PART 3: PRISONER

CHAPTER 12: Rescuers

"They're gonna execute her! Look, a few minutes ago you said you didn't want to just wait here to be captured. Now all you want to do is stay?" —Luke Skywalker to Han Solo, on Leia Organa's imprisonment, A New Hope

****

Luke was sitting on his dark blue couch and reading some documents about the Sith with a critical eye when Mara entered his quarters. She stood in the doorway, looking stiff, as if she were still upset by their last conversation. "Is everything finding you well?" she asked, her mouth a thin line.

Ah. Checking up on him like a dutiful little servant. She was nothing if not committed.

"The reading material's a bit biased," Luke said with a smile, holding up his datapad for emphasis, "I've had better food in Alderaan's cheapest café, and my pillow's a bit lumpy...Other than that, everything's fine."

She gave him a sour look. "This isn't the Tapani Imperial Hotel, you know. You are technically a prisoner, even if you do get a kitchen."

"And you are technically a non-entity," Luke returned, "for who but the Empire's most elite even know that Emperor's Hands exist? It's necessary, of course, for you to be able to use your stealth skills to the fullest extent, but—"

"There is only one Hand," Mara told him in a low voice. "And if you reveal my position to anyone—"

"Relax," he said, trying to soothe her. He gave her a bright grin, glad he'd managed to get under her skin—baiting Mara Jade was the most fun he'd had in a while—even if it was dangerous. "You can trust me."

She cocked her head and gave him a skeptical look. "I wouldn't even trust you as far as I could throw you."

Luke smirked at the thought of her picking him up and flinging him across the room. Chuckling lightly, he told her, "I would gain nothing by telling people about your position. You forget—I'm not an Imperial, so I have no reason to share secrets with Imperials."

"It's not just Imperials that would benefit from information about the Empire," Mara noted darkly.

"Knowledge of your existence wouldn't help the Rebellion in the least, I'm sure." He gave her a curious look, his eyebrows curved inward. "Isn't there anyone you can trust?"

She hesitated. "I could trust the Em—Palpatine. And I—I can trust Lord Vader."

"Soon to be Emperor Vader," Luke muttered under his breath.

"And I suppose you know a lot of people you can trust?" Mara shot back.

The young man seemed saddened by the question. "It depends on how you define trust. Trust with my life? Yes. Trust with all the plans I've made? No...But that was by choice."

"Plans?" she queried, trying not to sound too interested.

"I couldn't exactly broadcast to the world that I was kidnapping Darth Vader," Luke said dryly. There was no use in denying it anymore, though.

"What's most impressive is that you were actually able to do it," Mara commented. Her statement wasn't a lie—she really was impressed that he'd been able to hold the Sith Lord hostage. He seemed to be a simple Alderaanian boy—but there was definitely more than met the eye.

"Yes, well, he wasn't expecting the ysalamiri," Luke said modestly. "I had an advantage that most people would not."

"Still, there isn't really anyone else who can boast of that," the young woman pointed out.

"I'm not sure boasting of that is exactly the smartest thing for me to do." He smiled, his eyes glinting. "Assuming I ever do get out of here."

"Hmm," the redhead said noncommittally. She knew that if he did leave the Imperial Palace, it would most likely be as an Imperial. She doubted Vader would ever let him wander free on any condition other than that one.

Luke furrowed his brow, considering something. "I'm not quite sure what to think of—of Vader. He's a murderer, I know that, but he hasn't shown himself to be completely cruel."

"Most people in this galaxy are murderers, of one kind or another," Mara said with a shrug. "The difference is the titles they give themselves."

"I don't believe that," he said firmly. "I don't think the act of killing is enough to label one a murderer. I think the circumstances must be considered."

Mara rolled her eyes. "Careful—your idealism's shining through."

"Is killing someone in the act of self-defense to be labeled murder? And what about war?"

"The ends versus means argument." The woman shook her head. "It's the ends, Skywalker, that matter most."

"I don't think it is," he told her honestly. "I think who we are and what we do to get the things we desire are both very important."

Mara snorted. "That sounds a lot like Jedi talk."

The comment made Luke smile. "I don't really know much about the Jedi," he admitted, "but I know it's certainly not Sith-talk." He held up his datapad for emphasis. "I've been reading up on the Sith. Not a very pleasant bunch."

