Chapter 6
A/N: Thank you so much to Forever-Luke, I Love Dance, NA, and Arya of Ellesmera for reviewing! You're amazing :)
"The Little Lost Bantha Cub!" Jaina, Jacen and Anakin chorused in response to Luke's question.
Luke was rather taken aback. Hadn't they outgrown that story several years ago? Han, Leia, and especially Luke (as the Solo's longtime free babysitter) had all gone through the suffering of the children's "favorite story" phase. None of the adults were violent people, but to be perfectly honest, Luke doubted there wasn't one of them who hadn't contemplated taking a leaf out of dear-old-dad's book and skewering the thing through with a lightsaber.
Luke spoke cautiously. "I was thought that you three were, uh, tiredof that story." He tried not to make the word story sound like the atrocity it was.
Jaina giggled. "Don't be silly, Uncle Luke! We're too old for that little kid bookchip," she explained patiently. "I mean the hologame that Mr. Janson gave us today. We've tried it out, and it's really fun."
Luke fought the urge to grab for his comlink and bring Wes Janson up on a court martial. On the charge of theft of his Commanding Officer's sanity, perhaps? There had to be some rule against that.
The children were beginning to look impatient. "Come on, Uncle Luke!" Anakin pulled him over to the Solo's living room while Jacen and Jaina distributed the game controllers. Immediately, an obnoxious melody began to play. "Level Three. I am lost Robo-Bantha. Help me find my herd!" Jacen held a green game controller out to him.
Luke proved in that moment that he was a heroic Jedi by accepting the controller and letting the kids ruthlessly and systematically decimate him in Bantha-Bash mode several time in rapid succession. The massacre went on until Han stepped into the room. "We can leave as soon as Leia gets here . . . hey, is that the new game Janson gave you? No way, it's the Little Lost Bantha Cub! I can't believe that idiot actually gave it to you!"
"Dad, want to play with us?" Jaina asked enthusiastically. "You can have Jacen's controller; he's bad at it anyway."
"I'm not as bad at it as Uncle Luke!" Jacen protested, but it was too late. Jaina had swiped his controller and shoved it into Han's hands. Han shrugged when the doorbell rang.
Anakin abandoned his controller and ran over to answer the door. Janson bounded in before Han or Luke could protest, with Hobbie hanging back, apparently attempting to look inconspicuous while he stared at the screen in horror and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "There goes my favorite blaster."
"You're playing The Little Lost Bantha Cub? Cool!" Janson picked up Anakin's discarded controller. "I'll show you how it's done."
It turned out to be a surprisingly gory battle. Luke and Han had abandoned all strategy and just did their utmost best to pound Janson into a bloody bantha pulp.
To no one's surprise, Jaina was far ahead by the time Leia walked in the door and saw the men playing The Little Lost Bantha Cub.
"What are you three doing?" Leia asked, looking appalled. "You're playing the children's hologames? Luke, at least you should know better."
Luke looked up at her rather guiltily and dropped the controller. Stepping back from his overwhelming desire for Janson's blood. . . .
Han changed the subject with all the dexterity of the husband of Darth Vader's daughter. "How did the Senate meeting go?"
"If a politician speaks and there is no press around to hear him, is he still lying?" she asked rhetorically.
Mirax hadn't thought it possible, but she was finally bored. All the time she spent in Farsiria's office (when she wasn't viewing holocron memories with the others) had made her entirely sick of tabloids. After all, there were only so many times you could make fun of the Solo kids for being Dooku, Ventress and Maul reincarnated, or the robot nerf that devoured Borsk Fey'lya's security blanket.
The holocron memories hadn't even revealed anything very important yet. Leia Organa Solo insisted that they were going to reveal something important soon, but three days and quite a few memories later, Mirax wasn't so sure.
And even if it was for a good cause, Mirax still felt uncomfortable seeing into Luke Skywalker's private thoughts, however innocent they might be. She had no idea why Cracken decided to include Janson on the team viewing the memories— could you imagine the blackmail potential?
Janson had absolutely no boundaries, and Mirax could easily envision him telling Luke's students that he thought of Yoda as a highly talented swamp toad.
Did Cracken have a grudge against Luke or something? Mirax shook her head and let out an audible sigh. She was spending far too much time around Farsiria and her conspiracy theories. A New Republic general like Cracken having a grudge against the hero of the Rebellion?
