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Project Two
Right, this one is completely different. The previous one is basically a fun run, but this one is a dramatic piece, as the Son of Suns trilogy was. This one assumes the old chestnut that Luke and Leia were changed over at birth, so that Luke went to Alderaan and Leia went to Tatooine with Ben to watch over her.
This excerpt starts with a little introduction when Luke's seven, then the whole story jumps to his being fifteen (I wanted this one to have a little historic opener 'cos it's important later. I left it in the sample because it kinda helps set the darker tone).
I'm cutting in mid-chapter here, when the House of Organa has been summoned to the Imperial Palace on Coruscant for a the annual Imperial Celebration. Although they were duty-bound to go, Bail, obviously nervous, has been working hard to keep Luke out of sight, never having the boy leave the quarters they've been assigned:-
Okay, here it is,
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Though none knew the history of Bail's adopted son, many had realised very quickly when in his company that the boy was Force-sensitive, all turning to Bail with sombre, regretful eyes and warning to keep the boy hidden. Master Yoda, who had been present when Kenobi had first handed the newly-born Luke over to Bail, had cautioned in solemn, serious tones that the boy must remain safely distant from Coruscant until he was old enough to be brought to Yoda by Master Kenobi for training.
His late father had been an incredibly powerful Jedi, only just finding his feet, still testing his limits when the coup had been launched. It had always been accepted that Anakin Skywalker was different; that he had, in some way, a destiny to fulfil linked with the old prophesies from the Journal of the Whills. When this did not happen, it was Anakin's son on whom anticipation of the prophecy fell. What happened to Anakin exactly following Palpatine's coup no-one seemed willing to say, though Bail had an idea that his Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, knew the truth. Presumably he had fought and fallen alongside his fellow Jedi, despite his exceptional ability.
Because of his father's aptitude, it had often been implied that Luke would one day be expected to train as a Jedi- that he would lead the covert Rebellion Bail had spent years surreptitiously supporting and funding. To have a Jedi- a particularly gifted Jedi- stand at the head of such an army would, he knew, be not only a counter to Vader but a rallying point for those who needed such icons to follow.
Leia too would be closely watched, they hinted, her own destiny carefully shaped. It was Luke though, on whom both Kenobi and Yoda seemed to concentrat their expectations.
Such a heavy fate hanging over his son's head filled Bail with dread sometimes, to the point that he occasionally wished that he had upheld his original choice to take Luke's twin sister instead of him, but having contacted Breha and talked it through their decision had changed, and he had not for a single moment regretted taking Luke.
Just six days old when Bail had brought him to Alderaan, hiding Luke's arrival had been so easy in the upheaval of Civil War. Breha had gone into seclusion for a few months before his 'birth' was announced as if he were the natural child of the Regents. It had necessitated his birth certificate listing Luke as six months younger than his real age, but the boy was small and fine-boned, delicate like his mother, and the discrepancy had never been queried.
And every day- every day he grew a little more; so fast. Already Bail could see a hint of a headstrong, resolute, idealistic young man in the spirited, inquisitive child who ran with such buoyant irreverence through the hushed halls of the Alderaanian Royal Palace, upending Court and terrorising his tutors.
His son had become the centre of his life; so brimming with eagerness and optimism, an unstoppable enthusiasm for and curiosity about everything.
Bail smiled warmly at that, aware of how often he felt like he was trying to hold on to a whirlwind. So much so that he worried about taking Luke to the ever-solemn Master Yoda for training; fretted that he would run endless hoops around the venerable Jedi and make the poor creature's life one long head-spinning string of answers to endless questions as to 'why?' and 'how?'.
And just as much he worried simply that he would miss the boy- that he would miss this tiny tornado of endless energy and boisterous exuberance. Often the only reason that Bail could carry on this distasteful pretence day after day was in the hope that ultimately it would provide a better galaxy for Luke and his whole generation.
.
And now- now he was here on Coruscant. The one place Yoda had warned against going. But what was Bail to do? He had contacted Master Kenobi, still in hiding on Tatooine watching guard over Leia in a way which would have been impossible for him to do with Luke on Alderaan, the presence of a trained Jedi so close to the Core systems too easy for Vader to detect. But had received no contact from the Jedi, so he and Breha had relied on their own council to protect the boy.