"They've generally known what they wanted and gone for it."

"Perhaps." The young man shrugged. "I'm none too fond of their methods, though. Interrogation is not my cup of tea."

"And the Rebels don't interrogate?" Mara sneered.

Luke frowned thoughtfully. "Since I've never been with the Rebels, I wouldn't actually know. I suspect, however, that their methods of interrogation are very different from Imperial methods."

The young woman couldn't exactly argue with that, though she wanted to just so she could snipe away at Skywalker's righteous attitude. There had never been any real indication that the Rebels treated any Imperial prisoners terribly, which was actually rather unfortunate for the Empire, as it meant there was far more side-switching than there should be. "Your anti-Force message indicated that you were aligned with the Rebels," she said instead.

"You don't have to be an insurgent to hate the Force," he pointed out. "I suppose that's really a moot point for me now."

"Seeing as you are a Force user who kidnapped a prominent governmental figure." She smirked. "Irony's really biting you on the butt with that one."

"Something like that, yes," he chuckled. For an Imperial assassin, Mara Jade wasn't exactly bad company. A bit cold, perhaps, but certainly not afraid of jesting. And with his life being turned upside down as it was, he could certainly do with a little bit of such jesting. For all he knew, he could be Vader's prisoner for the rest of his life...And what a sobering thought that was.

On impulse, Luke looked at Mara and asked, "Will you eat dinner with me?"

She looked at him in surprise. Clearly, that was not what she was expecting him to say. "Eat dinner with you?" she echoed, incredulous. An Imperial prisoner was asking her to eat with him? Had Tatooine frozen over?

Luke looked down at his hands. One was still healing from wounds inflicted on it, while the other looked as if its skin were utterly flawless. He knew that Palpatine must have relished in seeing him so helpless—the removal of his hand had been more of a signal of Palpatine's power than a truly effective interrogative technique. He'd had the feeling that even if he'd revealed Vader's location while the interrogator had been breaking his fingers, the removal of his hand would have still commenced. He swallowed and took in a deep breath. He didn't belong in the Imperial Palace. He knew that. He didn't even really feel like he belonged on Coruscant. Perhaps, despite all the sophistication he'd gone through as the adopted son of Arelis of the House of Antilles, he was still that farmboy on Tatooine—scared, small, and truly alone, always seeking a peace with the galaxy that he could never have.

"It gets lonely sometimes," he said at last. It was true. On Alderaan, he'd always had his mother nearby to talk to. And she was always having people over for tea or taking him with her on outings with her friends. He had become accustomed to feeling alone in Jabba's Palace—he had only been allowed to see Delana and Opakwa sporadically, and he hadn't wanted to see many of the place's other denizens—but after having lived on Alderaan for so long, he found himself constantly longing for company. He felt as if he were perhaps meant to be a loner—that there was a part of him which pulled him toward that lifestyle—but he didn't want to be a loner. He wanted to help people—not set himself apart from them.

But Mara—whom he suspected did not even realize there was anything besides the life of a loner—did not seem to understand, and she asked, "What about your droid?"

Rather than tell her that it was not the same—that, while he cared deeply for the droid, it could not replace human companionship—he opted for half-hearted humor. "He can't exactly eat, now can he?"

Perhaps she sensed the heaviness of his thoughts or simply wanted to mirror his attempt at humor, for she replied with a suspicious but crafty look and asked, "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Luke couldn't help but chuckle, feeling his spirits lift a little. "I certainly would be a fool if I asked one of my captors out on a date."

Yes, that would be foolish of him—but, Mara noticed, he avoided the question. That alone was almost enough for her to completely refuse his invitation. After considering the invite for a few seconds, however, she reluctantly agreed to share some food with him. She didn't have any duties for a while, and, she argued with herself, she did need to eat.

"Sit down at the table," Luke noted with a gesture. "I'll fix the food."

Rolling her eyes and letting him boost his fragile male ego by preparing dinner, Mara followed his directions, seating herself in one of the chairs in front of the small table. In the middle of the table was a blue and white decorative vase (an imitation of an Alderaanian artist's style, she noted, bemused), and she idly picked it up and rolled it back and forth in her hands.

