Hi everyone! A little action, up ahead. Thank you again for your follows and reviews!
-T.
.
.
.
.
"Sir, something for the pain?" The voice reverberated in his skull. The Too-Onebee droid seemed like his most constant companion these days, hovering, prodding, and constantly nagging in that bland, mechanical voice.
Luke shifted on the repulsor bed, shutting his eyes against the brightness of the blue-tinged artificial lighting of the room, spearing hot pokers into his skull.
He was in new quarters. A small squad of stormtroopers had marched him here a few hours ago, out of the medbay and through the pewter-gray corridors, without explanation or accommodation. Luke had struggled to keep the pace, particularly after the walk stretched on for ten minutes, nearly stumbling several times to the prodding of blaster carbines and barked orders to move quicker.
Luke wondered if Vader had authorized the move, wondered if it was in retaliation for Luke's earlier argumentativeness. He also wondered at the dark lord's absence: it had been several days since Luke had seen him. Not that he was complaining. The farther Vader stayed away from him, the better.
He couldn't really complain about the new living situation either. He was not in a detention center. The new quarters bordered on luxurious: some sort of ranking-officer's cabin. There was a comfortable bed, a small kitchenette - which Luke assumed was stocked, though he hadn't had a chance to take inventory - a private fresher, and a lounge chair near the viewport. The viewport allowed Luke to approximate his location. Near as he could tell, he was roughly near the bow, portside of what was truly a massive Star Destroyer. Racking his addled brain, he tried to recall the schematic of a regular Star Destroyer and the location of the hangar bays. His head hurt too much to calculate the distance or the time it might take him to walk that far.
The officer's cabin had some sort of closed anteroom Luke had seen when he'd been brought here. The small room had a sealed door and held several stormtroopers. If he were to make good on his plan to escape, he would need to take his guards into account.
But for now, he lay curled into the "give" of the repulsor bed, still dressed in the loose gray hospital tunic from the medbay, his head feeling like it might split into two, trying to remember the techniques Yoda had taught him for managing pain.
"Sir?" The droid repeated. Whatever had prompted Vader's decision to have him moved out of the medbay, the medical droid was apparently still part of the scene. It seemed bent on referring to him as 'sir' in spite of Luke's ambiguous status as a prisoner/forced guest aboard the ship.
"The lights," Luke mumbled, cracking his eyes slightly. "Turn them off."
There was a few seconds' delay, and then the room beyond his eyelids went completely dark. Luke breathed a cautious sigh of relief, dared to open his eyes again. The room, now bathed in chalky starlight, performed a slow, nauseating loop around him.
The Too-onebee droid was at his bedside again. Luke blinked at the glint of a hypodermic in the dim light. He drew back. "No."
"Sir, it will help with the pain."
It would also render him woozy and send him into a drugged sleep for the next twelve hours - a consequence Luke could not afford right now, not while he was trying to mentally guard against Vader, and think up his escape plan. He pushed to a sitting position, invisible hammers bashing both sides of his skull. "No," he ground out again. "The pain isn't so bad...as long as the lights are off."
The droid hesitated. Luke held his breath. Perhaps the droid was simply following orders to keep him drugged, and therefore compliant, in which case there wasn't much he could do if he didn't want to draw a larger security detail into the cabin's anteroom by giving them resistance. A small handful of stormtroopers were pretty good odds for his escape - odds he'd like to keep.
After a lengthy pause, the machine drew back. "Very well, sir. I will leave you to rest."
Luke curled back into a ball, noting peripherally that the droid moved back to the door. He reached cautiously out to the Force to bring it to bear against the stabbing pain in his temples. Past all his shields he had locked in place, he could vaguely sense Vader, at some unknown part of the ship. He shied away from the mental contact, his mind veering back to his small quarters - and then he jolted in surprise.
The woman with the red hair, striking in the severe expression on her porcelain features, and her lithe movements: she was in the anteroom outside of his cabin, with four other troopers. And she was Force-sensitive.
As he retreated to the silence of a healing trance, he wondered how he had not noticed it before…
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
By the third day left alone in his glorified prison cell, Luke had formulated a plan.
He was walking steadily on the treadmill. The machine had been brought into the cabin to replace the lounge chair, the message from the absent Vader clear: regain his strength.
