It was a cold, gray Coruscant morning when Mara was finally allowed to see
him. Vader had informed her, in a matter-of-fact message, cold black words
staring back at her from her computer screen, that Luke had been returned
to his quarters in the palace and that he was still alive.
It had been six days.
Now, having walked noiselessly through the brooding corridors, past the bored guards, she entered the large bedroom suite, cringing at the stark silence, apprehensive at what she might find.
Luke Skywalker's slight, battered form rested lifelessly atop the pristine covers of the massive black bed. He was shrouded from shoulders to ankles in the rich, thick folds of an ebony robe that covered a torn, blood- stained tunic. Dried blood matted his hair and caked the side of his face.
Slowly, feeling sick inside, Mara crossed the richly furnished room to Luke's bedside, hesitantly touching his hand. He did not react. "What did he do to you?" she whispered to his lifeless form.
Six days. Six days that she had not seen or heard from the Emperor. Six days that she did not know if Luke were dead or alive. Six days she watched Vader pace a trail into the floor, endured his snapping orders and outbursts of temper. The Dark Lord had not known what had become of his son either.
Now she gazed down at Luke, at the deep purple bruises marring his battered features. He looked as lifeless as a rag doll. The only sign that he was still alive was his shallow, ragged breathing.
"I'm so sorry about this," she whispered, sitting next to him on the edge of his bed. If only they could have gotten out of there as they had planned, then he might have been able to escape. But she knew Luke would never leave his friends to a trap just to save himself. "I wish I could have done something to make it turn out differently."
His eyes opened briefly, blinking against the light. Mara watched him, touching his hand again. "Luke?"
He was suddenly gasping for breath, hand flailing away from hers, his body going rigid with remembered pain. His eyes opened wide, staring up at her. His voice was a faint whisper from cracked, bloodless lips. "Mara?"
Mara glanced down quickly, pushing away the tight knot of pain that wrenched her stomach. She nodded. "It's me, Luke. I'm here." She hesitated. "I...it's over now. Everything's okay now."
Luke shut his eyes, still breathing hard. With another fixed grimace, he coughed weakly, opening his eyes to regard her. "You're okay?" He whispered. "Did they hurt you?"
She shook her head, feeling guilt tug at her mind again. "No. They...he left me alone. I'm fine."
Relief replaced some of the dark fear in Luke's eyes as he nodded. "What about Han and Leia?" he asked.
Mara shook her head. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "No one has been permitted to see them."
White-knuckled hands groped for something to use as leverage as Luke struggled to sit up. "I have to find them," he gasped to Mara, strangling back a cough.
She restrained him as she would a child. "Lie down, Luke. You're going to hurt yourself. There's nothing you can do for them right now."
But the Jedi refused to comply. Another horrendous cough racked his frame, sending him clutching weakly for his side. "I have to go to them, to make sure they're okay," he whispered when he could speak again.
"You can do that later," Mara lied. She doubted he would be allowed to. "When you can actually stand."
"Then help me stand!" Luke snapped in a brief flash of frustration. "I need find them, and help them if I can."
"Luke..." she began. "Just how do you plan to help them...?" But the Jedi was already struggling to sit up—with or without her aid.
Mara grimaced and got her arms behind his shoulders, cringing at Luke's soundless gasp of pain as she did so.
Finally sitting, Luke shakily slid his feet over the side of the bed, still gripping her arm for support.
"Skywalker, I don't think this is such a good idea—I can't carry you."
His face, dotted with perspiration, was waxen gray. "You're not going to faint on me, are you?" she asked him warily. "Luke—"
"Just give me a minute—I'll be fine," he gasped unconvincingly, sinking his head into trembling hands, sweat glistening on his forehead and face. "Just a minute," he repeated.
Mara watched him in concern, noting in revulsion the hideous purple bruises and lacerations that marked the backs of his hands. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "How do you expect to be able to help them when you can't even stand?"
"I can," he insisted, not raising his head. "The Force—"
"Lie back down, Luke," she told him. "Live to fight another day. You're not helping anyone like this. Maybe in a day or two..." The ebony robe had slipped down from his shoulders revealing a torn and tattered black tunic stiff with dried blood. There was a small white bandage taped to the base of his skull, just above his collar.
Mara recognized it and went cold.
Luke shook his head, but still did not attempt to move. "I don't have a day or two. I don't even have—"
"What is this?" Mara whispered, reaching gingerly to touch the bandage. "What's this for?" Horror churned in her gut; she felt suddenly sick.