Farsiria looked cheerfully up at Mirax. "Mirax, do you want to read the newest issue of the Weekly Galactic News? It's fresh off the Holonet."
Mirax smiled politely. "No thank you. Maybe I'll go see if I can find my husband now. . . ." She stood up from the antique checkered Corvisian chair, stumbling over a messy pile of flimsies as she headed for the door.
Before she advanced two steps, there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Farsiria called out from her overflowing desk.
Wedge Antilles entered the room. Farsiria gave an odd yelping noise and flung herself under the desk. Even though she supposed she shouldn't be, Mirax was rather surprised. Wedge was probably the most famous hero of the Rebellion that she hadn't seen lampooned by Farsiria's tabloids, and anyone that knew Wedge personally knew he was kind, responsible, and diligent. As well as one of the last people that one might ever have to hide under desks from.
Mirax almost laughed at the perplexed look Wedge gave her. "Am I missing something?" he asked.
Mirax shrugged. "If so, I'm missing it too," she replied.
Farsiria's muffled voice was still relatively coherent through the thick imitation-wood of the desk. "W-wedge Antilles? Oh. . . he's part of Rogue Squadron, the blood-sucker Ewok gang."
Mirax frowned. Farsiria might have been a tabloid journalist, but this wasn't an unusual conspiracy theory; this was ridiculous. "Farsiria, if you look up, you'll see that Wedge is definitely not an Ewok." Mirax said, feeling that she was missing the point. She glanced back at Wedge. "What are you doing here?"
Wedge took his eyes away from the desk. "Corran said you'd be here; I wanted to clarify some points in your official statement about the smugglers."
Mirax frowned. "An official statement? Surely Cracken isn't thinking of releasing the fact that Luke is an Imperial captive?"
Wedge winced. "Not yet, but you must admit that things aren't going so well right now. And better they hear it from us than Talinia."
Mirax reluctantly nodded. "I'll come with you, just a sec." She walked over to Farsiria and dropped down next to her. Farsiria turned slightly so Mirax could see her face. "Farsiria, are you okay?" Mirax asked. She knew it wasn't exactly the right question, but wasn't sure what was.
"Of course," Farsiria replied, almost normal again. On her face, though, there was a strange disquiet.
"When's Uncle Luke going to be back?" Anakin asked curiously. The Solo family was eating dinner together with increasing frequency lately, that night in a casual Corellian restaurant several blocks from their apartment.
Across the table, Han dropped his eating utensils with a clang against the gaudy kaleidoscope of red, green, and gold that made up the restaurant's oval plates. He exchanged a glance with Leia.
Han recovered first. "Anakin, haven't we told you yet?"
Anakin shrugged. "I know that Uncle Luke is supposed to be back day after tomorrow. But I was just wondering what time day after tomorrow."
Han was relieved and worried at the same time. He glanced at Leia again, who was staring into the imitation gold tiled fountain. By this time, the twins had caught on as well something was going on and turned their attention away from their greasy nerf nuggets.
"About that," Han began. "I'm afraid that Uncle Luke. . .isn't going to back—" at that point Leia shot him a warning look, whipping her head up so fast she nearly banged her head on the fat Corellian food-deity statue resting on the booth's back, "—yet. There's, uh, more work than he anticipated right now, and he holocommed to say he won't be back for at least a little while longer. . . ."
Han knew he was blatantly lying, but what was he supposed to say?
They didn't have to tell the kids yet. Even if things were looking pretty bad right now, Luke was a lot tougher than his twelve-year-old-with-a-water-blaster exterior suggested, and he was luckyall the time too. He might yet pull out of this. Until then, the only tactic he could think of was to stall. Even if it wouldn't work for long.
Not for the first time, Han regretted having kids that had inherited Leia's brains. Which wasn't to say that Han's scoundrelism, as Leia called it, hadn't rubbed off on them either. C-3PO always called it "a scandalous and blatant disregard for decorum." Imperials called it . . . well, they didn't really have a chance to call it anything before they saw stars. Cracken's Essential Field Guide had it listed as fair play. As for Han and Leia, they couldn't help but call it adorable when they saw it in their own children, even if they couldn't keep anything from the little darlings.
"So," Han said loudly over the sound of the kids' moans of disappointment (Luke was rather liberal with the post-mission presents), "Who's up for some Bantha Bash when we get home?"
