Disclaimer: You know the drill--characters belong to George Lucas, and he's the one who makes the money off of them.


Five: Dark Force Rising

Luke woke up in a cold sweat. It probably wasn't close to morning yet, but as he bundled his shivering body beneath the blankets he knew he probably wouldn't sleep through the rest of the night. Han was snoring contentedly from the next room--Luke could use some company at the moment, but he knew that the war call of a gundark couldn't wake Han up.

Han. Ah, what a miserable mistake that was. He couldn't perceive any attachment deeper than friendship from the other--although he knew friendship was very dangerous itself. Which made Han Solo a very dangerous person. The kind of person you let your guard down with, which is the sort of thing that gets you killed. But damnit all, he lost his control.

All in all, yesterday had not been a banner day for Luke Skywalker. His behavior on the bridge, letting his passions overtake his resolve...he pulled the blankets over his head. Hide, close your eyes, maybe you'll fall asleep again and you'll feel better in the morning. But now his face burned feverishly and his mind raced. He snarled furiously and kicked off the bedclothes like a petulant child.

He was washing his face in cool water when the call came--the soft, unobtrusive, mental call that meant his father was pleased with him and wanted to discuss why. The mild fever seemed to have settled itself comfortably on his brow. He dressed slowly, buttoning his collar to his chin and sliding the black gloves onto his hands--he knew his father did not like to see the scars, the tangible evidence of his son's weaknesses.

He followed the gentle, insistent Force calling down to the bowels of the Death Star. His father would be around soon, and he tucked his hand behind his back when he sensed a presence behind him.

"You have taken to your training well, my son."

Luke did not turn to face him. "I fear I am not learning fast enough, father."

"Under the circumstances your progress is most impressive." There was no change in his voice, but Luke could sense his approval.

"Thank you, father."

"I sense a dark force rising in you. Your conduct this evening on the bridge exposed to me the true strength of this force."

"I merely lost control. There was no strength or dark force involved." Luke's back stiffened and blushed hotly.

"No. You used your anger, your hatred, and strengthened your ability to control the Force. You have finally made your decision."

So that was it--Luke cringed inwardly, realizing that his father meant to finally bring him to the Dark Side. "I am not yet strong enough to control the Dark Side. I may never be."

"You under-confidence is a weakness I am eager to correct."

"You are already aware of what my weaknesses are, father."

"No. You will be strong enough. The Emperor has foreseen your destiny, and it is time for you to face it."

"And what is this destiny?" Luke was trying to keep the sharpness out of his voice, but he hated these discussions.

"You will end the conflict with the Rebellion and bring order to the galaxy."

"I see." Luke turned to face Vadar, feeling something very close to affection radiating off of the dark figure. "I don't share your optimism, father. When the time comes, I will be ready to join you, and we shall rule the galaxy together. And purge it of Kenobi and his rebellion."

The talked to trivialities--the Rebel base found on Yavin 4, the imminent destruction of the planet as a result, the recently operational battle station. Luke spoke easily of an eagerness for the battles to be over, his progress in lightsaber training, and when he would next discuss the future or his training with the Emperor. He said he was quite excited to progress in the Force, with a new emphasis on the Dark Side. They parted, and with a sinking feeling Luke realized he was still little more than a small boy trying to please his father. This was not a pleasing thought.


"Listen, kid, about yesterday--"

"Nothing," Luke snapped. "Yesterday morning was nothing but trivial accident. An instance of inflamed passion."

"Good. Great, as long as we're on the same page." Han smiled at him over the steaming cup. "Where did you disappear to for most of this morning?"

"That is none of your concern." Luke pushed his bowl away and rested his hands on the table, lacing his fingers. "Tell me why you left the Empire. And how."

Han shrugged. He was noticing a pattern--more and more the stories were becoming a way of ending awkward conversational moments. But that was fine--he'd take a moment of storytelling over uncomfortable chatter that could get him killed any day. "The life of an officer was interesting enough, I guess. But some things, well, some things just bothered me. Like slavery. Slavery's always gotten to me, but yeah, I could deal with it in the name of the outfit that employed me. The way some of the other guys treated them...it was intolerable. They'd get bored, and when there was nothing to do they'd get sadistic."

"So it was a moral reason for defecting."

"Sorta." He squirmed. "Anyway, so this one day I met this Wookie. Something about Wookies in hard labor, I never could stomach, but this one...anyway, he introduced himself as Chewbacca, and we started communicating as best we could. He was a pretty neat fella, and said he knew how to fly damn near anything with a hyperdrive. Could fix things, too. And he was damn miserable working in the Imperial mines. I was helping oversee a spice mining operation at the time. So, I busted him out and stole a ship."

"That easily?"

Han laughed. "Not quite. When they found I was trying to defect with a stolen ship and a stolen slave, the sent about half the fleet after us. I dunno if you've ever been inside a TIE fighter, but it's damn cramped quarters for one grown man. Shove a Wookie in after him and see how easy it is to fly the thing, much less defend yourself. So I got some help."

"From who?"

"An old friend--guy called Lando who owed me a few favors. At the time he was working on a questionably legal spice operation of his own nearby. So naturally he had some pretty good defenses floating around in case the Empire decided to get neighborly. He thought I was a legit fighter though, even though I'm screaming to his command center 'hey, Lando, remember me? You owe me after Ord Mandell, and if me and this Wookie don't get out of here soon I might not make it out of here!' Course, it didn't help that I had that half the fleet screaming after me. He took a few shots at me before realizing what the hell I was saying and that I seriously needed some help. So I pretended that Lando's little fighters had gotten my wing and I spun a tight circle toward the camp--the kind of spiraling that nearly made Chewie toss his lunch--crashed the fighter in the desert and ran like hell to what I hope was Lando's control center."

"And they left you in?" Luke leaned forward, his eyes gleaming.

"They better have! I got a hell of a warm welcome from Lando, a strong drink, some work done on my ankle, and the Sabbacc game that won me the Millennium Falcon.

Luke smiled. "That's quite an impressive tale."

"Heh, thanks. Think you'll ever be allowed out of your, uh, gilded cage for a good time?"

"Gilded cage? Impressive term for a smuggler."

Han shrugged. "I've lived with you for the past few weeks--you're starting to rub off on me."

Luke laughed. "I don't anticipate being released any time soon. I suppose..." he closed his mouth quickly, then opened again, but seemed to have nothing to say.

Han leaned back in his chair. "You okay there, kid?"

Luke shook his head. "Very soon," he began slowly, "I fear I will be undertaking a very difficult and dangerous journey. Whether it is my choice or not."

"Huh?"

Luke didn't answer.

"Ah," Han said, "so it's something Force-like. Something I have no business knowing about."

"In a manner of speaking."

"Listen," Han said, leaning closer and dropping his voice, "if you're being forced into something and you want out...I can smuggle you out of here easy as that." He snapped his fingers.

"Don't even think about it," Luke said serenely, seeming to regain his composure. "We will kill you."

A clattering of boots outside the door. Luke opened it, to be greeted by frantically rushing officers and a flustered looking Piett looking in at him. "Lord Starkiller," he said hastily, "your father demands your immediate presence. The rebels are attacking the Death Star."