrow corridor that branched out in front of them, and reluctantly, Mara started forward. She winced at the damp, fetid odor that seemed to permeate the very walls. Sub-level 12 was the bottommost level of the Imperial palace, a hole dug deep underground in a world that built higher and higher toward the sky, piling more and more new layers on top of the old and decaying. Even as Mara continued, she noticed the barely perceptible downward sloping of the floor and the thin rivulets of water trickling down the rusty, corrugated metal walls. The level's considerable depth underground and the seeping water, down walls and ceilings, contributed to the uncomfortably damp chill that pervaded the air like a dark cloud.
They reached the prison cellblocks, an old, rusted A-1YT protocol droid waiting patiently behind what might pass as a desk. Behind the droid, an old-fashioned grille-work of durasteel bars blocked the corridor.
"Good morning," the droid greeted them pleasantly, one yellow eye gazing unblinkingly back at them. "May I see your ID?"
Mara casually tossed the plastene card onto the desk for the droid's inspection. The robot scanned it briefly, then returned it to her. It reached a slender-jointed limb to the inset keypad and punched a series of numbers. With a rusty, metal clang and the whir of strained mechanics, the wall of bars parted like a curtain. "The prisoner is in cell A-25."
Mara turned to the two stormtroopers. "Stay here," she ordered.
It took little trouble locating Skywalker's cell. She swept her ID underneath the door's small scanner, slapping the illumination switch as she did so. With a hiss of repulsors, the door opened and white, glaring light suddenly flooded from the small cell, stabbing her eyes with pain.
As soon as the dark spots disappeared from her vision, she cringed inwardly at the sight in front of her: Skywalker lay like a broken puppet against the corner, unconscious. Bruises and deep lacerations marred his boyish features and stained much of his torn and shredded tunic the dark crimson of dried blood.
Carefully, Mara knelt at his side, seeing that the dented, tarnished durasteel of the floor was also streaked with blood. Beads of perspiration marked the Jedi's waxen skin and she did not like the way he was breathing.
Cautiously, she reached out to lightly touch his forehead when Luke suddenly jumped as if struck, gasping to full consciousness. His blue eyes, drunk with pain, speared her with an expression of bright fear as his hands flew up to push her away.
"Skywalker!" She pinned his arms down as easily as she would a child. "Hey! It's just me. Hey!" But that brief struggle seemed to be all he had the strength for, she decided, as he fell limply against the floor again, eyes closed.
For a moment, Mara thought he was unconscious again, but then, with some obvious effort, his bruised lips tried to form words until his voice cooperated in the form of a faint whisper. "What do you want?"
She put her hand to his forehead again, this time with only a suppressed wince from the Jedi. His skin was cool and clammy. "It's moving day, Skywalker," she murmured, pursing her lips. "Palpatine wants you aboard the Conqueror in twenty minutes." She surveyed his battered form. "If you can walk, you won't have to be dragged by these thugs that are waiting for you just down the hall."
Skywalker barely shook his head. "I can't walk."
"Can you sit up?"
The Jedi clenched his teeth, eyeing her like a wounded animal watching its attacker. "Maybe," he whispered.
Mara moved forward to help him, accidentally bumping into his left leg. Luke only gasped in a silent scream, arching forward on the floor.
"Don't touch my leg," he gasped when he could speak again. "Whatever you do, just don't touch it."
Mara stiffened, noticing his leg for the first time, realizing that underneath the dark gray material of his tunic's pant-leg, the limb was twisted in a way it aught not to have turned. "What did they do to you?" she gasped.
"What do you think?" Luke shot back hoarsely, his jaw still clenched in pain as he sagged back against the floor, eyes shut. "They broke it."
Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away and focused on his face; the damp strands of hair plastered to his forehead, the fist-sized bruise forming near his left eye and the side of his head, his strained breathing. "Believe me when I say I'm truly sorry to do this to you," she murmured. "But we have to leave. Either you let me help you, or someone else is going to drag you."
He didn't open his eyes. "And where are we going this time?"
He didn't say it, Mara thought, but he could have. The Jedi knight seemed to pose as nothing but a threat to thousands of good, innocent people just by being alive, just by possessing the power of the Force. The Emperor was no fool. He knew just how to make the young man miserable. And Luke knew it too.
"To a small world called Tangrenenarr," she said quietly. "Out on the rim. Have you ever heard of it?"
Judging by the way his face went rigid with recognition, she saw grimly, he had. All signs of life blanched from his features, his distressed breathing the only thing that proved he was still alive. His voice was a single, unrecognizable moan. "No," he whispered, almost to himself, the familiar blank gaze of despair returning to his features. "Oh no."
Well, if she had needed any proof as to the possible whereabouts of the hidden Rebel base, that certainly clinched it, Mara thought grimly, feeling a hollow knot form in the pit of her stomach. "Skywalker, you have to get up," she told him again, helping him, as gently as she could, to a more-or- less sitting position.
"No," Luke whispered again, his features contorting in pain as she- faltering under his deadweight-tried to help him stand. Mara wondered momentarily if he was protesting the move or her revelation about his friends' likely fates. "Please."
His head fell limply on her shoulder, his breath hot on her cheek. Mara staggered, mindful of his injured left leg, not wanting to drop her burden. A moment later, she realized that her caution was wasted: The Jedi was unconscious again.
From the corridor came the sound of clanking boots, and she realized it must be the stormtroopers coming to her aid. Heaven knew she needed it, she thought, feeling her face warm slightly. She twisted toward the door, waiting for them to reach her, when she realized belatedly that the hissing sound of the breather and the heavy footsteps were not those of a stormtrooper. They could only belong to one person.
Darth Vader entered the small cell like a shadow, stopping as he came upon Mara who was still struggling to hoist the unconscious Jedi. She only stared back at his polished, black eyes, wondering what he was thinking. She should feel like a fool, she reasoned; standing in front of the Dark Lord like a tenth-rate servant hoisting a battered prisoner, but something in Vader's stance indicated that he somehow understood.
Wordlessly, the Dark Lord stepped forward, carefully hoisting the Jedi up and cradling him like a doll. Mara regained her balance, her muscles trembling in relief, and she just stared. Had Vader suddenly gone soft?
"Wha-why are you doing this?" she whispered.
The Dark Lord turned toward the open door, Luke lying limply in his arms.
"Because," he said quietly, turning away from her toward the door. "He's my son."
*************