There wasn't much available to Luke in his kitchenette—since it was difficult to cook without sharp objects, not much was provided for him. He did manage a simple cuisine of sandwiches and fruit, though, which he brought out after setting two plates and some napkins on the table. Then he returned to the kitchen, bringing out two glasses of water, one of which he put in front of Mara and the other of which he put at his own space at the table, which was right next to Mara's.

He sat down, and Mara turned her head and cocked an eyebrow at him. "This is great fare, Skywalker."

He gave her an evil glare. "It's not exactly like I can make any bantha steaks, seeing as you would need knives to eat it."

"What—you don't eat with your hands on Alderaan? Man, the rumors were wrong..."

He flung a piece of crust from his sandwich at her.

"Real mature, Skywalker," she snorted. She took a bite of her sandwich and nodded her approval. "Not bad. You could be a sandwich gourmet after all."

Luke rolled his eyes, resting them on the bowl of fruit he'd set on the table. A smile tugging at the sides of his mouth and impulsivity tugging at his heart, he stood up and grabbed three Muja fruits. "Now, you'll learn my real talent," he said with a lopsided grin. He flung two of the fruits up in the air and started trying to juggle them.

Mara laughed out loud at his failed attempt at juggling, laughing even harder at the sad look that came upon his face when all three of the fruits fell onto the floor.

"Blast," he said softly as he bent over to pick the bruised fruit up.

"Come on, Skywalker, just admit that you weren't meant to work at a circus."

But he shook his head stubbornly. "Two revolutions," he told her, determination written all over his face as he stared down at the reddish-orange fruit in his hands. "I need to make two revolutions," he insisted as he threw two of the Muja fruits back up in the air.

Five minutes later, he'd still only managed to make one 'revolution,' and he was beginning to be very disheartened.

"Come off it, Skywalker," Mara said with something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. "Just eat your sandwich and leave that poor fruit alone."

With a dejected sigh, he plopped down in his seat, setting the fruits on the table only to accidentally knock them off a few seconds later. They rolled off the table and onto the floor with a thud thud thud.

Mara quickly grabbed the last Muja fruit in the bowl and set it on her plate. At a curious look from Luke, she explained, "I won't have you ruining another perfectly good piece of fruit."

He stuck his tongue out at her and took a bite of his sandwich. His face brightened. "Hey, you're right—this isn't half bad!" He looked pleased with himself.

The redhead rolled her eyes and finished off the last bit of her sandwich before biting into the Muja fruit. She nodded in quiet approval—it had been a while since she'd had such a simple meal, and she had to admit that it was nice.

She found herself staring at the contentedly-eating Luke and realized that she was actually enjoying herself. Then she wondered—was this what having friends was like?

The young man had soon downed his entire sandwich, and after taking a swig of water he looked at her. Embarrassed that he should catch her staring, she moved her green eyes to look at the vase, her cheeks turning pink.

Luke scooted to the edge of the side of his chair and leaned forward, placing his head beneath her chin and turning her head toward him. Their eyes met unsurely, and then he was lifting himself up off his chair so that he could press his lips against hers.

Mara found herself responding to the gentle touch of his lips with a hunger that was unrelated to food, and then she suddenly pulled away, pushing him backward and then—almost before he could blink—disappearing from his quarters.

Luke, who'd tumbled his chair over when pushed and smacked his head and back on the ground, lay staring upward at the ceiling for a while afterward. He rubbed his head, wincing at the knot he felt there, and gave a sad sigh. Well, that had gone badly.

He hadn't even really intended it to be anything like a date—he'd just been missing human companionship, and the suggestion for Mara to eat with him had tumbled out of his mouth before he could really think about it. He'd thought it was platonic—he hadn't dreamed it could be otherwise...

Certainly, Mara was an attractive woman, but he'd never been the type to actively pursue women. He'd always been too busy. Now, of course, he had all the time in the galaxy...

With a grunt, he pushed himself into a seated position and then got to his feet. He pulled the chair up and pushed it up to the table, holding onto it for several seconds, his head feeling slightly woozy.

Maybe this was why he'd never pursued any girls—they just made things so blasted complicated.

But you were the one who kissed her, a niggling little voice pointed out.

He brought his fingers up to touch his lips. Yes, he had, hadn't he? He found himself grinning.

Well, Mara Jade was a remarkable woman. He had to give her that. Of course, she probably wouldn't ever speak to him again. Which was a shame, as his lips were still burning from where they'd touched hers. He hadn't ever realized that a woman could make him feel like that...

