After another disgusting meal that he forced himself to eat, Luke, trying to push away the uneasiness that the dream had given him, broke the silence. "I still think the people should have a say. They know what they want."
Parck kept a smile from forming. The human was unable to avoid the topic he was most uncomfortable with. It was typical of his species. "But not what they need."
"That isn't always true," the Jedi pointed out.
"Perhaps. But there are some crucial matters whose outcome shouldn't be gambled on whether the People will or will not make the correct decision. That is where problems enter in with representatives. They either try to represent their planet and not the galaxy or they try to represent only their own greedy selves. A ruler understands that he owes the People his judgment, and he betrays them if he sacrifices it to their opinion, so he does what is best for all, not just his homeplanet."
"Palpatine didn't do that."
Parck replied coolly, "The Emperor didn't favor his homeplanet. He did what he thought was best, although he might have been a little misguided."
"Corrupted, you mean," Luke snorted.
Voss Parck remained in quiet thought for a moment, observing the Jedi with his knowledgeable eyes and making him uncomfortable. "Whichever term you prefer," he said at last.
Silence enshrouded Luke in a veil, but Parck sensed he had a question. After a moment of contemplation, the Chiss quoted, "He who asks is a fool for five minutes, but he who does not ask remains a fool forever."
Ashamed, his voice a mere whisper, Luke inquired, "Why didn't they just execute me and end my misery?"
Other creatures might have been sympathetic, but Parck knew that self-pity was not healthy for the Jedi, and he did not feel like offering it forth to someone of such great potential. "Your time to die is not yet. They left you alive so that they could return to you as soon as the galaxy didn't seem quite so safe anymore. They want you to suffer, but not because of your actions, but because they envy you."
"Why would anyone envy me?" Luke laughed dryly, eyes fastened on the floor.
"Because you have things that they do not. You have the power of the galaxy at your hands, and you have gained the respect of both Imperials and Rebels. You're a talented pilot, and you possess great intelligence. Many wish they could attribute merely one of those qualities to their own characters." Parck was not trying to flatter.
"But I deserve to die!" Luke told him forcefully, eyes flaring.
"If you really believed that, then you would already be dead. The mind is more powerful than the body, and when it possesses the will to die, the body cannot prevent death from occurring." Red eyes flashed. "Pity deteriorates the soul, pollutes it. Rather than pitying yourself, you should be planning your escape."
Luke's brow furrowed. "Didn't you think it was foolish to try to escape a heavily guarded place like this?"
"Considering possibilities exercises your mind."
"It's also pointless."
"Exercise of the mind is never pointless," Parck returned.
The Jedi glared at the floor. He placed a hand on his face to calm himself, leaned down, took a deep breath, then straightened, lowering his hand down slowly to his side. His voice dry, he conceded, "You're right."
Parck waited. He felt that the Jedi's flash of anger was going to be accompanied by more than two simple words.
And he was right.
The young man spoke quietly, sadly, wistfully...And it was in a tone that almost sounded like he was confiding in the Chiss. The Jedi's voice wasn't one that was asking for pity...Instead, it consisted of something...more.
"It's not easy, you know, being pulled in so many different ways." He moistened his lips, eyes downcast. "Hating others with a passion unmatched by any before you...Hating the one thing that you thought made you unique,...an energy field that you once took comfort in...Hating yourself." He looked up, his blue eyes foggy and confused. Suddenly and eerily, they cleared, and their sapphire color intensified. "It's as if you're in a jungle. For all your life you've known only one small portion of it. You've come into contact several times with one beast...kind, trustworthy. A few times you've briefly met a different beast, of a much different kind. It seems more powerful, and tries to beckon you...But you've been warned away from it all your life, and when you see it, you try to distance yourself from it...You try to hold on to values, beliefs, morals, hopes...But one day you snap."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You are finally the one that calls the beast to you. The beast readily comes, appearing at the precise moment you were hoping it would. You have no interest in what it has to offer, though. All you wish is that it would tear you apart...But it won't. It wants you to lead a new life by its side. It calls you, makes you yearn for what it has to give you...And all the while the beast that you've known for most of your life stands on the sidelines, watching, waiting, and concerned for your future. You're torn between dangerous adventure and comfortable monotony. Should you take the risk and possibly be destroyed by it? Or should you do what you think is best for everyone else?"
Parck had trained his red eyes on Luke Skywalker when he began talking, and he kept them locked in the same position when he himself started speaking. "Only an ignorant man takes risks when there is nothing to gain, but only a fool doesn't take risks just because he's worried that the consequences might not be ideal. If one doesn't put oneself in the position of one's opposition, then one is unfairly prejudiced. If you've never been an Imperial, then how do you know that Imperial values are bad? How do you know that the so-called "Light Side" is not merely a lie concocted to force you to use more difficult methods to accomplish the same goal? Perhaps the Jedi constructed the ideas of light and dark to limit power in the hands of one who does not know how to use it. A new life can be a positive step, no matter how much some individuals try to make it seem the contrary."
"What if the beast just wants to corrupt you?"
"What if no one ever took risks?" Parck returned.
Luke clenched his artificial hand, grimacing at it. "Things aren't that simple."
"Are they not, Skywalker?" Voss Parck asked him coolly. "One cannot rise above life's obstacles if one is not willing to put one hundred and ten percent effort into the attempt."
"A man is unable to rise above obstacles if he has been badly maimed in the attempt."
"Skywalker. What do you wish me to say? Both you and I know where I stand. It is about time that you decided for yourself where you are going to stand."
Luke stared at his prosthetic hand; his fingers were twitching. He clutched it around the wrist with his other hand.
Risks...
His father had taken risks and lost everything. Who was to say that he wouldn't lose everything, too?
And yet, Luke knew he had already taken the first step towards the Dark Side. His anger had resulted in murder.
Murderer, the echo returned.
You killed someone...
Murderer...
Trembling, Luke thought back on that day. He'd seemed horrified, inside and out...but it seemed like, privately, he'd enjoyed it.
He took in a deep, quick breath, the admission striking him to the core.
He had enjoyed killing a helpless individual.
He had felt the darkness spread like electricity through his body, bringing to his senses a clarity that he had never experienced before. It had made him feel alive, powerful...He had known that the galaxy could be at his fingertips at that very moment...
As it could now.
He focused on his now-still fingers. He could touch the Dark Side for a little while, pull together the Empire, set their goals and affairs straight...He could easily overthrow the New Republic.
No, he corrected himself quickly. He wouldn't have to overthrow it...He could merge it with the Empire.
Surely his friends would be on his side if they knew his goals...
A dark grin spread across Luke's face like a black mask, smothering any possible remainder of his naive, farmboyish features. "So, have you entertained any worthy escape plans?"
Author's Note: Merci, Moy!