He had been hidden for so long in plain sight that surely, since Vader would not be in attendance, it would be less obvious to simply brazen out the trip for three short days, they had reasoned.
Three short days. Now that they were here, every one seemed an eternity.
Bail and Breha were returning to their apartments to change for the massive State banquet which would be held tonight, having attended functions throughout the day, tired and wired, with plastic smiles frozen on aching faces. Behind them, their honour guard of four Alderaanian troops were closely flanked by two blue-uniformed Palace Guard, but they were far enough back the Bail felt, if not comfortable with their presence then at least not threatened by it.
This final night of the celebrations would be the first time that the Emperor himself would be attending, a rare personal appearance from the reclusive man who held Court by night and seemed forever reluctant to step into the light of day.
Once again, at Bail's casual request to Saté Pestage, the Emperor's Adjutant, he had been able to excuse his son from the banquet due to his young age, the poor boy having spent the last three days cooped up in the lush but oppressive surroundings of the cavernous, soulless suite of rooms assigned to the Alderaanian Royal House, somehow knowing not to make a fuss or a noise, remaining quiet and subdued, not at all the usual bright, excitable seven-year old Bail knew and loved.
"Almost done." Bail had murmured to his wife in reassurance, "One more night and then we're gone."
"And next year?" Breha had queried, tiredness audible in her voice.
The celebrations were an annual event and though this was the first time that Luke's age had led to his been included on the invitation, it clearly would be standard from now on. Bail sighed heavily, turning the last corner of the tall, cavernous hallway leading to the sumptuous apartments-
And froze, heart in his mouth.
Eight scarlet-robed Royal Guard stood to smart attention outside the door, the six Alderaanian guards who were presently on watch there eyeing them with wary, helpless stares, everybody tense.
Bail set forward at a near-run, rushing into the apartment, heading for the door before which a further two Royal Guard stood without turning, Pestage, the Emperor's adjutant, in the doorway.
He burst into the room, breathless-
Luke sat quiet and subdued on a long, heavy chaise, back very straight, still small enough that his feet were dangling clear of the floor, hands clenched nervously on his lap. His pale blue eyes turned anxiously to his father as Bail stepped forward and though he clearly wanted to run to Bail he held his place, frozen to tense immobility.
Opposite him, dressed in heavy black robes and a dark claret-coloured cowl, sat the Emperor.
He turned, pale yellow eyes, regarding Bail with arrogant amusement, thin, reedy voice grating up Bail's spine. "Ah, Senator Organa. You have an intriguing son - quite captivating."
For several seconds Bail could only stare, voiceless, hearing his wife rush into the room behind him, hearing the slight inarticulate sound, half-shock, half-fear, escape the back of her throat-
Then he gathered his wits and bowed deeply to cover his unease, "Excellency, this is an unexpected honour."
"Really?" the Emperor set his hooded head to one side like a predator regarding prey, "Unexpected?"
There was a note of dry disbelief in his tone as he stood in a rustle of raven robes and Bail remained silent, afraid anything he did would condemn his son, terrified his own guilt would be written over his face despite years of political expertise.
He knows nothing - how could he without Vader? Stop panicking and think!
"Forgive me Excellency; you have met my wife, Queen Breha, of the House Antilles. And this is our son, Luke." As he spoke, Bail reached out his arm in invitation but Luke remained frozen, hands clasped together, small fingers tightly laced.
"We have been speaking, your son and I," the Emperor said, turning to the boy, ignoring Bail's words completely. "It seems we have a great deal in common. And Saté tells me that you have kept the poor child cooped up in these apartments since your arrival, Senator."
"At your indulgence, Excellency, I feel he is perhaps a little young to…"
"Nonsense," Palpatine dismissed without allowing Bail to finish. "The sooner a child learns his place in the galaxy, the sooner he will settle, don't you agree?" the last was issued with permasteel behind it, Palpatine already turning away, a response neither expected nor encouraged.
He turned to the young child, who withered back, blue eyes wide as the Emperor spoke, "Come, boy. I will show you my Empire - and I will tell you your place in it."
