Chapter 7: Tinted Dark
A/N: Thank you, Forever-Luke, I Love Dance, ClearSkylark, and Marin for reviewing!!! Reviews make it so much more fun to write. And also thank you to everyone who just reads this story and never reviews : ) Just knowing you're there is awesome.
Okay, fun and happiness over : ) Seriously, Luke does not have a good time in this chapter (understatement of the galaxy).
In one of the more opulent meeting rooms of the Starkiller, two Imperial officers were discussing the future of the Empire over Caridian white tea and Lura blossom pastries – the kind of thing people more liked the idea of eating than the actual taste. Of course, Imperial officers more liked the ideaof discussing things with each other than the actual practice, so it was rather appropriate all around.
"That is a most intriguing offer, Admiral Talinia. However, I am afraid I must decline," said Warlord Teradoc with a barely passable amount of interest in his voice.
Talinia hid a smirk. "Warlord Teradoc, I'm confident that you'll change your mind before this meeting ends."
Teradoc shrugged. "I doubt it. But let's be frank with each other. I don't recognize your claim to the Empire, and you don't recognize mine. I won't join you, much less place my forces under your command, and I have absolutely no idea why you think I would."
"Then I suppose your business here is done," Talinia replied serenely. "Unless," she added, almost flippantly, "You would like to follow me to the interrogation room for a few minutes."
Luke tasted blood as he stumbled to his feet. The next blow came from behind, sending him slamming into the metal wall, shoulders first, then head. The pain blossomed all the way down his spine, and his legs gave out again.
He lay there, stunned, for a moment. An electronic voice crackled emotionlessly. "Get up."
Luke rolled onto his side and pushed himself up wearily, leaning against the wall for support. The three stormtroopers faced him in a loose semicircle. Without the Force, he couldn't defend himself very well, pinned against the wall with his arms cuffed behind his back.
The middle stormtrooper yanked him forward and backhanded him across the face with a metal glove, sending him reeling. Luke tried to roll with the blow, but it still snapped his head back and sent him stumbling into another armored figure, who pinned him against the wall again. Blow after blow opened ragged wounds and splintered ribs.
When it stopped, Luke crumpled to the ground. He closed his eyes and rested against the cool metal floor for a moment, chest rising and falling from difficult, pained breaths.
"Get up," said the voice again.
Luke was tempted to ignore it, but pride won out. Unwillingly, he opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. For a brief moment he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stand – but the moment passed, and he stayed upright.
He couldn't see the stormtroopers' faces through the darkened glass, but the interrogator – a tall, dark-haired man – looked fairly surprised. The expression didn't stay, though; he motioned to the stormtroopers, and they dragged him forwards to a table without chairs in the center of the room.
A stormtrooper behind him grabbed Luke's shoulders, and he barely had enough time to twist his head to the side before it was slammed down onto the table.
The interrogator spoke to him. "What are the identities of the Rebel agents in Yaga Minor?"
Luke closed his eyes. The ventilation shafts hummed quietly with air. Something was vibrating underfoot, and he just listened quietly and imagined that it was something exploding a thousand feet away. Han's shooting perhaps, or maybe Wedge.
Someone gripped Luke's arm tightly, twisting it and clamping down at an awkward angle. Luke took a deep breath, then immediately regretted it as his ribs screamed in protest.
"Increase the pressure," said the interrogator calmly.
It felt like being stabbed as the stormtrooper's glove slowly rotated, stopping just when Luke was sure his arm would break.
"I don't know!" he gasped finally.
For a few more moments, there was nothing but the sweat or blood trickling down Luke's face and the white-hot pain shooting down his arm. Then the stormtrooper stepped forward in a quick, vicious movement and Luke's arm snapped. He gasped convulsively, too breathless to scream.
"We can do this as long as necessary," said the interrogator. "Do Jedi still need their fingers?"
"Are you sure that all of this data is right?" Corran asked Iella. Since the holocron had yielded little information so far, the team had split into two groups, with Corran, Mirax, Wedge and Iella working on the Intelligence side of things.
Iella nodded tiredly. "Beyond reasonable doubt."
The bounty hunter Viin Nord's home planet Xandra had long been a subject of puzzlement to most galactic scientists. There were numerous accounts of machinery going haywire, often enough to be believable, but not often enough to be anticipated. Visitors swore that they had seen certain members of the population disappear into thin air, though this phenomenon had yet to be caught on holocam.
The scientists had long given up on finding a plausible solution. The civilians, on the other hand, were split into two major divisions concerning Xandra.
