Chapter 5:
A/N: Thank you so much to Forever-Luke, I Love Dance, Arya of Ellesmera, and Starskie for reviewing, and the anonymous reviewer as well! This week was terrible because I'm sick (sore throats, the bane of my existence) and missed four days of classes. But I'm really enjoying posting this story and every time I get a review my day is brightened so much :)
(Two weeks previously)
Luke Skywalker stepped out of General Cracken's office with a grimace. Had his memory just been erased? Luke could have sworn he had walked in completely certain that he was going to take a week's leave and walked out with the unshakable conviction that there would be no leave next week. Unless your definition of "leave", unlike Luke's, included impersonating a bounty hunter to infiltrate the most perilous bounty-hunter organization possible without backup or communications.
But how exactly did this happen? Luke hadn't had much personal experience with it, but Wedge had warned Luke about trying to wrestle a standard minute of leave from Cracken.
Whenever Luke wasn't on Coruscant working with NRI, he was with the Rogues. Whenever he wasn't with the Rogues, he was sorting out messes at the Jedi Temple. These three projects invariably jeopardized his time. But honestly, the war was halfway over now, and things were going relatively smoothly at the Jedi Academy. He hadn't taken a single day of leave since Dagobah, and that probably didn't count either.
Leave wasn't doing handstands in meter-high sludge with a swamp toad perched on top issuing orders, getting constantly shown up by the mind powers of said swamp toad, and dueling himself under a malicious tree.
There was also Crseih station. That was supposed to be somewhat of a vacation. But that didn't end up fitting Luke's definition of "leave" either.
Leave wasn't getting eaten by a golden blob named Waru while being driven insane by an astrological phenomenon, and it wasn't being brought back from the brink of death by a Force-wielding Firrerreo, either.
Luke had spent the last day earnestly convincing himself that A, he needed a vacation; B, he deserved a vacation; and C, he wasn't going to let himself be talked out of a vacation. When he arrived at Cracken's office, Luke was greeted with single-minded intensity that manifested itself into the form of a particularly pushy General. "Commander Skywalker, I have a new mission critical to countless innocent civilian lives. I trust I can count on you?"
"Of course," Luke found himself saying. "When do I go?"
So there Luke was, walking down the hallway, with no leave in immediate view. Actually, what did come into his line of sight was a person. His brother-in-law, in fact. Leaning casually against the wall, Han Solo began to grin cheerfully when he saw Luke.
"How did the meeting go? Did you get that leave?" Han asked. He was rather optimistic, Luke thought, for someone who talked to Cracken on a regular basis.
Luke shook his head as he walked over. "Nope."
"I thought you and Leia were dead set on a vacation next week. Kid, you can't let Cracken walk all over you."
"I didn't," Luke said stubbornly. Even though he did. "I really don't want to talk about it."
Meanwhile, Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian were wandering around in NRI headquarters, procrastinating. They were deathly tired of Intelligence grunt work, killing time and hoping nobody would notice them, when they heard two disembodied voices around the corner that Wes recognized as Han Solo's and Luke Skywalker's.
" . . . . Suit yourself. Leia and I are planning go to dinner with the kids tonight. Are you doing anything?" Han's voice asked.
"No, that sounds good. Where should I meet you?" Luke's voice responded.
"If you want to come to our apartment around dinnertime, we could all go together."
Ah, Wes thought. Now here's a possibility for some entertainment. He grinned at Hobbie, who shook his head frantically. Right before Wes yanked him around the corner.
They were greeted with an almost-glare from Commander Skywalker. "Something wrong, sir?" Wes asked politely.
"Janson, aren't you supposed to be working in the Intelligence wing?" That was probably about as hostile as Luke ever got. Strange, Wes thought. You would almost think he didn't want to see me.
"Have I done anything recently to you, Commander?" asked Wes innocently.
Luke groaned. "Not unless you consider last week's prank on Cracken 'recently'. He's just forced me onto a suicide mission, you know."
Wes did his best to look hurt. "I'm sure you're exaggerating the suicide part. And the forcing. But honestly, Luke, I'm sorry. How many times can I say it? I thought Jedi were supposed to forgive. And don't you remember all those speeches you give the Rogues about how you care deeply about all of us? What happened to that?
For a moment, Wes thought he had won Luke over. Jedi were so gullible. But then Hobbie stifled a snicker, ruining the effect. Luke rolled his eyes. "Wes, I cared deeply about your welfare two weeks ago. But since last week? Not a fan."