Luke still didn't raise his head. His breathing was labored and his shoulders were shaking. "You don't want to know."
But she already knew. She'd seen these things before, but only rarely. They were usually reserved for dangerous criminals and lunatics in insane asylums. It was standard procedure in places like that to implant a small chip that was wired to the prisoner's
nervous system, capable of dishing out a moderate to severe electric shock if the person ever became dangerous or unmanageable.
Mara opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again. "Why?" she asked finally. "Why did he do this?"
Luke shook his head. "He thinks I might try to escape again," he whispered. He looked up at her, his face turning a new shade of white. Grimacing, he sagged back against the bed again. "He doesn't want to take the chance."
Mara swallowed but didn't say anything. Palpatine would rather kill the Jedi than see him or his friends make another attempt at getting him away.
Luke dropped his head against the pillows again, his face a chalky gray. "I...." he faltered. "How long...has it been?"
Mara pursed her lips, eyeing him. The days had stretched like weeks, like they'd never end. "Six days," she said quietly. "Since Derra IV."
Luke mouthed her words, shutting his eyes again.
"Can I get you something?" Mara asked quietly. "Some food—a drink of water?"
He nodded, swallowing. "Water."
Mara returned with the glass of water a few minutes later and helped him sit up to drink it. Luke drank a little and thanked her.
Mara set the cup on the nightstand, and sat back. Sweat-stringy hair plastered to his forehead, dried blood on his face, features waxen and pale, Luke looked terrible. But beyond his physical injuries, there was something in his eyes that looked shattered and dead.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked, for lack of anything better to say. There was precious little for them to talk about that wouldn't remind them of the dire situation things were in. And she didn't dare ask him about his treatment under Palpatine. "An order of Devonian sweetcakes or a Correllian ale?" She tried to keep her voice light, distract him from the pain she could see in his eyes.
He shut his eyes wearily. "Got a medic?"
Mara pressed her lips together and watched him. "I could probably find one," she murmured. "But if he helped you, Palpatine would probably have him killed."
The feverish color drained from Luke's face. His lips were gray. Mara could see a rapid pulse throbbing at his temple. "Never mind, then," he whispered weakly. "Maybe you should go too—I don't want you to be hurt."
Reluctantly, Mara nodded. Perhaps that would be for the best, considering she wasn't on the best of terms with her master.
"Find out where Han and Leia are, see if they're okay," Luke whispered. "And then, if it's not too much trouble, maybe you can somehow smuggle in a bottle of Leximophen to me."
Mara frowned at the expression in his eyes, his tired, despairing sense in the Force. He was serious. "Now what has you talking like that?" she asked. Leximophen was a notoriously deadly poison.
The Jedi only shook his head, offering a wan smile, despite the waxen sheen of his feautres, the glassy tears that were suddenly pooling at his eyes. "Better now than later," he whispered. "Before I can do anymore harm to anybody."
Mara reached for his hand again. It was cold and lifeless. "Luke, surely things can't be that bad. You're hurt and not thinking clearly. In a couple of days..."
Luke released a shaky sigh, knotting a handful of black robe in his fist as he shook his head, pushing away her words. "No," he whispered. "For the first time, maybe I am thinking clearly. Now I can see..."
Mara swallowed. The lump in her throat would not go away. "Luke, what happened?" she whispered, touching his hand again. He didn't respond. "Tell me what he did to you. Talk to me."
He looked away, eyes gazing toward the window, seeing as perhaps he had every day for many months, the freedom and peace just out of his grasp, knowing that it could not and would not be his. The gray Coruscant sky was swirling with cotton snowflakes, hundreds, thousands of them fluttering peacefully through the sky. It was beautiful, really. If one had the time to think about those things.
"You were right," he whispered. "When you told me...." He swallowed. "My dreams were right." His eyes were wide, staring at nothing. "I had convinced myself that those nightmares were only the product of a frightened imagination." He regarded Mara again. "They were right."
Mara pursed her lips, wondering if he wasn't delirious. "Luke, I don't understand what you're saying—"
He killed them," Luke cut her off in a whisper, his eyebrows arched, expression still stunned, disbelieving. "In cold blood—he killed them."
"Who?" Mara asked, feeling an icy chill crawl up her spine and deep-set sympathy for the pain she saw in his eyes. "What happened?"