Luke glanced back to his father in alarm, looking for assistance, but Palpatine spoke out before Bail could reason a reply. "Your parents must make ready for the banquet tonight. I will take you to the roof and show you the Oval, the building they will travel to, less than a mile from here, in the grounds of my Palace."
When Luke still didn't move, the Emperor's voice came sharper, twisting like a knife in Bail's knotted stomach. "Stand up!"
"It's alright, Luke," Bail assured quickly, trying hard to hide the fear in his voice, hearing the pounding of his heart in his breath. "It's fine, really. You can go- we'll be right here. It's fine."
Palpatine smiled a death's-head grin, spoiled teeth against wan flesh, "You can watch your parents' speeder leave, on its way to the Oval. Wave them goodbye."
The boy lowered his dangling feet down from the massive chaise, blond curls bobbing as he stood uncertainly, hands clasped to his chest now, desperately scared, aware of the tense atmosphere in the room; of the fear rolling off his father and the overwhelming confidence of the dark-dressed man with the yellow eyes.
He took a quarter-step forward, eyes to his father-
A pale, withered hand reached out from the Emperor's heavy black robes, long fingers bone-white, nails curving to yellowed claws, "Give me your hand, child."
Both Bail and Breha remained somehow upright as their son reached tremulously out, his small, delicate hand engulfed by the Emperor's, the action both controlling and claiming in the same moment.
And what could they do but stand aside as Palpatine set forward, Luke reaching out as he passed his mother to trail the tips of his fingers across her powder-blue gown, the two Royal Guard at the doorway falling into place behind their son as he glanced back through their ranks, pulled reluctantly forward by the man who held him now. The Emperor paused imperceptibly, eyes meeting Saté's, who lowered his gaze in a half-nod of acknowledgement.
As they turned the last corner out of the apartments, Bail reached out to grab his wife as she set forward with a broken cry, holding her to himself, whispering reassurances he wished he believed. "It's alright- it's alright Breha. He'll be back within the hour. He'll be fine. He'll be fine if we can just brazen this out."
He steered her firmly away, trying not to make a scene before the eight Red Guard who had remained at the doorway to the apartment, knowing it would only endanger their son further. The Emperor knew nothing- without Vader's Force sensitivity he had no reason to suspect Luke of being anything more than he seemed; Bail and Breha's son. This was simply a power game; a chastisement for Luke's non-attendance during the last few day's official events.
Still, it had brought home to Bail the boy's vulnerability here and he simply couldn't risk Palpatine's further interest. With hushed encouragement he walked his wife through to the dressing rooms where their sombre, dark evening clothes were laid out ready, motioning for Captain Antilles to follow.
Breha collapsed down onto a chair, trembling hands to her mouth, knowing that Bail was right but torn inside by the sight of her son being led away, his eyes wide with fear and confusion as to why they would tell him to go- would let the stranger take him.
As Captain Antilles leaned in Bail whispered, "We need to smuggle Luke off-planet tonight- quickly and quietly, the moment he gets back. Get him to one of the Corvettes and hit lightspeed. Don't return to Alderaan- go to Tatooine. Find Kenobi."
Captain Antilles nodded without blinking, though he did think to ask one more question, glancing to his cousin Breha, "Yourself and the Queen, Sir?"
Bail blinked, not having thought any further than his son's safety; in removing Luke they condemned themselves too, but the alternatives were too horrific to consider.
His whole life, his plans - for his son, for his wife, for his people - everything turned upside down in an instant. The sight of Luke's hand as Palpatine's engulfed it, of the fear in his son's eyes, was burned into his thoughts.
"We'll get out as soon as you send a 'comm that Luke is off-planet. We'll go immediately after the State Banquet, but we need to brazen this out 'till then or they'll suspect something. Make preparations with the guards- we'll commandeer the transport which brings us back to the Palace and go straight to the landing platform. Be sure there's a transport prepped and tell the yacht to make ready to run- quietly."
The Captain nodded briskly and left, mind already racing with what needed to be done.
He was already in the turbolift, thoughts on tactics and timings, when the scarlet-robed Royal Guard who had remained outside the Organa's apartment turned to enter, intent on carrying out the Emperor's commands to the letter.
...
