Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long. I got my hands on a copy of
Age of Mythology, and it sort of ate up my free time. Please forgive me!
As of my posting this I have fifty-one reviews. Cool.
This chapter has a bit more character development for Luke, and is written from his and Leia's POV. I'm afraid it's is a little slow, it's a long one so please bare with me. Things should speed up a bit soon.
Broken Wings Chapter Seven
Luke pressed his hand against the side of the captured X-Wing. He still didn't know what he was looking for, but he felt that he could find answers, or at least direction, here.
The X-Wing design was unfamiliar. He had only see them in battle a few times, and had only flown against them once. They had been a challenge, even for his TIE advanced, and had cut a swath through the unshielded regular TIEs. They weren't as maneuverable as the smaller TIEs, but they made up for that with the edition of shields and more powerful weapons, not to mention the hyperdrive.
To the Empire lives were cheap. With almost an infinite supply of potential pilots, imperial engineers were concerned with being able to create an inexpensive fighter that could be mass produced, but that would be maneuverable enough in combat to challenge slower rebel ships. Unlike the rebels, whose ships were defensive, but also equipped with hyperdrives to allow quick hit-and-run missions.
Luke stepped between two of the fighters. He ran his fingers over the rebel insignia on the sides. "Dune Squadron," it read, recalling vague images of Tatooine. He wasn't certain how or why, but he felt a longing to watch the twin suns set again. Though he couldn't call up images of what the suns had looked like, the feeling was still powerful. He tried to retrieve half-formed memories, but eventually brushed them away when they remained outside his grasp.
He reached for the ladder on the fighter he was inspecting. He climbed up the bars and looked into the cockpit. He let his gaze slip over the controls, searching. The seat had been fixed with some sort of tape at some point, and by the crumbs it looked like someone had been eating in here.
He shook his head in disgust as he started to turn away. There was nothing here. No answers to the thousands of questions that lurked at the edge of his mind. Then, just before he actually began descending the ladder, something caught his eye.
There, in the corner of the cockpit, next to the controls lay a pair of datacards. Luke reached for them, suddenly feeling as if he had found what he was looking for. He pocketed the two small objects and jumped down from the cockpit, using the Force to soften the fall.
He walked as quickly as he could without running, eager to return to his quarters and inspect his find.
*^*^*^*^*
He practically barreled through the door to his room, and then stopped. He glanced around the sleeping chamber again, convinced that something was different or wrong. His eyes scanned every object in the room. Everything was in place, neatly arranged as he had left it. The bed was made, there was even the tray of uneaten food sitting on the small table. So why did it feel as if something was out of place?
With a sudden ripple of fear, Luke rushed to the computer terminal. He slid his hand along the wall next to it, feeling for the slight space between the wall and the machine. He reached in and felt his fingers brush the hidden datacard. He pulled it from its place and looked it over.
Not this then, he thought to himself as he inspected it. He placed the card back into the hiding place.
The feeling still tugged at him, but he didn't understand what it was trying to tell him. He looked around the room again, taking in the bare walls and sparse furnishings. Frustrated, he drove the feeling away.
Luke walked to the table and sat down in front of the tray of food. He felt vaguely hungry, but was far more interested in the contents of the datacards he had taken from the X-Wing.
The first one, it turned out, contained pictures. The first few were of people he didn't recognize. Some mechanics stood laughing over a droid of some sort, several pilots sat together, talking, a middle aged human woman scowled while standing in what looked like a med bay, clearly ordering the person who had taken the picture out of her domain. Rebels, he realized with a feeling of disgust.
Then the people began to look familiar. He recognized Jarru and Brake instantly, having seen them only a short time ago, and the slow realization of who the others were began to sink in. They looked so different. Their faces had changed, they had matured, but their expressions were the same as the vague memories he still held on to. The one person absent from all the pictures was Biggs, which meant that this had to be his.
He scrolled though the pictures faster, as the content changed again. Now he was looking at pictures of Tatooine, and Anchorhead. Most of them were of Biggs' family, but one, the second to last picture on the card stood out. It was Luke, and his friends, taken when he had been no more then nine years old. They crowed together, grinning. He remembered when the picture had been taken at Biggs' eleventh birthday, remembered smiling as Biggs' father took it. They were all there. Biggs stood at the front with Tullen, Jarru, and Luke himself, while Brake, Tinker, and Coric stood behind them.
Feelings of pain and guilt assaulted him again and he almost thew both of the datacards in the refuse, almost. He forced himself to look at the last picture. The same group stood together, except they were all older, and instead of the buildings of Anchorhead, a hangar filled with rebel ships stood in the background. Every one of them was in the same place as in the last picture, except between Biggs and Tullen was an empty space, his space.
He forced himself to look at the picture harder. No, their expressions weren't the same, they had all changed. The innocence and joy that had once filled their eyes was gone, long ago replaced by determination. Biggs' smile, once so easy and joyful, now looked almost sad.
He placed the datacard down, and looked at the next one. It was almost empty, save for a draft of a letter to Biggs' father. Luke began to read, and almost found he couldn't continue, it was too painful.