"Connah, Aram and Benjamin," he choked, shaking his head as if to fling out the images burned in his mind. "Stormtroopers destroyed their home and had them executed." One thin tear trickled down his cheek as he spoke, his voice cracking. He wouldn't look at her. "Palpatine did not let me forget it, took great pleasure in reminding me. They were killed—their lives ended—simply as punishment to me."
Luke leaned his head back against the pillows, despondent, his fists bunching more black robe. He looked up at her, exhaustion and despair written all over his waxen features. "I knew I should have left weeks earlier and yet I stayed. I put them in danger...I..." he trailed off, tears trickling down his cheeks. "It could have been avoided."
Mara looked at her hands, a half-dozen empty sympathetic comments sticking like thick cotton to the roof of her mouth. "Luke..." she began, biting her lip.
What?" he whispered, eyes pleading with helpless anger and sadness, more vulnerable than she had ever seen him, or ever cared to see him again. "Are you going to tell me it's not my fault, that I'm not to blame? Are you going to lie to me too?"
Mara snapped her mouth shut.
Luke only hunched his shoulders forward and coughed, grimacing, eyes shut. "Can't you see....there is only one end to this nightmare—to this mess that I've made..."
Mara was shaking her head. "No, Luke—you're not well, not thinking clearly..." But he was shaking his head, not listening.
Mara took his hands again, bloodied and bruised that they were, and looked into his eyes. "We all make mistakes," she murmured. "But you can't give up. You've made it this far—you have to keep fighting."
"I'm tired of fighting, Mara," he whispered, choking again. "Tired of hurting, and seeing those I love get hurt."
She didn't let go of his hands for fear he might do something stupid. "Sometimes," she said quietly, trying to hold onto his waning attention. "it is okay to cry. People do that sometimes."
He shook his head, but didn't answer, pressing his lips together, eyes fluttering shut in empty despair. Mara leaned closer, touching his shoulder. "Let it out, Luke," she whispered. "Just let it out."
Then, as if he needed permission, cry he did, releasing his pent up grief in a flood of sudden emotion, weeping over those he'd lost. Hot tears soaked the shoulder of Mara's jumpsuit, anguished sobs shaking his battered body.
The Emperor's Hand just sat there and took it silently.
****************
Pass the Kleenex. And drop a review on your way out—vielen Dank!
It had been six days.
Now, having walked noiselessly through the brooding corridors, past the bored guards, she entered the large bedroom suite, cringing at the stark silence, apprehensive at what she might find.
Luke Skywalker's slight, battered form rested lifelessly atop the pristine covers of the massive black bed. He was shrouded from shoulders to ankles in the rich, thick folds of an ebony robe that covered a torn, blood- stained tunic. Dried blood matted his hair and caked the side of his face.
Slowly, feeling sick inside, Mara crossed the richly furnished room to Luke's bedside, hesitantly touching his hand. He did not react. "What did he do to you?" she whispered to his lifeless form.
Six days. Six days that she had not seen or heard from the Emperor. Six days that she did not know if Luke were dead or alive. Six days she watched Vader pace a trail into the floor, endured his snapping orders and outbursts of temper. The Dark Lord had not known what had become of his son either.
Now she gazed down at Luke, at the deep purple bruises marring his battered features. He looked as lifeless as a rag doll. The only sign that he was still alive was his shallow, ragged breathing.
"I'm so sorry about this," she whispered, sitting next to him on the edge of his bed. If only they could have gotten out of there as they had planned, then he might have been able to escape. But she knew Luke would never leave his friends to a trap just to save himself. "I wish I could have done something to make it turn out differently."
His eyes opened briefly, blinking against the light. Mara watched him, touching his hand again. "Luke?"
He was suddenly gasping for breath, hand flailing away from hers, his body going rigid with remembered pain. His eyes opened wide, staring up at her. His voice was a faint whisper from cracked, bloodless lips. "Mara?"
Mara glanced down quickly, pushing away the tight knot of pain that wrenched her stomach. She nodded. "It's me, Luke. I'm here." She hesitated. "I...it's over now. Everything's okay now."
Luke shut his eyes, still breathing hard. With another fixed grimace, he coughed weakly, opening his eyes to regard her. "You're okay?" He whispered. "Did they hurt you?"
She shook her head, feeling guilt tug at her mind again. "No. They...he left me alone. I'm fine."