Luke stood on a high, open balcony near the top of the massive Southern Habitation Tower in the monumental Imperial Palace, not really knowing where he was or how to get back to his parents and safety. He stood as far as he reasonably could from the dark man, his back to the corner at which the wall and the balcony met, his fair curls whipped up to disarray by the high wind which pierced the dark shadows and sheeted across the sheer drop before them.
"Look-" the dark man intoned, vibrant yellow eyes searching Luke, leaving him more and more anxious, "Look anywhere, in any direction. This is my Empire- everything in it belongs to me. Everything."
As he spoke, he made an expansive gesture with his arm- and in the next second he'd grasped Luke's wrist, yanking him forward, lifting him up, helpless.
The boy gasped but didn't cry out, shocked by the speed at which the dark-robed man moved. He was hauled up and out, his feet hanging precariously over the towering drop for long, breathless seconds before he was placed with solid force on the carved slope of the balustrade's handrail. He slipped and scrabbled, struggling for grip, forced to grab at the arms which grasped tight about his ribs, holding him to the very edge of the precipice.
"Everything here is mine, to do with as I will. Even you." The dark man said ominously, leaning in to Luke from behind now, forcing his balance off so that he had to press back against the man's shoulder to keep from lurching forward, desperately unstable.
The hands which held Luke loosened and he was forced to hold more tightly, his slight form buffeted by the high winds. One foot slipped forward off the handrail, the back of his calf grazing against the edge of the carved stone, smarting and stinging, his shoe lost to the drop, disappearing into darkness.
"Stop!" Luke's voice was small and scared and angry all at once, breath stolen away by the wind.
The dark man paused as if realising, "Are you afraid?" His voice was a mocking dare as he loosed his hands, his hold slackening completely, "Stand up child- I won't let you go."
Luke struggled to find balance, hand grasping uselessly at the loose folds of the Emperor's sleeve as that last support was pulled away, leaving Luke to balance precariously on the uneven surface, hand outstretched over the terrifying drop into darkness.
"Is that so hard?" the dark man asked - and Luke turned to realise that the hands he'd thought would be close behind him were gone completely, loose at the dark man's sides, and he was alone on the narrow ledge, no support, no safety… completely alone.
Heart in his throat, Luke turned in slow, deliberate movements, taking two cautious measured steps along the narrow angled stone to the high wall at the edge of the balcony, grabbing at it like a lifeline as the winds dragged at him. He crouched, moving his grip to the handrail, finally balanced enough to scrabble down to the safety of solid ground, heart pounding against tight ribs, adrenaline burning his throat.
"You let me go." he said, bewildered, "You said you wouldn't let me go and you did."
"I lied." The dark man said easily, unmoved by the boy's breathless disillusionment, "That is my first lesson to you and the only one that I will ever give you for free; I cannot be trusted, child. Nobody can. Ever."
There was the cut of a blade in those words, delivered like a blow with neither guilt nor accountability, and Luke was left to uneasy confusion beneath them, legs still trembling.
"You are alone in this life, child- remember that. No-one will help you; no-one will defend you, no-one will provide for you. Whatever you gain, it will be by your own hands and your own will. You are utterly alone."
"My mom…"
"..is nothing." he spat, derisive.
In that second, fed by fear and fury and the adrenaline of the moment, the boy's cherubic lips narrowed to a terse line and his hand balled to a fist as he pulled it back to deliver a roundhand blow at the man who had spoken so harshly of his mother.
The dark man caught it mid-swing as if it were nothing at all, long fingernails digging into Luke's wrist as he hoisted it up, almost yanking Luke from the floor as he shook it. "What a malicious, spiteful little streak of anger you have in you, child. Where's your piety? You need to learn respect."
"Let me go!" He fumbled uselessly at the unyielding iron grip on his arm, soft skin bleeding beneath the drag of those nails, "I want my father!"
The grating sound of mocking laughter fell on Luke from above as the old man effortlessly twisted him about by the arm he held, dragging him forward, locking Luke in place between his body and the heavy carved balustrade, leaving him helpless against his tormentor's strength. "See? There are your… parents, child. Down below."