Luke did not need reminding. He walked. He increased the incline, the speed, and the amount of time, until cold sweat stood out on his forehead and his ears buzzed with light-headedness. Freedom, just ahead. He pushed on.
A stormtrooper wordlessly entered the cabin and set a tray of congealed food on the small table - the first of three meals served him every day, the timing like clockwork. As Luke shut down the treadmill and turned to regard his jailor, his chest heaving with the exertion of the brisk walk/half run he'd managed for the last five minutes, the idea came to him. A plan for his escape.
He sank down at the table, and inspected the contents of the tray. The food was nutritionally balanced, but lacked aesthetic appeal. He slowly ate it anyway, his mind churning. He could grasp the utensil easily with his right hand now, having grown more accustomed to controlling the artificial hand. But he found himself using his left hand more and more often, simply because the recurring memory of Vader's crimson saber slicing through his wrist sent a phantom surge of pain through his whole arm. It was the realization, every time he used the artificial limb, that he was no longer whole - and hadn't been, for a long time, even before he lost his hand - and that the person responsible was the one person in the galaxy who should have taken the most care to ensure his well-being: his father.
That pain hurt worse than the loss of his hand; a deep, gnawing emptiness that opened wide beneath his feet, threatening to swallow him in complete darkness. A father who was supposed to love him, but didn't.
With some effort he forced his mind back to the topic of his escape. He would have to time everything precisely, and do so without raising alarms, or Vader would be breathing down his neck in under ten minutes. Then he probably would get thrown in an actual detention center, with much more stringent security that would make a second escape attempt unlikely to succeed. He would have only one shot at this, and he would have to make it count.
A sudden pull of gravity and weak flash of light nearly jolted him from his chair. Luke glanced quickly to the viewport, his eyes confirming what he instinctively already knew: the ship had just launched into hyperspace.
Tiime was running short.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
The fruit-packing plant connected to Coruscant's underworld through a narrow duracrete stair, descending five levels. Han normally did not consider himself claustrophobic until navigating that close stairwell, Chewie and Daz Moechen on his heels. He almost felt relief when they came to the door at sublevel five, keyed the code, and practically spilled out to the dank underground street.
Coruscant's underground had a certain type of smell. Han would never forget it. It brought him immediately back to the first time he ran a job for Masz Potol on the dank levels of the underworld, jittery on adrenaline and fear. He knew from that first experience on Coruscant, that the smell - a combination of garbage, dirt, industrial waste, and mildew - became stronger the farther down one descended into the sub-levels. This particular level was laser-lit with signs for cantinas and a few barricaded shops. Pedestrians loped in the shadows to the side of the street, knowing better to stray in the path of an oncoming speeder or to call attention to themselves.
The Empire's presence was virtually non-existent after the second sub-level. Each level of the city descended further into decay; crumbling structures hundreds of years old, without power or basic facilities. The inhabitants of each successive level morphed into creatures - some sentient, some not - who had never seen the light of day. Lawlessness and crime ruled on some levels, while the lowest was rumored to contain only blind slug-like creatures that prowled the darkness.
His eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, but Chewie was already moving, Daz right behind. If the other man was bothered by the appearance of the underground city, he didn't show it. Barton Meade's speeder was in the bunker near the door. Quickly, solo swiped the key fob across the scanner, and the bunker's bay door clattered open.
"Got everything you need?" Han muttered to Daz, a soldier in his late twenties, a recruit from the core worlds - private schools, the Imperial academy - a guy Solo would tend to hate on a good day. But today he needed his skills, and the upper-bred accent that would help him blend in.
The other man nodded as the speeder-top closed down over them. He was holding a package under his arm. Solo knew inside contained the uniform of a low-level ISB agent. "Got it."
Chewie was piloting, easing slowly out into the dimly-lit alleyways. "Comlink set to four-two-seven?" he asked.
Daz grunted an affirmative. They were picking up speed now, the speeder's runner lights tracking ahead, over pipes and conduits, the occasional other speeder and a few garishly-lit signs.
"We'll be back at the rendezvous point at exactly nineteen-hundred," Han told him in a low voice. Any later than that and you'll have to call for pickup. No waiting around."
"Understood," Daz answered. His eyes were searching the street up ahead, scanning for The Beleaguered Bantha. There was a little-used stairwell in the alley behind the boarded-up cantina.