Relief replaced some of the dark fear in Luke's eyes as he nodded. "What about Han and Leia?" he asked.
Mara shook her head. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "No one has been permitted to see them."
White-knuckled hands groped for something to use as leverage as Luke struggled to sit up. "I have to find them," he gasped to Mara, strangling back a cough.
She restrained him as she would a child. "Lie down, Luke. You're going to hurt yourself. There's nothing you can do for them right now."
But the Jedi refused to comply. Another horrendous cough racked his frame, sending him clutching weakly for his side. "I have to go to them, to make sure they're okay," he whispered when he could speak again.
"You can do that later," Mara lied. She doubted he would be allowed to. "When you can actually stand."
"Then help me stand!" Luke snapped in a brief flash of frustration. "I need find them, and help them if I can."
"Luke..." she began. "Just how do you plan to help them...?" But the Jedi was already struggling to sit up—with or without her aid.
Mara grimaced and got her arms behind his shoulders, cringing at Luke's soundless gasp of pain as she did so.
Finally sitting, Luke shakily slid his feet over the side of the bed, still gripping her arm for support.
"Skywalker, I don't think this is such a good idea—I can't carry you."
His face, dotted with perspiration, was waxen gray. "You're not going to faint on me, are you?" she asked him warily. "Luke—"
"Just give me a minute—I'll be fine," he gasped unconvincingly, sinking his head into trembling hands, sweat glistening on his forehead and face. "Just a minute," he repeated.
Mara watched him in concern, noting in revulsion the hideous purple bruises and lacerations that marked the backs of his hands. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "How do you expect to be able to help them when you can't even stand?"
"I can," he insisted, not raising his head. "The Force—"
"Lie back down, Luke," she told him. "Live to fight another day. You're not helping anyone like this. Maybe in a day or two..." The ebony robe had slipped down from his shoulders revealing a torn and tattered black tunic stiff with dried blood. There was a small white bandage taped to the base of his skull, just above his collar.
Mara recognized it and went cold.
Luke shook his head, but still did not attempt to move. "I don't have a day or two. I don't even have—"
"What is this?" Mara whispered, reaching gingerly to touch the bandage. "What's this for?" Horror churned in her gut; she felt suddenly sick.
Luke still didn't raise his head. His breathing was labored and his shoulders were shaking. "You don't want to know."
But she already knew. She'd seen these things before, but only rarely. They were usually reserved for dangerous criminals and lunatics in insane asylums. It was standard procedure in places like that to implant a small chip that was wired to the prisoner's
nervous system, capable of dishing out a moderate to severe electric shock if the person ever became dangerous or unmanageable.
Mara opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again. "Why?" she asked finally. "Why did he do this?"
Luke shook his head. "He thinks I might try to escape again," he whispered. He looked up at her, his face turning a new shade of white. Grimacing, he sagged back against the bed again. "He doesn't want to take the chance."
Mara swallowed but didn't say anything. Palpatine would rather kill the Jedi than see him or his friends make another attempt at getting him away.
Luke dropped his head against the pillows again, his face a chalky gray. "I...." he faltered. "How long...has it been?"
Mara pursed her lips, eyeing him. The days had stretched like weeks, like they'd never end. "Six days," she said quietly. "Since Derra IV."
Luke mouthed her words, shutting his eyes again.
"Can I get you something?" Mara asked quietly. "Some food—a drink of water?"
He nodded, swallowing. "Water."
Mara returned with the glass of water a few minutes later and helped him sit up to drink it. Luke drank a little and thanked her.
Mara set the cup on the nightstand, and sat back. Sweat-stringy hair plastered to his forehead, dried blood on his face, features waxen and pale, Luke looked terrible. But beyond his physical injuries, there was something in his eyes that looked shattered and dead.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked, for lack of anything better to say. There was precious little for them to talk about that wouldn't remind them of the dire situation things were in. And she didn't dare ask him about his treatment under Palpatine. "An order of Devonian sweetcakes or a Correllian ale?" She tried to keep her voice light, distract him from the pain she could see in his eyes.
He shut his eyes wearily. "Got a medic?"
Mara pressed her lips together and watched him. "I could probably find one," she murmured. "But if he helped you, Palpatine would probably have him killed."
The feverish color drained from Luke's face. His lips were gray. Mara could see a rapid pulse throbbing at his temple. "Never mind, then," he whispered weakly. "Maybe you should go too—I don't want you to be hurt."