All defiance was instantly forgotten in that moment as Luke saw the distant figure of his father walk over the landing field far below to the enclosed executive speeder which waited. Still in the pale grey suit he had worn earlier, his father was little more than a distant speck against the unremitting black of the polished basalt landing platform, his mother close behind, the train of her powder-blue dress trailing, lifted and tugged in the squall. The memory of the warm brushed silk, soft against his fingers as he'd reached out for her when the dark man had led him away, made something inside Luke twist and snap in fear. He stretched on tip-toe to shout out to them at the top of his voice, wriggling his arm free, fingers stretching out across the dark divide, but they didn't hear, the wind whipping the words away into the night as soon as they left his mouth.
The sedan speeder set off at a graceful pace from the platform.
"Say goodbye, child." The dark-dressed man said with expectant relish.
Luke was taking a breath, still standing on tip-toe to see over the heavy balustrade, about to shout out his father's name… when the speeder exploded in a violent blast of colour and fury, the heat of the shockwave rumbling past a split-second later, raking through the curls of his hair, leaving the word, the memory, the hope dead, stolen away in a blazing, sun-bright instant.
.........
(Cut forward seven years)
Shore leave - finally!
Lieutenant Solo stepped of the transport and pulled at the high collar of his standard-issue officer's uniform, undoing the top three buttons as he walked to the edge of the platform, a two-day leave pass and twelve weeks pay burning a hole in his pocket.
The trooper at the guard box ran Han's passcard through the system and handed it back, saluting smartly, "Have a good weekend, Lieutenant."
Han glanced about; back on Coruscant after his third run to the back of beyond, he knew he was near the Mosiin province on Coruscant, but that was about it, "Any interesting night-life around here?"
The stormtrooper looked him up and down a second, but they were close enough in rank that he answered with casual honesty. "How interesting you looking for, Sir?"
Han shrugged, glancing at the distant lights, "I got two days- it'd better be pretty damn interesting."
The trooper nodded his head to the side, "Try the Dyging district, near the Palace. There're a couple of good cantina's there, but they're way down in the depths. The Atlas is good if you're looking to gamble your money, the Lucky Dugg's good if you want somethin' in return."
"Thanks." Han turned, gesturing with his hand, "That way?"
"Go down ten levels and you can get a public speeder. It's not really the kinda walk you should do alone, Sir."
Han nodded, turning and setting off into the night, his breath misting before him. How the hell did he always seem to get shore-leave on the part of a planet that was winter?
The Lucky Dugg had four bouncers on the door, but by the time he got there, Han had already taken off his Imperial Navy jacket and pulled on a more comfortable pilot's jacket he had from his time on Carida; still singled him out as Imperial Navy, but even here on Coruscant there was a galaxy of difference between being a grunt and being an officer. He shoved the dress jacket into his duffle and pulled up his collar, paying the speeder cab and stepping out into the Coruscant night.
...
On his fifth drink and finally getting that warm glow, Han leaned back against the bar and took in the room; it was big and smoky - so smoky you could probably get high on the fumes without actually bothering buying the spice sticks. A childhood growing up with Shrike let Han pick out the various types with ease; the booths against the walls were mainly pushers, dealers and buyers, looking to ply their trade without any trouble. The rowdy crowds who sported fast-draw holsters and confident grins were smugglers and gamblers, looking for the next job or spending the credits they'd earned on the last one. Moving between them all with the smooth grace of the predators they were, smelling out their prey and providing living proof of that age-old adage that a drunk and his credits were soon parted, were the frails and the twinks, looking for a trick.
He sighed comfortably, leaning back; somehow the Academy had never quite gotten that deep-rooted sense of feelin' right at home in a joint like this out of Han.
His eyes, roving the crowd, paused at the booth in the corner, mainly because the small glowball at the centre of the table which was the only light in the booths was broken, so its lone resident was in shadows. The bright tip of a spice stick flared momentarily, lighting its occupant's face in an amber glow. Not much more than a kid, he was maybe sixteen at the very most with short-shorn fair hair and a fading bruise on his jawline that looked like it had already turned every colour of the rainbow. Slouched back, he had his booted feet up on the table, ankles crossed, the empty shot glass balanced on his lap already filled with ash. Head resting on the back of the seat, he was staring up at the ceiling, the half-stump of a spice stick in his mouth, looking way too comfortable in a joint like this.