"Here it is," Solo muttered, his eyes straining in the dark for passersby. Chewie slowed, Daz ducked out before the speeder actually came to a stop, and the Wookiee continued on as though nothing had happened.
Daz disappeared into the shadows immediately. Han knew that the stolen uniform under his arm was a liability this far down in the underworld. He would don it somewhere closer to the surface level, before his approach to the heavily fortified public entrance to the palace.
His was a test run. To make sure everything went according to plan.
In preparation for the actual event of busting Luke out of there.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Leia's attention was fixed on her data pad as she keyed in codes, frowned, keyed them again. Han managed to sneak up on her, making her jump as he spoke.
"Well, did Vargas deliver?"
She frowned at him, but it was a scowl out of habit, her fingers, stained purple from the fruit she'd packed last shift, tapping out another code. "I wish you'd stop doing that."
She was sitting on the narrow cot near the wall, the light in the small room dim. Han took the liberty of sitting down next to her. "Do what?"
She sighed, stared hard at the datapad. "Sneaking up on me like that."
Solo shrugged. He eyed her hands. They were shaking. "Sorry."
She forced out a loud sigh, and slammed the datapad down on the bed, meeting his eyes again, expression neutral. "Daz is in. It worked."
Solo grinned. "That's my boy. What's the next move?"
"Now we track him, monitor his movements through the palace. We can collect data on the operational security measures….and just…." she shrugged, "wait."
Han pursed his lips. "Till whenever Lord Buckethead decides to show up."
She quirked a smile, in spite of herself. "Basically."
Han turned serious, as always, remembering why they were here. Worry over Luke twisted his stomach into a tight knot. "I hope the kid's okay."
Leia's gaze dropped to the datapad again, distant. Han recognized the guilt in her eyes. "Me too," she whispered.
"Hey," Solo hesitantly rested his hand over hers, to pull her gaze away from that lost-in-space look. It worked. She stared at his hand, but didn't move it away. "You have to stop beating yourself up over this."
Her expression crumbled, but still she didn't move. "It's my fault he's in this predicament."
Han shook his head, remembering his arguments with Luke before they traveled to Third Moon. Luke's words, I would never forgive myself if something happened to her and I did nothing. He wondered if these two realized how alike they were.
"It's not your fault," he insisted. "The kid knew somehow that you were in danger, and that's why he came. He knew Vader was there, long before we got to you. He chose to go anyway."
She withdrew her hand, folded her arms in a defensive posture, her frown deepening. Perhaps Han shouldn't tell her all this - it didn't seem to be helping. "Why would he be so stupid?"
Solo spread his hands, hesitantly, fumbling for words. A good Jedi wouldn't have these conflicting emotions, Luke had once recited dutifully. A good Jedi would put the good of the many before the one, not let personal issues get in the way. Personal issues such as leaving his training to rescue a friend. His voice and expression had seemed haunted when he'd admitted this to Han: his perceived failure at achieving the emotional detachment required of him. Perhaps I'm not destined to become a 'good Jedi'.
Han cleared his throat, aware that the silence had stretched longer than was comfortable, and the Princess had not spoken. "I think," he began, seeing Luke's troubled expression again in his mind's eye. "It's because he cares too much."
Was there such a thing as too much? Back on Dagobah, one of the rare times Luke had eaten a meal on the Falcon with him and Chewie, probably because the Jedi doctrine was eating him up inside and he needed to get those words out to someone who was not the aged, impassive Jedi Master, the kid had said the same words: he cared too much.
Luke, you're human, Solo had murmured to the troubled expression on the young man's face, feeling troubled himself that the Jedi would turn this good-hearted….kid...into one of their killing machines. Is a Jedi not even allowed to be that? Not to process grief, not have relationships that might get in the way of your duty?
Luke had smiled sadly. I think my destiny was written for me before I was born.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Luke jolted out a dreamless sleep, unrested, wondering for a moment what had awakened him.
The cabin around him was dark, silent. He rose to a half-sitting position, running his hand through his hair, stretching out cautiously with the Force. Then it hit him: hyperspace. The ship no longer had that characteristic thrum of being at lightspeed. Which meant…
He rolled to his feet, and stumbled to the viewport.