The more cynical believed that the whole thing was merely a carefully orchestrated plot by the planet's leadership to encourage tourism. Others believed that it was conclusive proof that every Xandrian was a Sith in disguise, which would actually make sense. Who else would dare to live on the same planet as Viin Nord?
Nobody else, they had concluded, would voluntarily do that.
However, the NRI had a more immediate concern. For no apparent reason, there had been no traffic on or off Xandra for the past standard three days.
"How is this even possible?" asked Wedge.
Iella shrugged. "What I'm concerned about is why it took us three days to receive this information. How could we miss something like this?"
No one had an answer to that.
"I think I'll assign Farsiria Adanis to this one. She's not getting much done right now, not that anyone else is."
Mirax frowned. "I was wondering about that. Iella, you put together the list of NRI agents working on Luke's disappearance, didn't you?"
"That's right."
"Did you have any particular reason for choosing Farsiria?"
Iella shook her head. "I didn't put her on the list; Cracken added her. That was odd, actually, since we're trying to keep the team small. She's some sort of tabloid holojournalist or something, I'm not sure why we need her."
Mirax looked at Iella speculatively. "I wonder why he did add her, then?"
"No idea," said Iella. She crossed the hallway and stuck her head into Cracken's office.
Cracken looked up. "Iella, are you busy? I have a report on Xandra for you that I'd like to talk over."
"Mirax and I were wondering about something," she said. "Why did you add Farsiria Adanis to the list investigating Luke's capture?"
"Farsiria Adanis?" Cracken asked, looking genuinely perplexed. "Who's that?"
An excerpt from the holographic communications log of Viin Nord:
Bedern: Bounty Hunter Nord, Admiral Talinia has another assignment for you. You will receive further instruction after the hyperspace jump.
Nord: As much as I'd like to help the cause, I'm afraid I can't do that. Not without any details.
Bedern: How much?
Nord: You can't put a price tag on trust.
Bedern: Would a retail value of twenty thousand credits in advance, fifty later be sufficient?
Nord: Thirty in advance is acceptable.
Bedern: Very well; the coordinates are being sent to your navigational computer.
Nord: Where am I going?
Bedern: Xandra. That's all I'm at liberty to say.
Luke Skywalker did his utmost best to focus on the menu as Wes Janson mimed upending his drink onto Luke's head, much to the children's amusement. Han and Leia had boxed him into a corner, however unintentionally— with three available seats, Luke could have avoided sitting next to Wes, but that would have been throwing Jaina to the gundarks.
Leia diplomatically cleared her throat as she handed a menu to Wes. As Luke exchanged a pained look with Han, he watched Leia take a stab at conversation.
"So," she ventured bravely. "That's, er, an interesting choice of dinner dress, Wes." She didn't actually say the "er," but it was almost audible.
Janson was wearing a bottle green and silver pinstriped shirt with matte black pants, but what really drew the eye was the shimmering sea-colored cloak he had thrown over his clothing. The cloak consisted of numerous thin, crinkled strips of fabric in various shades of aqua and jade which reflected the globular dimmed lights hanging several feet above their heads. It gave Janson the impression of being an extremely glittery seaweed-draped bird; ironically he actually fit in quite well with the oceanic Mon Calamarian restaurante's décor.
Janson smiled engagingly. "It's nice, isn't it? I borrowed it from Cilghal; she said it was traditional."
Luke was rather skeptical about that. Granted, Cilghal had a sense of humor. But as a Jedi Healer and ambassador from Mon Calamari, she seemed a little too intelligent to try and get revenge on Janson by draping him in shiny fabric.
"I've never heard of any secret Mon Calamarian rituals like that," said Jacen.
Janson shrugged conspiratorially. "Maybe that's why they're secret? It's always the quiet, healer types. Come on, can't you see Ambassador Cilghal dancing around a burnt offering to the Venerable God of Seaweed?"
In spite of himself, it took a substantial portion of Luke's Jedi self-control to keep a straight face. That was the problem with Wes. The same things that made him immature, annoying, and occasionally embarrassing also made him fun to be around. And even if you didn't acknowledge his dubious wit, he was loyal and dependable when it really counted.
Luke watched Leia smile rather indulgently at Janson. "Has everyone decided what to order?"
There were affirmative nods all around the table. Luke was planning on the garnished Manisat, honestly because he had no intention of attempting to pronounce anything else.
He was actually rather impressed to note that throughout the entire meal, Janson failed to do anything more embarrassing than trying to flirt with their chartreuse-and-salmon skinned Mon Calamarian waitress and spilling half his glass of Quarren wine onto Luke. Well, if you could disregard the cloak, an understandably difficult task.