Han's eyes lingered trying to categorize the kid, but he just… didn't fit; didn't quite fit any of the types here. Probably a twink, cruising for a trick; yeah, he was the right age, right build; had that fresh-faced and old-eyed look. Han set his head to one side in consideration; kid sure didn't seem to be trying too hard though. Maybe he was just a buyer; the shot glass on his lap had three stubbed spice-stick in it already, and the kid didn't look like he was planning on leaving any time soon. Han turned away, resuming his scan of the room, looking for something a little more to his tastes, the kid instantly forgotten.
The night passed and the bar filled and the room got so noisy you had to shout to be heard, but Han liked 'em like that, so he was grinning at one of the working girls who had hit him up for a drink and was starting to talk business when the conversation behind him, shouted over the noise, drifted into hearing.
"Hey, hey!! Someone's tryin' to hit on Spice-boy!"
"No, really?"
It was the disbelieving, amused enthusiasm of that last voice which caught Han's attention.
He knew instantly who they were talking about, and as the evening had progressed, he'd ended up pushed further and further along the crowded bar towards that last dark booth, so he only had to take a step to the right to get a view, pushing the pink-haired frail who was all over him to one side.
Sure enough a big, burly spacer was leaning over the table in the dark booth, weaving slightly, a Weequay half a step behind him, egging him on. Clearly the kid had ignored him once, because now the burly Human was leaning forward and nudging him non-too-gently. Han didn't hear what the guy said, but the kid glanced up this time, singularly unimpressed.
What was weird was, despite all the incessant noise, the kid's quiet, clipped voice carried perfectly. "My name? It's 'Get-the-hell-out-of-my-face, nerf-breath'."
About the same moment as Han pulled a brief face, amazed at the kid's lip, he heard the two spectators behind him both go, "Yeah!" and "No way."
It took a good three seconds for the big spacer to register the insult, then he let out a roar-
And all hell broke loose.
The kid was grabbed by the scruff and hauled bodily out of the booth, several patrons around him being knocked back in the flurry as the drunk spacer backpaced, still hold of the kid by the scruff, drinks and curses loosed as the knock-on effect spread like a wave outwards. In the centre, the big Human had dragged the kid clear when he suddenly staggered back a few steps, clutching his midriff. The moment he was loosed, the kid took a half-step back and landed a high kick on the guys jaw as he bent double, knocking him back a few steps further, his head snapping round witha resounding 'clack' of teeth.
Grimacing, Han got his first real glimpse at the twink- and realized just how much of a kid he really was, less than shoulder-height to the drunk spacer, slight and slim and seriously outgunned. In fact, if the kid had any sense at all, he would have taken the opportunity and made a run for it, because clearly the other guy was now madder than hell and probably twice the kid's bodyweight. But instead, as the guy straightened and powered forward, arms wide, the kid made a few fast steps on the spot to set his bodyweight in anticipation, bracing. Han flinched at the coming blow, wondering if the kid had a death-wish or something-
Then the big guy was staggering to the side and the kid hardly seemed to have moved, save for a half-twist to drop a fast knee into his opponent as he passed, making him stagger into a heavy table, winded. Pulled half-round with him when he'd made that last blow, the kid caught his balance, hand out before him in warning as the big spacer rose with a roar, pushing the table away.
"Don't-" That was as far as the kid got. The big spacer ploughed forward and the kid pulled off a lightening-fast snap-kick to his throat, dropping him on the spot, leaving him gasping for air…
Han had no intention of interfering, simply enjoying the show with everyone else, when a flash of something bright and reflective caught his eye in the Weequay's hand as it advanced on the kid's back-
"Hey!" Han pushed forward, close enough to reach out as the Weequay pulled his arm back to make the strike for the kid at neck-level, a vibroblade humming in his grip-
Hand tightening about the Weequay's wrist, Han yanked backward, twisting it against the natural movement, and the blade fell to the floor with a heavy metallic clatter, the kid already twisting about and dodging to the side in anticipation.
The Weequay turned on Han, who backed up a step, hands out to calm it…
Then a shot rang out, everyone ducking, the band, which had continued merrily on through all of this, finally stuttering to silence.