As Admiral Talinia left the interrogation room, Fel inwardly swore, banged his head against an imaginary wall, and entertained vivid fantasies of Talinia, Rengell, and the entire situation dissolving into the lava rivers of Mustafar.
"Baron Fel?" Dr. Rengell asked, who looked to be obscenely amused by Fel's predicament. "Your orders?"
Fel took a deep breath and gazed reluctantly at Luke Skywalker. He was kneeling on the floor between several heavily armed stormtroopers, hands bound together by activated stun-cuffs. Yet he looked unharmed, except for a large bruise underneath his left eye. He looked just the same – but Fel supposed that legends and Jedi didn't age like normal people.
Contrary to what many believed, the Rebellion wasn't just a heroic crusade for peace and equality in the galaxy. That was a fact. Many of the Rebels were smugglers and criminals; quite a few were there for political advantage or simply because the Rebellion controlled their planet. Few Rebels fought because they genuinely believed in the aforementioned values.
Luke Skywalker was one of the few.
With Dr. Rengell starting to tap one metal-tipped boot on the sterilized floor, Fel knew he could put this off no longer. He met eyes with Luke Skywalker. Contrary to what one might believe, eyes were nearly as revealing as literature suggested them to be. Luke's were just as luminously blue as always, a little older and wiser, perhaps, but they hadn't changed much. He wondered what Luke saw revealed in his.
Luke broke the silence first. "It's nice to see you again, Soontir."
Fel sighed. "Is it?"
Luke nodded, then winced as a few small forks of blue lightning from the stun-cuffs crawled up his arm. "So what are you going to do with me?"
He felt his features turn hard. "I'm an Imperial officer, and you're a traitor to the Empire. What do you thinkwe're going to do to you?"
Luke shrugged slightly, doubling over a little from the electricity. "Traitor to the Empire? That's a new one. But I didn't ask what the Empire was going to do, I asked what you were."
Fel gave up on the Imperial act. "Luke. You might be naïve to think that the Rebellion is the right side to support, but I'm sure you do it out of idealism." It sounded condescending, but he had been that way once too. "But you've done the galaxy more harm than good by joining it, and I can't ignore that."
Luke remained silent.
Fel sighed again. "I see only one course of action I can condone. You've chosen your side, and I've chosen mine. We both knew the risks and consequences. The only thing I can do for you is to make sure this goes as quickly and painlessly as possible. And that's it." He didn't even bother to ask Luke to just give them the information— he wouldn't, and even if he did, Talinia wouldn't let him go.
Fel would do his duty— the only problem was that Luke would do his.
"Excellent," Dr. Rengell drawled. "Now that you've made your little speech and satisfied your conscience, Baron Fel, we can begin." He held out a long flimsi out. "This is the first round of questions the Admiral wants answers to."
"Isn't there a softening up period first?" Fel asked hopefully. Usually, prisoners had a few days of starvation, harsh lights, and sleep deprivation before interrogation began.
Rengell let out a short and mirthless laugh. "Baron Fel, how useful do you think any softening up period is going to be on this particular prisoner? Besides, even though we're taking every precaution," Rengell glanced at the stormtroopers, "We don't want to risk losing this useful opportunity that we have."
By this point, Fel felt the situation rapidly spiraling out of control. To be precisely clear, he had no experience in interrogation. What was he supposed to do? Order the stormtroopers to beat Luke into unconsciousness? He knew that would be an entirely pointless exercise.
Dr. Rengell spoke up again. "Baron, Permission to speak freely?"
"Granted."
"I'm an interrogation expert, and you're a fighter pilot. You have no idea of how to handle this situation, and even if you did, you clearly have issues with it. But with your consent, I will take charge of this project. You can take a little vacation in complete assurance that all of our objections will be accomplished."
Until then, Admiral Talinia's aide had remained quiet. However, he voiced a protest. "Admiral Talinia said that Baron Fel was to be in charge of this project."
Dr. Rengell waved a hand dismissively. "There's no reason for Baron Fel to have to deal with the details. Admiral Talinia is in charge of the Empire, but she doesn't have to personally inspect the Starkiller's utility droids, does she?"
Fel might have been completely inexperienced with interrogation, but he wasn't that naive. "While I do concede that it would be prudent to consult your, uh, expertise," it hurt his teeth to say that, "I certainly won't be leaving." As tempting as it was to wash his hands of the whole thing, that would be truly immoral. He stood by his belief that this was necessary— so he was going to see this through.
Dr. Rengell scowled. "Very well."