Dear Father, The letter began.
I know you didn't approve of my leaving to join the rebellion, and we really haven't been able to see eye to eye since, but I thought I could at least try to explain why I felt I had to go. Almost ten years ago, my best friend, Luke, disappeared, and Owen and Beru Lars were murdered. Most people just thought that they had been killed by sand people. They weren't.
I was there when it happened. It wasn't sand people, it was the Empire. I know you remember that day when Tinker, Jarru, and I were gone all night. We saw it happen. We kept our mouths shut because we didn't think anyone would believe us.
Dad, Darth Vader was there. They were after Luke. This old man, Kenobi, said it was because Luke's father used to be a Jedi.
Luke's dead. They killed him, they must have. I had to go, Dad, I had to. Everyday we hear more stories of atrocities, slavery, mass executions, and torture. I couldn't just hope that they would never come back to Tatooine. Someone has to do something.
The Alliance's cause is really worth fighting for. You always told me to stand up for myself. I know what we're doing is right, we can only hope we have a chance against them.
I'll try to get this letter sent out soon, and I'll write again, I promise.
Love, Biggs
Suddenly exhausted, Luke hid the datacards, and collapsed onto his bed. It was a lie, it all had to be, Alliance propaganda, nothing more. His father wasn't a Jedi, he told himself as felt himself falling asleep.
"Foolish child! Do as I say!"
He blinked blood and sweat out of his eyes, desperately trying to concentrate on the small block of stone in front of him. It wasn't working. The shooting pain in his leg from his last collision with the wall kept distracting him.
"I can't! It hurts too much!"
"Idiot child! Use your pain! Use it to fuel your anger and give you strength!"
He tried, but couldn't find any anger to hold onto, only pain and fear. He was terrified that the Emperor would again demonstrate the ability by slamming him into the wall. He tried not to look at his leg, he knew it lay at an unnatural angle.
He reached out and searched for anger, searched for the Force. He felt a spark within him, he hated the Emperor, hated this place, hated every imperial guard in the palace. He focused on that feeling, tried to draw from it. The block of stone lifted a few inches, then a few feet into the air, and stayed there wavering. He felt a sudden rush of elation and relief. He had done it at last, maybe now he would be given rest.
The block suddenly plummeted to the floor, stopping a bare inch above the polished marble. Up on the throne, the Emperor sat. He could feel the power emanating from his tormentor, feel him holding the stone.
The block was slowly lowered to the floor. He waited where he lay, panting, glad for the reprieve, however short. He didn't know what he had done wrong. He had felt it, felt the power, and for once actually manged to control it, but then it had slipped away from him. He didn't know why.
"Foolish boy. Do not release your anger so easily." the Emperor hissed, slowly stepping from the platform. He flinched, reflexively, fearing more pain to come.
The Emperor stopped and stood there, inspecting him. He felt the cold of that gaze, the sheer power and darkness. He started to shiver. The Emperor turned around suddenly, and settled himself back into his seat.
"I grow weary of this," he said, settling back and watching Luke, now struggling to sit up on the cold floor. "Lord Vader, get this thing away from me and bring it back when it's ready to continue."
Luke looked up in alarm as a dark figure strode from the shadows. Only now could he hear the hissing sound of the respirator. Darth Vader, his father, walked towards him. He thought he heard Vader say something to the Emperor, but he couldn't focus on it, he was filled with relief that the lesson was over.
He felt Vader lift him, and as he did, the pain in his leg seemed to disappear. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off into sleep.
His dreams changed form and became shadowy figures, attacking him from the darkness. He fought against them, but his tormentors were always close, no matter how hard he struggled. He tried to lash out but couldn't, feeling himself held fast. A voice was questioning him, demanding answers he knew he couldn't give. He wouldn't give in, never, no matter what they did. His mind felt cloudy, somehow wrong. He couldn't control his thoughts but he held on to himself, refusing to give them what they wanted. A sharp pain stung him, filling his veins with liquid fire. He felt himself shuddering from the agony. He tried to fight it, tried ever harder to hold on to his purpose. At long last the figures seemed to fade away into the darkness from which they had come and he let himself fall into oblivion again.
Luke awoke with a start. He lay still for a short time, letting his breath slow. His dreams remained clear. Most of them had been familiar, the same scenes and feelings replayed themselves a thousand times in nightmares. The last dream, however, had been different.
It wasn't that he hadn't had dreams of shadowy horrors before, quite the opposite. But this one hadn't been the same as the others he often had. Through out the entire nightmare he had felt a sense of purpose, a determination that was foreign to him. He had only felt such a sense of focus once, recently, when he had touched the princess' mind.
The princess!
The princess must have been under going interrogation. Somehow the ease with which he had read her thoughts had allowed he pain to seep into his dreams. He reached out for her, calling to her mind. The connection was almost impossibly easy to create. Once he did he could feel her pain and shifting, half drugged thoughts. She was curled into a ball on the slab that served as a bed in her cell, nursing her wounds. He could sense her emotions, pain, fear, and... triumph.