The ship hung in realspace, countless smaller ships swarming around it. In the distance, at the edge of the viewport, he could just make out the edge of the planet, its characteristic grid pattern of city lights that could be seen from outer space confirming it could only be one place: Coruscant.
Luke glanced around him, his heart suddenly hammering in his throat.
It was time.
Quickly, he snagged the one change of clothes he'd been provided - a non-descript black tunic with an open, flat collar, and black cargo pants with pockets - and changed, his hands shaking. The outfit was non-military, but at least would help him blend in better than the med-center tunic. Donning the boots, he stepped into the kitchenette. It turned out there were a few non-perishable food items in its stores. He put a handful of ration bars in the pockets, slapped the call button for the Two-Onebee, and sank down on the bed to wait.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Daz's comlink seemed out. The tracking device that followed his location through the palace had blipped out and disappeared from the screen.
Since this had happened a handful of times before - albeit for shorter periods of time - in the preceding three days, Leia told herself not to panic. But after an hour trying to get him back online, she was searching for Breen Vargas in person, to see if he could get it working again.
"Something wrong?" Han asked too casually as she rounded the corner and nearly slammed into him.
Leia shook her head quickly. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I need Breen."
Solo hooked his thumb back the direction of the bays. "He's gone with the shipping crew on their first run."
Right, she'd almost forgotten. A crew of three men had joined the delivery transport scheduled to make a drop of Bacca fruit to the palace, which would get them as far as the palace Receiving bays, where they would then infiltrate the main palace in the guise as stormtroopers. She pursed her lips. "I can't raise Daz."
Solo frowned. "At all?"
She nodded. "He's been completely off the grid for nearly an hour now."
Han blew out a breath, all the possibilities of what could go wrong flashing in quick succession across his face. "Okay, well, there's nothing we can do about it but keep our fingers crossed. And keep trying."
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
"You called, sir?" The droid tottered through as the door hissed shut behind him, its slender-jointed body swivelling to face Luke, still sitting on the bed.
"Yes," Luke rose to his feet, feigning a look of pain. "I'm not sure what is wrong…" He remained slightly hunched over until the droid was within arm's reach. Then, faster than the eye could follow, snatched his hand out, yanking the handful of cables connecting the droid's cerebrum to the rest of its body. There was a flash of sparks and the droid froze mid-motion, dead.
Luke figured he had thirty seconds at most before whatever alarm systems alerted his guard's to the droid's change in status. He reached behind the machine, pulled two more power couplings. Han had spent a day once teaching him how to hotwire locks. Here was hoping the lesson stuck.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Darth Vader was in his meditation chamber, sitting quite still. The Executor had reverted to realspace, which meant they were in the Coruscant system. He had turned off the comm - not wishing to be disturbed - but he could hear it in the familiar thrum of the ship's massive drive. They had arrived.
This hyperbaric oxygen chamber was the one place Vader did not need his suit or his helmet, free of the constraints of the equipment that was needed to keep him alive. He sat in privacy, feeling the relief of the air moving across his face, seeing the colorless chamber around him with his own eyes, instead of through the red-tinted eye pieces of his helmet. Daily time spent here meditating was essential.
He smiled to himself. He would bring his son to the Emperor today. Of that, he was decided.
Vader ignored the niggling feeling of dread that came from somewhere - not him, surely; maybe Luke? - about bringing his own son before Palpatine. The boy was stronger now, nearly back to full physical health. It was necessary for him to learn the ways of the dark side of the Force. Palpatine would bring the boy in line, show him the true nature of the power he held. Certainly, the experience would not be pleasant for the boy, but he would survive. And when he did, Vader would recruit him to rise up against the Emperor and rule the galaxy side-by-side with him. Father and son.
Vader smiled again, the motion pulling at the scars on his face. The thought of this glorious day, when he and his son could rule the galaxy, kept him going in spite of the small, peculiar difficulties along the way.
Difficulties such as Luke himself. The boy seemed unfazed by the prospect of power. Indeed, he seemed afraid. Afraid of the power within himself, afraid to lord over others with it.
The very first weakness Palpatine would outlaw would be that fear, Vader was sure of it. Shying away from one's potential held absolutely no use in Imperial leadership.