Janson had apologized, stayed penitent for about three standard minutes. That was, incidentally, the same amount of time he had sulked over the waitress's rejection.
As soon as Luke finished wringing the excess wine from his shirt, he had gone to the refresher to futilely attempt to rinse the obstinate mauve liquid out of the formerly-white fabric. At least he didn't have to wear the shirt any more.
It had been a present from the twins, who had pooled their allowances on his last birthday— officially, anyway. Luke suspected that Han and Leia had chipped in quite a bit, and Leia must have picked the shirt out. Her latest project had been trying to force him to wear something besides black.
Luke inwardly groaned. Leia was going to think that he tried to do the shirt in by dining in the same general vicinity as Janson.
It wasn't that he was particularly clumsy, but Force help the wretched being that caught him off-duty. He glanced at the shirt in the mirror. By pure luck, the blotch appeared to be artistically placed. Maybe he could even get back to his apartment without more than a few people wondering why Luke Skywalker was wandering around Coruscant with a wine-soaked shirt, or even worse, not wondering why.
Luke immediately resolved to go out to his landspeeder, parked outside, to retrieve his jacket.
The busy airways that crisscrossed above the landing platform, stretching out as far as he could see and looping around screamingly bright signs and various advertisements against a backdrop of the wordless murmur of Coruscant's inhabitants created a stark contrast to the elegance and calm of the restaurant's interior.
As he unlocked the landspeeder and retrieved his jacket from one of the nerf-leather seats, Luke felt a strange feeling of unease wash over him. Slipping on the jacket, he casually turned around.
Two landspeeders away stood a cloaked woman, leaning against the dingy wall that edged the platform. She was half turned towards Luke, but he knew she hadn't noticed him yet. In a flash of movement, he quickly closed the distance between them.
She noticed him then, smoothly turning to escape. She was summarily trapped against the wall.
The woman took in a deep breath. "Let go of me."
Luke shook his head. "Not until you tell me why you've been following me all over Coruscant."
The woman's voice turned sarcastic. "Is it a crime to pursue my favorite holostar in hopes of an autograph?"
Matching her heated tone with his even one, he raised an eyebrow. "Well, you've caught me. In any case, I'm a Jedi, not a holostar, and I need an explanation."
Her voice dropped down to a menacing whisper. "I have done nothing to you, and I don't appreciate being manhandled by Jedi and their witchcraft. I'm telling you again, release me."
When she saw Luke's hesitation, she yanked free of her grasp. Since her words were technically true, he didn't bother resisting. However, her violent motion caused the hood to fall, and he caught a glimpse of her face. She was startlingly beautiful, with large dark eyes and ash blond hair, but she looked terrified. Pulling the cloak back over her face, she fled to her vehicle and disappeared into dark-tinted transparisteel.
Wes Janson leisurely opened his eyes as the room came back into focus.
He was prepared to write that last Holocron memory off as a failure as well when Leia jumped up with a triumphant smile. Such an undignified motion was rare for the Chief-of-State, so Janson decided he could safely assume that there was good news somewhere in there.
"We've got Talinia now!" Han crowed. Maybe he knew something Janson didn't. As Han was higher than Janson on the command chain by several parsecs, it wasn't entirely unlikely.
With the exception of Han and Leia, the rest of the room's occupants looked as confused as Wampas on Mustafar. Taking the most casual glance at the expression on Hobbie's face, however, that wasn't saying much.
Han took pity on them first. "We saw the face of Luke's lunatic stalker."
Wes blinked. "Well, that's good. Who is she?"
Han shrugged. "Hell if I know. She looks familiar, though."
"She's been working on Luke's disappearance," Leia explained stridently. "I don't know her name, but she's the one with the blue hair."
Considering the amount of sarcasm with which Leia laced the phrase "working on Luke's disappearance", Wes had no doubt that Cracken was about to suffer. Wes couldn't entirely blame her. The woman obviously had something to do with Luke's disappearance, and she had managed to slip not only into NRI but into the very team that was searching for him.
Han frowned slightly. "I think I've seen her from somewhere else, though . . . ."
Well, if she did indeed have blue hair like Leia said, it might be a bit hard to focus on her features. A bit hard like Emperor Palpatine was a bit scary, that was.
Wes was the first to vacate his seat. "We'd better talk to this girl, then," he said with a grim smile.
Leia gave him a warning glance. "Hold on, Wes. I'll be very annoyed if she manages to get away. We're going to go call for some backup."
A/N: Next chapter: Luke still doesn't have much fun. But progress is made towards saving him.