She had resisted the torture. She hadn't told them what they wanted to know. She had fought until Vader had left, defeated. Luke felt brief joy at her success, and then squashed it mercilessly. If this princess didn't give them the location of the rebel base then Luke would have to pull it from captive rebel pilots... but if she did she would be killed immediately. He couldn't bare the thought of her dying. He didn't know what he could do for any of them. No matter what happened, no matter what he did, he would lose. He hadn't felt so helpless in years.
It was his fault, his fault that Coric was dead now. Guilt surged within him yet again, but this time he couldn't repress it. He had ordered the X- Wing destroyed when it had begun the jump to light speed. He had killed him. The pain he felt at that thought was as incomprehensible as it was unbearable. He had ordered deaths before, and been personally responsible for others. He had served as the Emperor's assassin without feeling any remorse. But he knew Coric, he was part of a memory from a happier time, a memory that had almost been lost to him until the encounter with his childhood friends save for in fleeting dreams. A memory that he had locked away for fear the Emperor would seek out and harm his old friends. Could he help the others?
He shook that notion away. He was a servant of the Empire. He would not even begin to consider the rebels as anything other than the traitors they were. Except...
His... friends were in danger. He wanted to protect them, but he couldn't even begin to understand how. He had already helped them once. When he had entered that cell he had felt Brake's failing life force. He had done what little he could by ordering medical assistance. It was an action easily explained away, but no matter how many times he repeated the excuse to himself, he still couldn't make himself believe it. Some part of him insisted that he repay Coric's memory by helping them further. It was the same part that felt pain at the knowledge of the princess' fate.
Luke stood up. He would go to the brig and see what he could do, maybe he could save them, somehow. He reached out through the Force, trying to find his father. Vader was resting, Luke could just barely feel the edges of faint, flickering, thoughts. If his father was resting, then he at least wouldn't have to worry about him sensing his intentions. While Luke could hide things from his father that Vader had no knowledge of by pushing them from conscious thought, Luke doubted he would succeed in directly deceiving him again.
He dressed and ate slowly, considering what he was on the brink of doing. Brake would be returned to the cell soon, if he wasn't there already. He could make it look like he was going to begin the interrogations.
Luke didn't know what was happening to him. He would never have even considered disobeying his father or the Emperor before. The very notion was enough to make his stomach turn and his hands shake. But somehow, this felt important. He knew what he had to do, and if his father found out afterwords, if his father told the Emperor... Fear began to creep up his spine. If it happened, he would deal with it then.
His resolve strengthened, he pulled the cowl of his cloak up over his face, and walked out into the hallway. He strode through the corridors so quickly and with such determination that he was almost surprised when he found himself facing the entrance to the cell block. Within, two officers still sat at the monitors. He passed then without thought or comment. He walked passed the princess' cell, stopping for only a minute at the feelings of pain coming from inside. He could do nothing for her now, maybe he would return to speak with her later.
A different guard waited outside the pilot's cell. Luke walked forward to address him. "I don't need you here right now. Go wait at the cell block entrance."
"But my lord..." the man began to protest.
"I said go."
The guards eyes widened. He barely manged to finish bowing before taking off.
Luke waited before entering. Inside he could feel three people's emotions. They were worried about their missing companion.
Luke opened the cell door and stepped inside. Their eyes shot up to watch him the moment he entered. The Wookiee growled fiercely, and Jarru just glared at him suspiciously.
"Where's Brake?" Biggs asked the moment the door closed. His voice was filled with both suspicion and concern. He didn't look like he had gotten any rest in the hours since Luke visited them last, none of them did.
"He's in the med bay being treated for his injuries. He'll be brought back soon," Luke said, leaning against the wall.
"Did you...?" Biggs didn't quite finish, but Luke knew what he wanted to know.
"Yes, I ordered the treatment," he responded.
"Why?"
The question caught Luke off guard. He waited for a few seconds before answering, and decided to stick with the truth, they only truth he was sure of.
"He would have died if he hadn't received medical care." When Biggs just watched him, silent, Luke decided to continue. "I think you know why I'm here, what duty I've been assigned."
Biggs nodded saying, "You're suppose to interrogate us." Jarru remained silent, surprisingly. Biggs must have told her he would handle it. Biggs met Luke's gaze. "Will you?"
Luke sighed, dropping his eyes, unable to meet the questions in Biggs' expression. "No, I won't."
Biggs smiled, Luke could feel his relief through the Force. "Not that it would make much difference, we don't know where it is anyway."
"What?" Luke asked, taken by surprise. He could tell that Biggs was telling the truth. Not only did he feel it through the Force, but Biggs was also a terrible liar.
"We don't know where the Alliance base is. The base we were sent out from was being evacuated, we weren't given the new coordinates," Biggs replied, shrugging.
"How come?"
"In case we were captured."
Luke nodded, assimilating this new information. It might change things, make them easier. It did make sense. If the rebels were going through such great lengths to hide their base, they would obviously make certain as few people knew it as possible.
The princess knew, she had to, but she was his father's business, not his. He shouldn't concern himself with her.
"Luke?" Biggs asked quietly. "How did you get here? What happened after Vader took you away?"