Wes grinned brightly. "Well, Hobbie and I will make it up to you with at dinner tonight." Hobbie looked disgruntled at being included.
General Solo looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable, no doubt concerned for the safety of his children around certain bored pilots. "Dinner? Wait just a second—"
"Nonsense!" Wes interrupted gleefully. Perfect excuse to leave work early, having dinner with the Chief of State. "We'll be at your apartment at five. See you later, Commander, General!" Wes sprinted out of there with Hobbie before they could protest.
Leia made her way toward the large black lacquered table where Borsk Fey'lya and the rest of the Committee for the Assessment of Education Standards were engaged in polite, halfhearted discussion. Of course, the Committee didn't actually accomplish anything. There was no viable way to establish an education standard throughout the sheer number of the New Republic's planets and species, let alone assess it.
But what were Senate Committees for, if not to waste time?
As the Senator from Bothawui Borsk Fey'lya would say, they were for winning votes. His current platform was "pro-education".
Honestly, who wasn't pro-education? Was it even possible to find a Senator that wasn't? It didn't make him unique in any way. It wasn't a plan.
Leia gracefully sank into an upholstered seat near the head of the table. She didn't belong to the group, but as the Chief of State and President of the Senate, she couldn't avoid making appearances. Fey'lya was sure to bawl to the press about how Leia was anti-education if she avoided any more meetings. As much as she despised them, Leia had to play the political games of the Senate if she wanted to stay a politician. Ironically, as the biggest politician in the New Republic, Leia hated politics.
Particularly when her brother was probably cold, hungry, and tied up in a cell somewhere (absolute best case) and she was forced to waste precious time keeping up appearances for the likes of certain specimens of Bothan pond scum. She should be back viewing more Holocron memories.
Even through Janson's upset stomach. Even though the Chief of State wasn't allowed to lock herself away for hours with Jedi Technology. Even if this meeting is going to be oh-so-much fun, especially with my dear friend Borsk here.
Fey'lya turned with a rather disappointed look in Leia's general direction. Apparently he was hoping for that political ammunition. Nevertheless, he quickly replaced it with a bland look. "How kind of you to finally join us, Madam President."
Leia didn't like the faint emphasis on the word finally. "Oh, not at all, Senator. How could I stay away? It warms my heart to see such a group of dedicated Senators making such progress in the education of our young ones." Leia said it without an audible trace of sarcasm. Well, it would warm her heart if there was any such group.
Fey'lya raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I certainly concur, Madame President. Only, you've been spending quite a lot of time with the Alderaan Culture Preservation Committee lately . . . one must wonder whether the past is worth so much of your time, when there are so many worthy causes and demands on the Chief of State."
Leia frowned and rapidly formed a reply. Whatever political dancing Borsk wanted to do, she was just going to have to play along for at least a little while. With luck, she'd be out of there in an hour. A pain-filled and bloody hour.
Baron Soontir Fel continued down the steel hallway with a subtly martyred air. On anyone else it would have looked utterly ridiculous, but Fel could wear it well. He was still upset at Admiral Talinia for placing him in this position.
As Imperial officers went, Talinia was generally reasonable, and certainly the only one left with enough resources (and intact mental faculties) to defeat the Rebels. That was part of the reason why Fel had chosen her group as opposed to the other virtually autonomous warlords. Normally, he would have been forced to submit to general leadership of the Empire, but with no clear unifying authority he was free to choose. The main term of his assistance had been, more or less, that he wouldn't be given any assignment that he objected to on moral grounds. It was unheard of in the Imperial chain-of-command, but then, Fel's legendary flying abilities were equally rare.
It had also been a test of sorts for Talinia. He didn't want to serve under yet another tyrant who was sacrificed opportunity for the sake of her own inflated ego, but Talinia had shown that she was willing to be practical when she (after strenuous initial opposition) settled for his terms. She could think of it as hiring him rather than commanding him, anyway. Even if Fel didn't get much of a salary.
But lately, he was questioning his assignments more and more. The problem was that he couldn't exactly protest them. He acknowledged the necessity of harsh interrogation, even if he disliked it. It wouldn't be . . . valid, exactly, to bring that up to Talinia, because he never voiced any moral objection to it previously. And Talinia would think, perhaps rightly so, that Fel just didn't want to get his hands dirty, that he was taking advantage of the terms he had set.
Why did she assign him to the interrogation of prisoners, anyway? He knew that there were many others in the Empire who were less lofty in their expectations, possibly to the point of erring on the other side. They would do this gladly.