He reluctantly tried to pull his thoughts away from her. His back and head were both aching from his fall, and he was quite fatigued. He'd found that healing—even with the aid of bacta—had taken a lot out of him. That, and discovering that his father was the biggest figure of evil in the galaxy.

He found that particularly hard to think about, even after he'd had some time. His interrogation session he tried to put behind him as a thing of the past. It was relegated to the 'did-that-really-happen?'s along with the terrible things he'd experienced at Jabba's Palace—the only thing from that place that he could truly consider without pain or regret was his friendship with Opakwa.

But to find out that his father was Darth Vader—that was something that was eternally in the present. That was something he couldn't forget or shove aside. It was like a giant bantha in the room which he wanted to ignore but couldn't. He wanted to talk with Mara about it—really, to talk to anyone about it—though Mara probably wasn't a good choice anyway, seeing as she was probably no longer on speaking terms with him—but he couldn't talk to anyone about it. Even if he wanted to. No one could understand; no one could know what it felt like. He was alone...He was lonely.

And he missed his mother.

Stars, how he missed her. She'd wanted what was best for him, but she'd also wanted what was best for the galaxy. That the two had turned out to be mutually exclusive had been a vicious twist of fate. She'd died knowing he was furious at her. He only hoped she'd known that really he'd understood—that he probably would have done the same if he'd been in her situation—that it was just desperation that had wrenched that anger out of him.

Luke climbed into bed carefully, glad to get some rest.

He fell asleep easily, but he soon began to dream.

He was at Jabba's Palace, dressed in black—a color which he rarely donned despite its good appearance on him—and sitting on Jabba's dais. Only, it wasn't Jabba's; it was his.

Behind him, his father stood, dark and silent save for the constant noise of his respirator. In front of him, Delana was dancing, clad in a green dancer's outfit with bells attached to it; her red hair was unbound and tossed and turned with her movements. And then suddenly, it wasn't Delana anymore, though the hair was almost the same; it was Mara. "Dance harder," he told her, and on that cue the band Sand Surfing on Tatooine began to increase the tempo of their music. Mara began dancing faster, her undulations graceful, dangerous, exotic, but he found he wasn't pleased by her performance. He gave a cold laugh and pulled the switch to the rancor pit.

She dropped down to the pit, staring upward as the rancor came toward her. But then it wasn't Mara any longer; it was Delana again. And she was yelling at him, cursing him for leaving her behind, for sentencing her to death.

He wanted to speak to her, but no words came out of his mouth. The rancor reached down and ran its claws across her. It had a sick sort of grin on its face that he'd never seen before. It was torturing her, enjoying itself immensely, and she was screaming for him to save her.

But he just stood and watched. His father said something to him, though he wasn't sure exactly what the words were, just that they were an expression of approval.

His mother appeared out of nowhere and began walking toward him. She was pleading for him to help the dancer, but he pushed her into the pit without any hesitation. After she fell, she was still.

He wanted to cry out, but he didn't. He just watched as the rancor devoured both of his mother figures.

When he awoke from the dream, he found he was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. He untangled himself from his sheets and shoved his face into his pillow. Finally, he allowed himself to cry.

****

Obi-Wan wasn't certain whether he should be glad or frustrated that Bail had supplied the smuggler with ysalamiri. On the one hand, the presence of the furred lizards meant that Vader wouldn't have a great advantage over them—and Vader's pride meant that he would want to face Obi-Wan alone if he knew the Jedi was still alive. On the other hand, Obi-Wan couldn't let the Force guide him—he didn't even know if Vader and the boy were even on Coruscant. When they reached the city-planet, he would temporarily step out of the ysalamiri bubble, of course, but it was hard to know such a big event was approaching when he couldn't rely on any Force meditation to calm himself. He felt as if he were Qui-Gon's young apprentice all over again.

Except he wasn't young anymore. He and Yoda were both too old to pit themselves against the Chosen One, which was why they were putting their hopes in a boy they'd only recently discovered was still alive.

Han Solo didn't seem to know exactly why their rescue mission was so important, but even without the Force he'd seemed to have picked up on it. He was acting oddly sober, like he knew that what he was helping with would be galaxy-changing.

Obi-Wan just hoped they weren't too late.