"That's none of your concern," Luke responded, looking away and crossing his arms, unable to deal with the sympathy in his friend's voice. Luke could feel Biggs' steady gaze on him, but he didn't turn back.
"I'm your friend, Luke, tell me..."
"I am not the boy you knew anymore," Luke responded, unable to keep the slowly building anger out of his voice.
Biggs was silent for a few minutes. "Why are you helping us?" he asked eventually.
I... I didn't want to see you, any of you, hurt..." The came as if they had been ripped from his throat, but for some reason he didn't think he could lie to them.
"I knew it was still you, Luke. Whatever they did to you, you're..." Biggs tried to say, his voice full of sympathy.
Luke felt a burst of uncontrolled anger. He didn't want or need this pity. He just wanted to get them out of his life, so that everything could go back to how it was before, before his emotions had been turned upside down. He wasn't doing it for them. "Save your sympathy for someone who deserves it, Biggs," he hissed.
He turned and stormed out the door before any of them could reply. It didn't think he could deal with them anymore, at least not just yet. He didn't try to control his emotions. Anger at least was something he was used to. It was a strange thing to take comfort in, but as long as he focused on it, it kept him from having to sort out his conflicting thoughts.
He stopped at the turn that led to the small control area and leaned against the wall, anger suddenly dissipating of its own accord, replaced by guilt and fear. He didn't know why but he couldn't stay angry.
He couldn't leave just yet either. The prison records had to show that he had been there for a long enough time to conduct a real interrogation or his father would surely get suspicious.
Luke's head jerked up as he realized which cell door he was leaning against. He could sense the princess inside, nursing her wounds.
Before Luke knew it, he was opening the door to speak with her.
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Leia sat with her back pressed against the wall and her arms tight around he knees. She could still feel the aftereffects of the drugs they had injected her with. She felt dizzy and tired, but at least the worst was over... for now anyway.
She felt hopelessness creeping up on her, but she pushed it away. She wouldn't let them brake her. She had too much to lose, too many people's lives depended on her. Even if she had failed in getting them the Death Star plans, she wouldn't let them down again. As long as the Alliance survived there was still hope.
The door to her cell suddenly slid open. Leia looked up, her heart racing, thinking that Vader had returned to continue his work. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it wasn't him. Instead the young man who had brought her to the cell in the first place, stepped inside.
He entered slowly, stopping to consider her from across the cell. He looked as if he wanted to say something. She watched him back, carefully. His blue eyes glinted at her from underneath his cowl. He looked so boyish, so innocent, it was hard to believe he was working for the Empire. The pain she had seen in his eyes made her want to protect him.
No, this was Darth Vader's son, she reminded herself. He had probably been sent to try and get the base location from her.
She straitened her back, lowered her feet to the floor, and adjusted her dress. No Sith spawned son of Vader was going to see her cowering on a bench. She ignored the sense of wooziness that came from the drugs, pulling royal dignity around her like a shield. She was a princess of Alderaan, she had faced down Darth Vader's tortures, she could face down this strange young man.
"Here to finish what your father started?" she asked acidly. He seemed taken aback by that. He watched her, looking uncertain. He looked as if he was about to say something, but though better of it. "Well?" she demanded.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Princess," he said, eyes narrowing. "I shouldn't have come here. Please accept my apologies," he told her coldly, and then turned to exit.
"Wait!" she called to him. His hand stopped an inch from the control panel. He turned to look back at her.
She didn't know why, but she didn't want him to leave. Somehow she took comfort from his presence. Maybe it was that she had been locked in a cell, alone, since he had left her there, maybe it was because he was the only person she had spoken to since being captured who hadn't been pointing a blaster at her head... or trying to torture her, but she didn't want him to go.
His kept his gaze on her. She shivered. There was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel like he was looking right through her.
"Yes, Princess?" he prompted.
"Why did you come here?" she asked him. Confusion flickered across his face, making him seem vulnerable for a short time.
"I... I don't know," he answered hesitantly. He scowled at her plainly disbelieving expression. "As I said, Princess, I apologize for having bothered you."
He began to turn back to the door. Leia stood up to say something to him. She staggered, suddenly dizzy. Next thing she knew he was holding her, helping her to her feet. She felt an odd tingling and the dizziness faded away, along with the other aftereffects of the interrogation drugs.
She looked up at him and into blue eyes filled with concern. There was no coldness in them, he looked so different just then. He was still holding her. She was so close she could feel his breath on her face. Her heart began to beat faster. She couldn't think straight. Force, he was handsome.
Overwhelmed by a sense of wrongness, the two of them pushed away from each other at the same time.
Leia caught herself on the wall behind her and stared, wide eyed at him. He stared back, clearly as confused as she was. He swallowed a few times, looking weirdly childish, before regaining his composure, or some of it at least.
"I'm sorry, Princess... I... I have to go." With that he turned from her and out the door. This time she didn't try to stop him.
What had she been thinking? He was the son of one of the Alliance's greatest enemies. He was a Sith. Why did she feel she had to trust him? It defied all logic, but something, something she couldn't identify, had told her that he would protect her if he could.