Han turned… to see four stormtroopers at the doorway, blasters trained on the crowd.
Great; he'd been on leave all of four hours and he'd managed to get himself arrested… just great.
... ...
All four of them got detained, their ID's taken before they were even loaded into the back of the transport, Han and the kid in one and the two spacers in the other. The Weequay muttered something in patois as it passed, and the kid shouted something back in Weequay, the trooper restraining him, voice weary. Clearly this was the end of a long shift for him. "Hey, hey- you're in enough trouble as it is."
"I'm in trouble? Have you read that ID?"
The kid knocked at the troopers hand but he didn't loosen his grip. "Yeah I read it. Aren't you a little young for Intel?"
The second trooper laughed, the sound rough and metallic coming from his vo-coder.
The kid turned, voice ice. "Back off, trooper."
This time the troopers found it less amusing, the one who had hold of the kids arm shaking him roughly, "Hey, you want to make it resisting arrest too?"
The kid glared and for a moment Han though he might actually make a go of it, but then he suddenly seemed to calm and let out a short laugh, "No, what the hell, I got nothing else to do tonight."
... ...
So now they were sat on bunks to either side of the cell, Han wondering how the hell two days leave had managed to go so spectacularly wrong; four hours was a new low even for him.
The cell was small and plain, no allowance for human comforts made, so each of them sat at opposite sides on the hard shelf-like bunks, the kid chewing his nail and staring silently through the clear plassteel wall and into the empty security corridor beyond, lost in his own thoughts. Han couldn't work out whether he was putting on an indifferent front for his cellmate's benefit or whether he really was that unfazed. Maybe the latter; twinks in any port got themselves arrested on a weekly basis; most of the troopers knew the ones on their beat by name.
Slight and sinewy, he wore dark hide pants and a fitted white shirt, casually undone halfway down his chest, effortlessly dissolute. He turned slowly to Han without blinking, but Han held his eye a few seconds before he looked slowly away; he wasn't gonna be stared down by some pint-sized juvenile.
The kid stared a few seconds more before he absently patted the pockets of the dark, fitted hide jacket he wore and pulled out a small pouch. Glancing from the corner of his eye, Han frowned; surely not…
The kid pulled a slim, neatly-twisted roll and an engraved pewter strike-lighter from the bag, depressing the strike until the end glowed and absently lighting the spice-stick.
"Sith, kid, what the hell you tryin' to do, get us shot?"
The kid looked to Han for a few seconds, as if remembering he was there, then turned away again, staring into nothing, and Han pursed his lips, "Fine. You know what? Go right ahead and get yourself shot, I don't care. Let 'em take you out back and try to knock some sense into you. Hell, it might even work."
"It never has before."
Han turned away, annoyed at the smartass backhand comment; fine, if that's the way he wanted to play it, let him. He turned away… and lasted all of three seconds before he turned back again, finger pointing, "Hey, in case you didn't notice, it was me who pulled that Weequay with the vibroblade off your back."
The slight kid glanced back, looking Han over through the haze of smoke from the spice stick. "I already had him pegged." Just at the moment when Han had taken a breath to tell him a few home truths, the kid added quietly, "But thanks."
It was blunt but sincere, and Han relaxed again, studying the kid. Now, under lights, he could tell he was way too well-dressed to be a twink, though he still had that worldly air about him. Had a local accent though; definitely upper-class refined.
"You local?
Again the kid took a long time to answer, as if trying to decide whether to admit even this little.
"Hey, makes no odds to me." Han said in reassurance, "Look, just ask 'em not to press charges 'cos you want to enrol in military school next year. They know that you won't get in with a record, an' if they think you want to join up, they'll go easy on you."
"I'm sure they'll let me out any time now." The kid said with quiet, understated confidence.
"Whatever. Just tell them the military school thing, okay? Tell 'em you're tryin' to get into Carida."
"Like you did?"
Han frowned, surprised. The kid nodded his head toward the patch on the arm of Han's old flight jacket, "Carida."
Han shook his head, "It doesn't say Carida."
"It has a pale blue rim with a gold edge on the unit patch - that means you trained on Carida."
Han nodded; kid was good. "Don't tell me; military family, right?"