****

Luke was doing some push-ups by the couch when he heard the door to his quarters open behind him. "Hello," he greeted tensely, expecting his visitor to be Mara.

"Uh, hi," an unfamiliar male voice said in response.

Startled, Luke dropped to his knees and spun around, remaining in a crouch and holding his hands up in battle-ready fists. Prepared to duck behind the couch if necessary, he asked warily, "Who are you?"

"I'm Han Solo, and I'm here to rescue you," the man who'd spoken said. He was wearing an Imperial uniform, which was innocuous enough, but he was also dragging the unconscious form of one of Luke's guards—which meant he was probably not an actual Imperial. An older man came up behind him, also garbed in a uniform and dragging the arm of another unconscious guard. In his other hand, he was carrying a large and full-looking bag. "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master extraordinaire. We've been sent by Bail Organa to rescue you. Now, if you'll hurry, kid, we're in a bit of a rush. My fake codes are bound to be discovered soon; that is, if someone doesn't notice the guards missing first."

The Jedi nodded at Luke in greeting; he seemed to be studying him, as if committing his every detail to memory.

The young man hesitated for just a couple of seconds before making his decision. Whether these two were telling the truth or not, he didn't exactly want to spend the rest of his life as an Imperial prisoner. Vader was not like the Emperor, but he was certainly not a good man. At least Han Solo—if that was really his name—had mentioned Bail Organa in a positive light. That leant a little credibility to his story.

"I'm bringing my droid," Luke said firmly, though he suspected they would try to argue the point.

He was right. "Leave the blasted machine here. It'll slow us down," Han Solo argued.

"He goes, or I stay," the prisoner said stubbornly.

"Where is he?" the other man growled in resignation, clearly annoyed.

"In the bedroom. I'll get him." Luke jogged into the bedroom and returned a few seconds later with Opakwa. "Ready."

The so-called Jedi pulled some clothes out of the bag, though the bag still seemed to be full. "Here, put these on."

Nodding, Luke took the clothes and did as he was told.

****

A few minutes later, they were calmly walking down the corridors of the Imperial Palace, Opakwa following them with the large bag in tow. They tried to look busy in conversation, so as to avert any curious eyes.

"How exactly did you get in here and break into my cell?" Luke asked in a low voice.

"Slicing skills, fake IDs and codes, and a lot of luck," Han Solo answered.

"And the aid of the Force," Obi-Wan Kenobi added.

Han snorted. "The whole point of that blasted lizard was to block the Force and stop people from sensing the old man's presence. He keeps ducking out of its radius, though."

Luke's eyes widened in realization. That must be what was in the bag Opakwa had been requested to carry—an ysalamir.

"I had to know whether Vader was present, and I had to find out Luke's precise location," Obi-Wan said calmly. He nodded to a group of Stormtroopers who passed by.

"Well, Vader's off-planet," Luke muttered informatively, "so good fortune seems to be on your side."

"My copilot Chewbacca's waiting near the Palace in a speeder. We hop in, head to my ship, and then we should be free to go. Chewie should have already gotten clearance to leave."

"This seems to be going a lot smoother than I would have thought," Luke said, nodding to a pair of officers. Fortunately, the long sleeves of his uniform hid most of his scars. Otherwise, they might have gotten a lot of unwanted attention. Still, the officers did seem a bit too curious in regarding the bag held by Opakwa, though they didn't stare too long.

"Yeah, well, you're dealing with pros," Han Solo said smugly.

Luke felt like snorting, having the feeling that wasn't exactly the case, but he didn't want to upset his rescuers, so he just remained quiet.

"Let's just hope our escape remains smooth," Obi-Wan said.

"I heartily agree with that," Opakwa announced.

****

Mara entered Skywalker's quarters with a great sense of reluctance. Her conversations with him had been making her more and more uncomfortable, and she was angry with herself for how affected she'd been by that wretched boy. She needn't have worried about seeing him again, however. The two unconscious guards on the floor told her all she needed to know.

"Kreth, stang, shavit," she cursed, wishing she'd brushed up on her Huttese swearing the other day like she'd considered. Vader was not going to be happy. She only hoped she could contact him—and, knowing where he had headed, that was not very likely.

Stooping down by one of the guards, she grabbed his comlink. The Palace would need to be put on alert. But she knew it was probably already too late.