Okay, that's it for today. Goodbye and may the Force be with you... or something.
As of my posting this I have fifty-one reviews. Cool.
This chapter has a bit more character development for Luke, and is written from his and Leia's POV. I'm afraid it's is a little slow, it's a long one so please bare with me. Things should speed up a bit soon.
Broken Wings Chapter Seven
Luke pressed his hand against the side of the captured X-Wing. He still didn't know what he was looking for, but he felt that he could find answers, or at least direction, here.
The X-Wing design was unfamiliar. He had only see them in battle a few times, and had only flown against them once. They had been a challenge, even for his TIE advanced, and had cut a swath through the unshielded regular TIEs. They weren't as maneuverable as the smaller TIEs, but they made up for that with the edition of shields and more powerful weapons, not to mention the hyperdrive.
To the Empire lives were cheap. With almost an infinite supply of potential pilots, imperial engineers were concerned with being able to create an inexpensive fighter that could be mass produced, but that would be maneuverable enough in combat to challenge slower rebel ships. Unlike the rebels, whose ships were defensive, but also equipped with hyperdrives to allow quick hit-and-run missions.
Luke stepped between two of the fighters. He ran his fingers over the rebel insignia on the sides. "Dune Squadron," it read, recalling vague images of Tatooine. He wasn't certain how or why, but he felt a longing to watch the twin suns set again. Though he couldn't call up images of what the suns had looked like, the feeling was still powerful. He tried to retrieve half-formed memories, but eventually brushed them away when they remained outside his grasp.
He reached for the ladder on the fighter he was inspecting. He climbed up the bars and looked into the cockpit. He let his gaze slip over the controls, searching. The seat had been fixed with some sort of tape at some point, and by the crumbs it looked like someone had been eating in here.
He shook his head in disgust as he started to turn away. There was nothing here. No answers to the thousands of questions that lurked at the edge of his mind. Then, just before he actually began descending the ladder, something caught his eye.
There, in the corner of the cockpit, next to the controls lay a pair of datacards. Luke reached for them, suddenly feeling as if he had found what he was looking for. He pocketed the two small objects and jumped down from the cockpit, using the Force to soften the fall.
He walked as quickly as he could without running, eager to return to his quarters and inspect his find.
*^*^*^*^*
He practically barreled through the door to his room, and then stopped. He glanced around the sleeping chamber again, convinced that something was different or wrong. His eyes scanned every object in the room. Everything was in place, neatly arranged as he had left it. The bed was made, there was even the tray of uneaten food sitting on the small table. So why did it feel as if something was out of place?
With a sudden ripple of fear, Luke rushed to the computer terminal. He slid his hand along the wall next to it, feeling for the slight space between the wall and the machine. He reached in and felt his fingers brush the hidden datacard. He pulled it from its place and looked it over.
Not this then, he thought to himself as he inspected it. He placed the card back into the hiding place.
The feeling still tugged at him, but he didn't understand what it was trying to tell him. He looked around the room again, taking in the bare walls and sparse furnishings. Frustrated, he drove the feeling away.
Luke walked to the table and sat down in front of the tray of food. He felt vaguely hungry, but was far more interested in the contents of the datacards he had taken from the X-Wing.
The first one, it turned out, contained pictures. The first few were of people he didn't recognize. Some mechanics stood laughing over a droid of some sort, several pilots sat together, talking, a middle aged human woman scowled while standing in what looked like a med bay, clearly ordering the person who had taken the picture out of her domain. Rebels, he realized with a feeling of disgust.
Then the people began to look familiar. He recognized Jarru and Brake instantly, having seen them only a short time ago, and the slow realization of who the others were began to sink in. They looked so different. Their faces had changed, they had matured, but their expressions were the same as the vague memories he still held on to. The one person absent from all the pictures was Biggs, which meant that this had to be his.
He scrolled though the pictures faster, as the content changed again. Now he was looking at pictures of Tatooine, and Anchorhead. Most of them were of Biggs' family, but one, the second to last picture on the card stood out. It was Luke, and his friends, taken when he had been no more then nine years old. They crowed together, grinning. He remembered when the picture had been taken at Biggs' eleventh birthday, remembered smiling as Biggs' father took it. They were all there. Biggs stood at the front with Tullen, Jarru, and Luke himself, while Brake, Tinker, and Coric stood behind them.
Feelings of pain and guilt assaulted him again and he almost thew both of the datacards in the refuse, almost. He forced himself to look at the last picture. The same group stood together, except they were all older, and instead of the buildings of Anchorhead, a hangar filled with rebel ships stood in the background. Every one of them was in the same place as in the last picture, except between Biggs and Tullen was an empty space, his space.
He forced himself to look at the picture harder. No, their expressions weren't the same, they had all changed. The innocence and joy that had once filled their eyes was gone, long ago replaced by determination. Biggs' smile, once so easy and joyful, now looked almost sad.
He placed the datacard down, and looked at the next one. It was almost empty, save for a draft of a letter to Biggs' father. Luke began to read, and almost found he couldn't continue, it was too painful.
Dear Father, The letter began.