For a moment he thought the kid wouldn't reply, then he nodded, "You could say that."
Rich kid then, Han thought; probably end up at Carida one way or another anyway.
"How old are you?"
The kid took a long drag on the spice stick, "Too old."
It should have been funny; ridiculous even, but instead Han frowned at the grim cynicism in that remark. "You worried your folks'll find out?"
He'd seen a few of them on Carida; the insular, reticent ones from the eminent, wealthy families. The ones whose arrogant, career-military fathers and pretentious, over-ambitious mothers pushed them to be something they weren't, and you soon realized that despite their wealth, you actually pitied them.
"Listen, if you don't want your folks to know just plead the Carida thing. Just tell the duty officer who processes you that you regret everything and you realize you were in the wrong and you wouldn't want it to go on your permanent record… but lose the spice stick." Han added pointedly.
"It's fine." The kid dismissed evenly without turning. He paused, glancing to the empty corridor before rising, "In fact here's my ride now."
Han frowned - and seconds later, the heavy door to the detention block slid open and a mature man in a seriously expensive suit walked in, glancing worriedly through the clear cell walls.
"Luke?" The man paused before the cell door, turning to the Duty Officer, undisguised scorn in his voice, "Open the door."
It was the speed at which the duty officer complied that piqued Han's interest.
"Are you alright?" the older man asked, glancing the kid up and down as he rose. As the kid passed him, the man took the spice stick from the kid's mouth and dropped it to the floor, stubbing it out beneath hand-stitched boots without comment from either of them. "You said you wouldn't do this again."
The kid was completely unfazed, "No, you said I shouldn't do this again."
"If he finds out…"
"I'm sure he already knows by now," the kid said tiredly, then paused, turning. "Are you staying there?"
Han rose quickly, "Me? No, not if the door's open."
The well-dressed man frowned at Han, and seemed as if he was going to argue for a second, but the kid was already leaving the detention block. Han was treated to a haughty stare as he passed the older man, but not stopped by either him or the duty officer. Kid was clearly from a very wealthy family, he reflected.
Just how wealthy became clear as he stepped out into the sharp dawn air and saw the stately closed-top ambassadorial speeder double-parked outside the stationhouse, small flags on its wings denoting serious rank. A military speeder rested ahead of it and another behind, blue-dressed guards stood at their open doors, ornate but dangerous looking firearms prominently on display. Four very badly disguised plain-clothes bodyguards stood about the sedan speeder, eyes everywhere, hands resting very close to the openings of their carefully-tailored jackets.
The well-dressed man stood expectantly beside the speeder's open door and the kid paused, turning to Han. "I'd offer you a lift, but trust me when I say it would be very bad for your career - and your health."
Han shrugged, dragging his eyes away from the smart sedan and the four plain-clothes minders, "Well my career's already shot, but I kinda like my health so I guess I'll start walking." He looked the kid up and down, "Well thanks kid, it's been… interesting. I always like to spend half my leave in a detention centre. Reminds me of home." Again he paused, suddenly unwilling to leave him, freshly aware of how slight and young he really was, just shoulder height to Han. "You gonna be okay? They look pissed."
The kid glanced to the sedan, casually dismissive, "They're just worried I'm going to make a break for it. I'm tempted to, just to see what they'll do."
Han looked to them, unsure if the kid was joking or not. "They look awful twitchy."
The kid remained still, suddenly talkative, clearly reluctant to get into the speeder, "That's because they're listening to every word we say and now they're worried I might do just what I said. Like you are."
The suited man stepped forward, arm outstretched to indicate the speeder behind him. "Luke?"
The kid paused for just a second more, then walked away without another word, the door auto-closing as the well-dressed man entered the sedan behind him. The four minders looked Han up and down with professional appraisal before turning away.
Han stood in the light drizzle to watch them enter the speeders before and behind the big, blacked-out sedan, then the whole calvalcade set off with smooth precision, Han gazing at the military plates as they rose upwards.
He watched them go a few more moments before pulling up his collar and setting off into the breaking dawn, eager to be gone before the stormtroopers who were watching from the viewpanes of the stationhouse behind him changed their mind.
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That's the end of the second excerpt.
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