Vader admitted to himself that he'd stayed away from the boy lately because of his increasing frustration. Their conversations chased each other in circles: Luke's open hostility, Vader's volatile fits of rage. Neither would capitulate to what the other wanted. Luke apparently wanted some sort of father figure. The dark lord was many things, but a father figure was not one of them. Anakin Skywalker was long dead - gone. There was no bringing him back. Vader wanted his son to be a good soldier: ruthless, efficient, emotionless. There was no room for an attack of conscience in a good soldier - just a willingness to obey orders. Certainly there was no room for friends and sentimental relationships, of which the boy clearly held in abundance.
All of these weaknesses would be eradicated in good time.
Vader smiled again.
Today was the day.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
It was good that he'd observed the red-headed woman's Force sensitivity before, Luke reflected mildly, connecting the last wire that would activate the door, so he was as prepared as he could be, given the circumstances.
The stormtroopers were slow to react to the opening of the door. By the time they realized Luke was actually the one coming through, instead of the droid, Luke had Force-yanked the nearest trooper's blaster to him and felled two of the other troopers. The weapons were set for stun, blue beams burning a trail across his overly-sensitive vision. The remaining two troopers fired at him, and Luke used the dismantled droid body to deflect the shots back at them. The two men dropped soundlessly to the ground.
Which left the woman, standing in the center of the room, blaster aimed squarely at him, green eyes narrowed to slits. "This one's not set to stun," she growled pointedly, as if daring him to take a step into the anteroom. "Drop your weapon."
Luke regarded her coolly for a moment, sizing up his opponent, who stood roughly six feet from him. He flicked the safety of the heavy carbine, keenly aware that the longer this stand-off lasted, the less likely he would be to make his escape. "I guess it's a draw, isn't it?" he smiled thinly.
"Don't believe yourself unkillable," she sneered, taking another step toward him. "I work for the Emperor, not Vader. Palpatine is less invested in your continued survival than Vader is."
Luke readjusted his grip on the blaster, aware that precious time was ticking away. Had the woman or the troopers sounded an alarm? Once Vader was alerted to his escape, he would have very little time left. "Well, I'm less invested in my continual survival than any of them, if it's to be in captivity," he shot back. He had this one chance - one flare of using the Force, before Vader zeroed in on him. Make it count.
He made the pretense of laying his weapon aside, the blaster almost on the floor, when he suddenly lashed out with the Force, seizing her weapon and knocking it to the side.
The blaster fired, but the shot went wide, then the weapon was flying out of her hand, across the room. Luke used that moment to bring his own carbine to bear and fire a shot that also went wide.
Suddenly, in a blur of red hair, the woman was upon him, knocking his feet out from under him, twisting his arm painfully about. From flat on his back, a flare of pain lit up Luke's right shoulder, but he ignored it, freeing his prosthetic right hand and slamming it down across the back of the woman's skull.
She dropped like a sack of rocks.
Luke wasted precious seconds making sure she was still alive - she was - and relieving her of her small blaster and comlink. He hurriedly glanced around - no alarms that he was aware of, no spike of alarm through the Force from passersby. His shields solidly blocked Vader's presence. He could only hope it was enough.
Only when he brought his real hand to his right shoulder, did he look down and realize that the pearl handle of a small vibroblade was embedded to the hilt, blood welling crimson around the edges of the torn black tunic.
Great. Just what he needed. Luke stared at it for a short moment, took a deep breath. Strangely, it didn't hurt, though he supposed that was the adrenaline coursing through him. Another deep breath and he got his left hand around the hilt. Then he pulled the knife out in one swift motion.
That did hurt. His vision blacked for a moment, and he dropped the knife, angrily ordering himself not to pass out. Blood was flowing freely down his arm now.
Hesitantly, Luke staggered forward in search of a makeshift bandage. There really was no time. His eyes fell to the medcenter tunic he'd changed out of. Hurriedly, he snagged the pair of pants, awkwardly tying the thin fabric around his shoulder, one-handed. The blood was already beginning to seep through, but it would have to do.
Two more precious minutes ticked by as Luke relieved the nearest stormtrooper of his armor - memories of the Death Star flashing back to him. Stormtrooper armor hadn't been the best idea then, and it probably wasn't now, but it was his only option. He gritted his teeth as the armored sleeve barely fit over the bulk of his bandaged shoulder.
Then, reclaiming the fallen trooper's blaster carbine, he opened the door to the anteroom and slipped casually into the empty corridor.