I know you didn't approve of my leaving to join the rebellion, and we really haven't been able to see eye to eye since, but I thought I could at least try to explain why I felt I had to go. Almost ten years ago, my best friend, Luke, disappeared, and Owen and Beru Lars were murdered. Most people just thought that they had been killed by sand people. They weren't.
I was there when it happened. It wasn't sand people, it was the Empire. I know you remember that day when Tinker, Jarru, and I were gone all night. We saw it happen. We kept our mouths shut because we didn't think anyone would believe us.
Dad, Darth Vader was there. They were after Luke. This old man, Kenobi, said it was because Luke's father used to be a Jedi.
Luke's dead. They killed him, they must have. I had to go, Dad, I had to. Everyday we hear more stories of atrocities, slavery, mass executions, and torture. I couldn't just hope that they would never come back to Tatooine. Someone has to do something.
The Alliance's cause is really worth fighting for. You always told me to stand up for myself. I know what we're doing is right, we can only hope we have a chance against them.
I'll try to get this letter sent out soon, and I'll write again, I promise.
Love, Biggs
Suddenly exhausted, Luke hid the datacards, and collapsed onto his bed. It was a lie, it all had to be, Alliance propaganda, nothing more. His father wasn't a Jedi, he told himself as felt himself falling asleep.
"Foolish child! Do as I say!"
He blinked blood and sweat out of his eyes, desperately trying to concentrate on the small block of stone in front of him. It wasn't working. The shooting pain in his leg from his last collision with the wall kept distracting him.
"I can't! It hurts too much!"
"Idiot child! Use your pain! Use it to fuel your anger and give you strength!"
He tried, but couldn't find any anger to hold onto, only pain and fear. He was terrified that the Emperor would again demonstrate the ability by slamming him into the wall. He tried not to look at his leg, he knew it lay at an unnatural angle.
He reached out and searched for anger, searched for the Force. He felt a spark within him, he hated the Emperor, hated this place, hated every imperial guard in the palace. He focused on that feeling, tried to draw from it. The block of stone lifted a few inches, then a few feet into the air, and stayed there wavering. He felt a sudden rush of elation and relief. He had done it at last, maybe now he would be given rest.
The block suddenly plummeted to the floor, stopping a bare inch above the polished marble. Up on the throne, the Emperor sat. He could feel the power emanating from his tormentor, feel him holding the stone.
The block was slowly lowered to the floor. He waited where he lay, panting, glad for the reprieve, however short. He didn't know what he had done wrong. He had felt it, felt the power, and for once actually manged to control it, but then it had slipped away from him. He didn't know why.
"Foolish boy. Do not release your anger so easily." the Emperor hissed, slowly stepping from the platform. He flinched, reflexively, fearing more pain to come.
The Emperor stopped and stood there, inspecting him. He felt the cold of that gaze, the sheer power and darkness. He started to shiver. The Emperor turned around suddenly, and settled himself back into his seat.
"I grow weary of this," he said, settling back and watching Luke, now struggling to sit up on the cold floor. "Lord Vader, get this thing away from me and bring it back when it's ready to continue."
Luke looked up in alarm as a dark figure strode from the shadows. Only now could he hear the hissing sound of the respirator. Darth Vader, his father, walked towards him. He thought he heard Vader say something to the Emperor, but he couldn't focus on it, he was filled with relief that the lesson was over.
He felt Vader lift him, and as he did, the pain in his leg seemed to disappear. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off into sleep.
His dreams changed form and became shadowy figures, attacking him from the darkness. He fought against them, but his tormentors were always close, no matter how hard he struggled. He tried to lash out but couldn't, feeling himself held fast. A voice was questioning him, demanding answers he knew he couldn't give. He wouldn't give in, never, no matter what they did. His mind felt cloudy, somehow wrong. He couldn't control his thoughts but he held on to himself, refusing to give them what they wanted. A sharp pain stung him, filling his veins with liquid fire. He felt himself shuddering from the agony. He tried to fight it, tried ever harder to hold on to his purpose. At long last the figures seemed to fade away into the darkness from which they had come and he let himself fall into oblivion again.
Luke awoke with a start. He lay still for a short time, letting his breath slow. His dreams remained clear. Most of them had been familiar, the same scenes and feelings replayed themselves a thousand times in nightmares. The last dream, however, had been different.
It wasn't that he hadn't had dreams of shadowy horrors before, quite the opposite. But this one hadn't been the same as the others he often had. Through out the entire nightmare he had felt a sense of purpose, a determination that was foreign to him. He had only felt such a sense of focus once, recently, when he had touched the princess' mind.
The princess!
The princess must have been under going interrogation. Somehow the ease with which he had read her thoughts had allowed he pain to seep into his dreams. He reached out for her, calling to her mind. The connection was almost impossibly easy to create. Once he did he could feel her pain and shifting, half drugged thoughts. She was curled into a ball on the slab that served as a bed in her cell, nursing her wounds. He could sense her emotions, pain, fear, and... triumph.