All too soon, he reached the holding cells and interrogation area of Starkiller. The girth of Admiral Talinia's red-haired aide was effectively obstructing passage through the narrow hallway. Fel couldn't remember his name. Badrete or Bidorte or something like that.
This was an interesting dilemma. The man was faced away from him, who didn't remember either the aide's name or rank. What was he supposed to do, shout out "hey you," to the man? Admiral Talinia frowned on that sort of thing on her orderly ship. On the other hand, as much as he wanted to, he shouldn't keep the Admiral waiting.
Luckily for Fel, the man turned around. It was a bit like watching a giant navy-clad bolo ball spin in place. "Baron Fel, there you are. The Admiral is waiting for you."
He flung himself against the nearest doorway to allow Fel room to pass, as if the wall had done him a great personal wrong. Miraculously, Fel slipped through to the other side before the door gave way. For once, he was glad that Syal wasn't there to cook for him. Don't think about her right now.
He reluctantly stepped into IR-7. He looked around for the prisoner, and spotted . . . .
Nobody. Nobody besides Admiral Talinia and a dark haired man, that was. Great, he thought. Another new friend. It was getting to be a serious pain to memorize the names of every run-of-the-mill officer Talinia paraded under his nose.
"This is Dr. Rengell," Admiral Talinia introduced him with her customary terseness. The doctor was tall and classically handsome. He had a datapad sticking out the pocket of his white lab coat just like a holovid physician, although he had never seen an authentic one look quite so stereotypical. But the unctuous smile he gave Fel marred the air of studied intimidation that surrounded him. Now I'm doubly glad Syal isn't here. Not that Syal would ever commit adultery, far from it; this Dr. Rengell seemed just the wife-stealing type.
"Bedern, get in here!" Admiral Talinia snapped at her aide, who was hovering at the doorway. Even if it was physically impossible for someone that heavy to hover.
Bedern waddled in.
Talinia nodded to the doctor. "Baron Fel, Dr. Rengell is a physician and interrogation expert. He is under your orders, as is Bedern. My aide will carry reports between us and the like." Talinia ignored the look of shock and disbelief on Bedern's face. Apparently she hadn't sent him a mission briefing.
Fel put what he hoped was a politely puzzled expression on his face. "Admiral, I hope you don't think me impolite, but I can't help but wonder what my contribution is. The situation appears to be under control."
Talinia smirked. "Fel, the prisoner might not give to conventional interrogation as easily as you think. Rest assured your presence will be helpful." She pressed a button on her comlink, and two stormtroopers marched in with a prisoner. Fel's jaw dropped, leaving enough room in his mouth to comfortably accommodate a krayt dragon, although he would have rather swallowed one of those than follow through with this assignment.
To say Luke Skywalker was bored would be inaccurate. He hadn't had anything to do except stare at his surroundings, but the room he was in wasn't a room a person could be easily bored in. Shocked, apprehensive, and terrified, sure, but hardly bored.
The room was furnished in grey metal. So common for a Star Destroyer, but there were many different types of metal. There was the sturdy hard dullness of the walls, the smooth transparisteel of viewports, the clingy silver blend that made up technology— datapads, controls, things meant to be touched. The room was a hard, sharp, gray, and the metal looked eerily purposeful. Somehow, it seemed smooth and sharp at the same time, although that was, perhaps, partially a function of the equipment backed up against the wall across from him.
A thankful distraction came in the form of voices in an adjacent room. He didn't have Jedi powers anymore, but he still had pretty good hearing. One of the voices sounded oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. That was strange. How many Imperials did he recognize by voice?
A minute or so later, one of the stormtrooper's comlinks beeped. That was apparently their signal to roughly shove Luke towards the door. He really didn't see any way of resisting, so he didn't struggle as they pushed him towards the voices. The next room identical to the first, larger and (if it were possible) more menacing.
When he saw the occupants, to say Luke Skywalker was shocked would be an understatement.
Standing next to Admiral Talinia was Soontir Fel, the man who had defected from the Emperor to Isard to the New Republic, and apparently back again. Luke hadn't been best friends with him, but they had been acquaintances based on mutual respect. They had both been pilots— very, very, good pilots.
Luke saw the shock he was feeling mirrored on Fel's face. What was going on?
"Luke Skywalker!" Fel turned to Talinia in amazement.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have quite a bit of work to do. Grand Moffs to bully, Rebels to harass." And with that unusually forward statement, she left.
A/N: Next chapter is when things start to get darker!