The trooper's internal comlink was a running commentary of events. For that alone, Luke supposed he should be grateful for the helmet, even if it did make it really hard to see.
He attempted to hurry without looking hurried to what he hoped was the nearest docking bay. At the end of the pewter-gray main corridor, several smaller hallways branching out every twenty feet or so, was a bank of four turbolifts. Luke was going to take a chance and assume the docking bays were down.
He entered the first turbolift as it opened. Inside stood an officer in olive-dress uniform and two TIE fighter pilots in black flight suits. The Force was with him, then. He would follow the pilots.
He tried to look casual under his armor, mentally checking his shields and what he could sense of Vader. Was the dark lord on the alert? He couldn't tell, didn't dare reach out with the Force to find out. The officer gave him an imperious once-over and returned to the data pad in his hand. They descended level after level, two more sets of officers boarding the lift. Luke's shoulder was beginning to ache furiously. He shut out the pain - he would deal with it later.
Finally, the lift pinged and the two pilots stirred. This was their stop. Luke maneuvered to exit.
Luck was still with him. This level opened up to a series of sizable docking bays. He eyed the direction the pilots were walking, followed at a distance that would not seem suspicious. Now that they had exited the turbolift, they were talking to each other. Honor flight, Luke caught from one of them, though he was too far away to hear it all.
Luke recalled from Han that a TIE Honor Flight was a squadron of ships that accompanied a ranking official to a ship or a planet's surface. It was entirely possible Vader was already preparing his shuttle to go to the planet's surface, which would mean Luke had escaped just in time.
It also meant he might be able to slip away easier than planned.
He kept on the pilots' tail, though he let himself blend in a bit more into the background bustle of other pilots and stormtroopers. The pilots turned into a small ready room just outside a bay. Luke could see into the bay and beyond: three neat rows of TIE fighters, and the tantalizing freedom of space just beyond.
He needed a new uniform. On a chance, he reached out tentatively through the Force, and, detecting no life-forms, turned into the ready-room opposite.
The room was dimly-lit, rows of closed lockers lined in a U-shape. Quickly, glancing toward the security cameras he knew would be installed in the corners, he approached a locker in a corner, and shot off the lock.
If he was worried the sound might have called attention to him, it was unfounded. The bustle and echo of activity in the corridor beyond suddenly stepped up a notch when the roar of a starting ship flooded the space.
Luke hurriedly yanked open the locker and found two black flight suits hanging neatly. There was no helmet, but this would be a good start. Another search through the Force to ascertain that no one was coming, and he began peeling off the stormtrooper armor. When he removed the chest armor plating, the blood-soaked pair of gray pants fell away from the knife wound on his shoulder. It appeared the bleeding was slowing a bit. He hoped so.
Suddenly the comlink he'd stolen squealed to life. "Jade, come in," snapped an angry voice. Luke recognized it immediately as Vader's. He had only moments. He deactivated the comlink and crammed it in his pocket, pulled the flight-suit on, and shoved the bloody pair of pants and the white armor into the locker.
Just in time too. Three pilots chose that moment to come into the ready-room, their conversation dying out as they saw Luke.
Luke nodded at them, moved to exit, quickly projecting calm into the Force to assuage their suspicious sense. It wouldn't last long, but hopefully it would get him far enough to…
Suddenly, a ship-wide klaxon sounded, lights in the corridor flashing a strobe-blue. Luke winced at the bright flash.
Vader. The dark lord knew he had escaped.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Vader was still in his meditation chamber, allowing his eyes to drift close, to shut out the minds of the many people aboard the ship, the impatience of his officers, and just focus on his son.
Luke shielded himself well, more than usual, in fact. It was difficult to get a precise bearing on the boy's presence when he did this.
The boy must be agitated about being near Imperial Center. Vader could feel the boy's stress….and his discomfort.
Vader straightened.
Something wasn't right. Perhaps it was time he paid a visit to the boy, and made it clear where his son's destiny lay, his future place in the Empire. Yes, his son wouldn't like it, but perhaps the battle lines must be drawn earlier than later.
Vader reached for his comm to switch it back on. "Captain," he rumbled.
There was a tinny acknowledgement at his elbow.
"Prepare my shuttle and its escort. I will fly to the palace in thirty minutes."