She had resisted the torture. She hadn't told them what they wanted to know. She had fought until Vader had left, defeated. Luke felt brief joy at her success, and then squashed it mercilessly. If this princess didn't give them the location of the rebel base then Luke would have to pull it from captive rebel pilots... but if she did she would be killed immediately. He couldn't bare the thought of her dying. He didn't know what he could do for any of them. No matter what happened, no matter what he did, he would lose. He hadn't felt so helpless in years.
It was his fault, his fault that Coric was dead now. Guilt surged within him yet again, but this time he couldn't repress it. He had ordered the X- Wing destroyed when it had begun the jump to light speed. He had killed him. The pain he felt at that thought was as incomprehensible as it was unbearable. He had ordered deaths before, and been personally responsible for others. He had served as the Emperor's assassin without feeling any remorse. But he knew Coric, he was part of a memory from a happier time, a memory that had almost been lost to him until the encounter with his childhood friends save for in fleeting dreams. A memory that he had locked away for fear the Emperor would seek out and harm his old friends. Could he help the others?
He shook that notion away. He was a servant of the Empire. He would not even begin to consider the rebels as anything other than the traitors they were. Except...
His... friends were in danger. He wanted to protect them, but he couldn't even begin to understand how. He had already helped them once. When he had entered that cell he had felt Brake's failing life force. He had done what little he could by ordering medical assistance. It was an action easily explained away, but no matter how many times he repeated the excuse to himself, he still couldn't make himself believe it. Some part of him insisted that he repay Coric's memory by helping them further. It was the same part that felt pain at the knowledge of the princess' fate.
Luke stood up. He would go to the brig and see what he could do, maybe he could save them, somehow. He reached out through the Force, trying to find his father. Vader was resting, Luke could just barely feel the edges of faint, flickering, thoughts. If his father was resting, then he at least wouldn't have to worry about him sensing his intentions. While Luke could hide things from his father that Vader had no knowledge of by pushing them from conscious thought, Luke doubted he would succeed in directly deceiving him again.
He dressed and ate slowly, considering what he was on the brink of doing. Brake would be returned to the cell soon, if he wasn't there already. He could make it look like he was going to begin the interrogations.
Luke didn't know what was happening to him. He would never have even considered disobeying his father or the Emperor before. The very notion was enough to make his stomach turn and his hands shake. But somehow, this felt important. He knew what he had to do, and if his father found out afterwords, if his father told the Emperor... Fear began to creep up his spine. If it happened, he would deal with it then.
His resolve strengthened, he pulled the cowl of his cloak up over his face, and walked out into the hallway. He strode through the corridors so quickly and with such determination that he was almost surprised when he found himself facing the entrance to the cell block. Within, two officers still sat at the monitors. He passed then without thought or comment. He walked passed the princess' cell, stopping for only a minute at the feelings of pain coming from inside. He could do nothing for her now, maybe he would return to speak with her later.
A different guard waited outside the pilot's cell. Luke walked forward to address him. "I don't need you here right now. Go wait at the cell block entrance."
"But my lord..." the man began to protest.
"I said go."
The guards eyes widened. He barely manged to finish bowing before taking off.
Luke waited before entering. Inside he could feel three people's emotions. They were worried about their missing companion.
Luke opened the cell door and stepped inside. Their eyes shot up to watch him the moment he entered. The Wookiee growled fiercely, and Jarru just glared at him suspiciously.
"Where's Brake?" Biggs asked the moment the door closed. His voice was filled with both suspicion and concern. He didn't look like he had gotten any rest in the hours since Luke visited them last, none of them did.
"He's in the med bay being treated for his injuries. He'll be brought back soon," Luke said, leaning against the wall.
"Did you...?" Biggs didn't quite finish, but Luke knew what he wanted to know.
"Yes, I ordered the treatment," he responded.
"Why?"
The question caught Luke off guard. He waited for a few seconds before answering, and decided to stick with the truth, they only truth he was sure of.
"He would have died if he hadn't received medical care." When Biggs just watched him, silent, Luke decided to continue. "I think you know why I'm here, what duty I've been assigned."
Biggs nodded saying, "You're suppose to interrogate us." Jarru remained silent, surprisingly. Biggs must have told her he would handle it. Biggs met Luke's gaze. "Will you?"
Luke sighed, dropping his eyes, unable to meet the questions in Biggs' expression. "No, I won't."
Biggs smiled, Luke could feel his relief through the Force. "Not that it would make much difference, we don't know where it is anyway."
"What?" Luke asked, taken by surprise. He could tell that Biggs was telling the truth. Not only did he feel it through the Force, but Biggs was also a terrible liar.
"We don't know where the Alliance base is. The base we were sent out from was being evacuated, we weren't given the new coordinates," Biggs replied, shrugging.
"How come?"
"In case we were captured."
Luke nodded, assimilating this new information. It might change things, make them easier. It did make sense. If the rebels were going through such great lengths to hide their base, they would obviously make certain as few people knew it as possible.
The princess knew, she had to, but she was his father's business, not his. He shouldn't concern himself with her.
"Luke?" Biggs asked quietly. "How did you get here? What happened after Vader took you away?"