Reluctantly, Mara nodded. Perhaps that would be for the best, considering she wasn't on the best of terms with her master.
"Find out where Han and Leia are, see if they're okay," Luke whispered. "And then, if it's not too much trouble, maybe you can somehow smuggle in a bottle of Leximophen to me."
Mara frowned at the expression in his eyes, his tired, despairing sense in the Force. He was serious. "Now what has you talking like that?" she asked. Leximophen was a notoriously deadly poison.
The Jedi only shook his head, offering a wan smile, despite the waxen sheen of his feautres, the glassy tears that were suddenly pooling at his eyes. "Better now than later," he whispered. "Before I can do anymore harm to anybody."
Mara reached for his hand again. It was cold and lifeless. "Luke, surely things can't be that bad. You're hurt and not thinking clearly. In a couple of days..."
Luke released a shaky sigh, knotting a handful of black robe in his fist as he shook his head, pushing away her words. "No," he whispered. "For the first time, maybe I am thinking clearly. Now I can see..."
Mara swallowed. The lump in her throat would not go away. "Luke, what happened?" she whispered, touching his hand again. He didn't respond. "Tell me what he did to you. Talk to me."
He looked away, eyes gazing toward the window, seeing as perhaps he had every day for many months, the freedom and peace just out of his grasp, knowing that it could not and would not be his. The gray Coruscant sky was swirling with cotton snowflakes, hundreds, thousands of them fluttering peacefully through the sky. It was beautiful, really. If one had the time to think about those things.
"You were right," he whispered. "When you told me...." He swallowed. "My dreams were right." His eyes were wide, staring at nothing. "I had convinced myself that those nightmares were only the product of a frightened imagination." He regarded Mara again. "They were right."
Mara pursed her lips, wondering if he wasn't delirious. "Luke, I don't understand what you're saying—"
He killed them," Luke cut her off in a whisper, his eyebrows arched, expression still stunned, disbelieving. "In cold blood—he killed them."
"Who?" Mara asked, feeling an icy chill crawl up her spine and deep-set sympathy for the pain she saw in his eyes. "What happened?"
"Connah, Aram and Benjamin," he choked, shaking his head as if to fling out the images burned in his mind. "Stormtroopers destroyed their home and had them executed." One thin tear trickled down his cheek as he spoke, his voice cracking. He wouldn't look at her. "Palpatine did not let me forget it, took great pleasure in reminding me. They were killed—their lives ended—simply as punishment to me."
Luke leaned his head back against the pillows, despondent, his fists bunching more black robe. He looked up at her, exhaustion and despair written all over his waxen features. "I knew I should have left weeks earlier and yet I stayed. I put them in danger...I..." he trailed off, tears trickling down his cheeks. "It could have been avoided."
Mara looked at her hands, a half-dozen empty sympathetic comments sticking like thick cotton to the roof of her mouth. "Luke..." she began, biting her lip.
What?" he whispered, eyes pleading with helpless anger and sadness, more vulnerable than she had ever seen him, or ever cared to see him again. "Are you going to tell me it's not my fault, that I'm not to blame? Are you going to lie to me too?"
Mara snapped her mouth shut.
Luke only hunched his shoulders forward and coughed, grimacing, eyes shut. "Can't you see....there is only one end to this nightmare—to this mess that I've made..."
Mara was shaking her head. "No, Luke—you're not well, not thinking clearly..." But he was shaking his head, not listening.
Mara took his hands again, bloodied and bruised that they were, and looked into his eyes. "We all make mistakes," she murmured. "But you can't give up. You've made it this far—you have to keep fighting."
"I'm tired of fighting, Mara," he whispered, choking again. "Tired of hurting, and seeing those I love get hurt."
She didn't let go of his hands for fear he might do something stupid. "Sometimes," she said quietly, trying to hold onto his waning attention. "it is okay to cry. People do that sometimes."
He shook his head, but didn't answer, pressing his lips together, eyes fluttering shut in empty despair. Mara leaned closer, touching his shoulder. "Let it out, Luke," she whispered. "Just let it out."
Then, as if he needed permission, cry he did, releasing his pent up grief in a flood of sudden emotion, weeping over those he'd lost. Hot tears soaked the shoulder of Mara's jumpsuit, anguished sobs shaking his battered body.
The Emperor's Hand just sat there and took it silently.
****************
Pass the Kleenex. And drop a review on your way out—vielen Dank!