"Yes sir."
Vader toggled another switch, one that replaced the helmet on his head. He stood, another uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Something was amiss.
He reached out with the Force again, to the presence of his son. Nothing but the vague impressions of...excitement? Danger?
He turned and slapped the nearest com. "Captain!"
There was no answer. Vader grimaced and keyed Jade, though he disliked to do so. "Jade, come in."
He waited a long moment, but there was still no answer.
Vader slapped an alarm. "Lieutenant," he barked. "Secure the prisoner in Wing B."
A short bark of acknowledgement and Vader stormed from his quarters. Was it possible Luke would be so foolish as to attempt an escape? Where did the boy think he would go? He wouldn't get far, certainly, with no weapon, still recovering from his injuries.
Vader clenched his fist. If Luke attempted an escape, he would teach the boy a lesson he would not soon forget.
The comlink in his suit trilled for his attention. "My lord!" The Lieutenant sounded afraid. "The prisoner is no longer in his quarters."
Vader's roar of anger shook the corridor around him. "Find him!" he ordered. "Get me all available vid-data and sound the general alarm."
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Up ahead in the corridor, the blast doors to the massive ship bay began to close. Luke quickened his pace to a run, dropping to roll under the door, just as it closed completely.
Quickly his eyes scanned the bay. Three TIE fighters were lifting off, rocketing out of the open bay, while two other ships were powered up, the whine of their engines a tremendous wall of sound that drowned out the sound of the klaxons. Two more pilots were standing next to the nearest TIE, helmeted heads turning to Luke as he passed.
Follow me, he thought to them, as he walked past, toward the distant ship, still unmanned.
They did, closing the gap in a quick jog.
His back still to them, Luke felt the small holdout blaster he'd taken from the red-haired woman, thumbed the setting to stun. When he rounded the wing panel of the farthest TIE, he whirled, fired two bolts in quick succession.
The pilots dropped. Luke wrested the helmet off of one of them, mashed it down over his own head, was forced to fire another stun shot at an oncoming fuel tech, and boarded the waiting TIE.
His eyes scanned the unfamiliar controls, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He could feel the pressure of Vader's mind, pushing at his shields, questing for his presence. TIEs didn't have hyperspace capability, of course. It would have been much better had he been able to snag a ship that did, but he was not about to look a gift-bantha in the mouth.
"You are cleared for takeoff," a tinny voice spoke into his helmet.
Then the TIE was moving, autopilot, behind two other ships launching out into the black vacuum of space.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
Vader was on the bridge now, his officers tremulously hovering around him, anxious to rectify the situation, since their lives most likely depended on it.
"Replay the footage from his quarters," he ordered quickly, watching as the screen showed a fast-motion tussle of Luke and Jade, then of Luke donning stormtrooper armor. He turned to Piett. "I need a visual of the corridors - and the turbolift. Which level did he exit?"
"Fighter bays, sir," Piett's voice sounded more nervous now.
"Recall all ships," Vader ordered, a cold knot settling into the pit of his stomach. No. The boy would not escape from him now. "Seal the bays. No one is to leave the docking bays."
"Yes sir."
He was looking at the bay footage now, noting rows of TIEs still taking off. "What are these TIE fighters doing?"
"Your Honor Flight, sir."
"Recall them."
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
"Alert," the voice in Luke's helmet announced. "Redacting authorization of takeoff. All pilots return to bay immediately. Repeat, due to ship-wide alarm, all ships return to bay immediately."
It looked as though he'd squeaked out just in time.
The squadron around him broke formation. Up ahead, past stationary-orbital ships just above the planet's surface, Coruscant glittered beckoningly.
The wing commander shouted, "Nine, what are you doing? Drop into formation immediately!" but Luke ignored the order, and pulled hard on the throttle, rocketing toward the planet.
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.
"Sir, one TIE fighter has broken away from the squadron and is heading toward the planet now."
Vader clenched his fist. The boy. It must be. His son was more reckless than he'd given him credit for.
"Send three fighters after him." Luke surely must know of the futility of such an action. TIE fighters lacked hyperspace capability. He was trapped in-system. Nowhere to go.
His fist clenched tighter. He would teach the boy a lesson.
"Shoot him down."
.
.
ooooooooooooooooooo
.
.