"That's none of your concern," Luke responded, looking away and crossing his arms, unable to deal with the sympathy in his friend's voice. Luke could feel Biggs' steady gaze on him, but he didn't turn back.
"I'm your friend, Luke, tell me..."
"I am not the boy you knew anymore," Luke responded, unable to keep the slowly building anger out of his voice.
Biggs was silent for a few minutes. "Why are you helping us?" he asked eventually.
I... I didn't want to see you, any of you, hurt..." The came as if they had been ripped from his throat, but for some reason he didn't think he could lie to them.
"I knew it was still you, Luke. Whatever they did to you, you're..." Biggs tried to say, his voice full of sympathy.
Luke felt a burst of uncontrolled anger. He didn't want or need this pity. He just wanted to get them out of his life, so that everything could go back to how it was before, before his emotions had been turned upside down. He wasn't doing it for them. "Save your sympathy for someone who deserves it, Biggs," he hissed.
He turned and stormed out the door before any of them could reply. It didn't think he could deal with them anymore, at least not just yet. He didn't try to control his emotions. Anger at least was something he was used to. It was a strange thing to take comfort in, but as long as he focused on it, it kept him from having to sort out his conflicting thoughts.
He stopped at the turn that led to the small control area and leaned against the wall, anger suddenly dissipating of its own accord, replaced by guilt and fear. He didn't know why but he couldn't stay angry.
He couldn't leave just yet either. The prison records had to show that he had been there for a long enough time to conduct a real interrogation or his father would surely get suspicious.
Luke's head jerked up as he realized which cell door he was leaning against. He could sense the princess inside, nursing her wounds.
Before Luke knew it, he was opening the door to speak with her.
*^*^*^*^*
Leia sat with her back pressed against the wall and her arms tight around he knees. She could still feel the aftereffects of the drugs they had injected her with. She felt dizzy and tired, but at least the worst was over... for now anyway.
She felt hopelessness creeping up on her, but she pushed it away. She wouldn't let them brake her. She had too much to lose, too many people's lives depended on her. Even if she had failed in getting them the Death Star plans, she wouldn't let them down again. As long as the Alliance survived there was still hope.
The door to her cell suddenly slid open. Leia looked up, her heart racing, thinking that Vader had returned to continue his work. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it wasn't him. Instead the young man who had brought her to the cell in the first place, stepped inside.
He entered slowly, stopping to consider her from across the cell. He looked as if he wanted to say something. She watched him back, carefully. His blue eyes glinted at her from underneath his cowl. He looked so boyish, so innocent, it was hard to believe he was working for the Empire. The pain she had seen in his eyes made her want to protect him.
No, this was Darth Vader's son, she reminded herself. He had probably been sent to try and get the base location from her.
She straitened her back, lowered her feet to the floor, and adjusted her dress. No Sith spawned son of Vader was going to see her cowering on a bench. She ignored the sense of wooziness that came from the drugs, pulling royal dignity around her like a shield. She was a princess of Alderaan, she had faced down Darth Vader's tortures, she could face down this strange young man.
"Here to finish what your father started?" she asked acidly. He seemed taken aback by that. He watched her, looking uncertain. He looked as if he was about to say something, but though better of it. "Well?" she demanded.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Princess," he said, eyes narrowing. "I shouldn't have come here. Please accept my apologies," he told her coldly, and then turned to exit.
"Wait!" she called to him. His hand stopped an inch from the control panel. He turned to look back at her.
She didn't know why, but she didn't want him to leave. Somehow she took comfort from his presence. Maybe it was that she had been locked in a cell, alone, since he had left her there, maybe it was because he was the only person she had spoken to since being captured who hadn't been pointing a blaster at her head... or trying to torture her, but she didn't want him to go.
His kept his gaze on her. She shivered. There was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel like he was looking right through her.
"Yes, Princess?" he prompted.
"Why did you come here?" she asked him. Confusion flickered across his face, making him seem vulnerable for a short time.
"I... I don't know," he answered hesitantly. He scowled at her plainly disbelieving expression. "As I said, Princess, I apologize for having bothered you."
He began to turn back to the door. Leia stood up to say something to him. She staggered, suddenly dizzy. Next thing she knew he was holding her, helping her to her feet. She felt an odd tingling and the dizziness faded away, along with the other aftereffects of the interrogation drugs.
She looked up at him and into blue eyes filled with concern. There was no coldness in them, he looked so different just then. He was still holding her. She was so close she could feel his breath on her face. Her heart began to beat faster. She couldn't think straight. Force, he was handsome.
Overwhelmed by a sense of wrongness, the two of them pushed away from each other at the same time.
Leia caught herself on the wall behind her and stared, wide eyed at him. He stared back, clearly as confused as she was. He swallowed a few times, looking weirdly childish, before regaining his composure, or some of it at least.
"I'm sorry, Princess... I... I have to go." With that he turned from her and out the door. This time she didn't try to stop him.
What had she been thinking? He was the son of one of the Alliance's greatest enemies. He was a Sith. Why did she feel she had to trust him? It defied all logic, but something, something she couldn't identify, had told her that he would protect her if he could.
Okay, that's it for today. Goodbye and may the Force be with you... or something.