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In Shadows and Darkness
"It is shadows whose edge define the light Extract from The Son of Suns Prophesy,(Jedi Master Egorin Dovas translation; 3/ 14,159 -minus.)
CHAPTER ONE
... ... ... Leia woke in the dead of night, the vaguest of ghostly shapes defining the twisted bulk of massive trees crowded in about her, stretching far above the small clearing where she stood, twisted branches blocking out the light of distant stars. When she looked down “Don’t look.” She whispered urgently to Mon, her words turning to mist in the frigid air, “Don’t look it in the eye. If you don’t look it won’t attack.” A dry branch cracked like bone and Mon’s gaze flickered… And Mon was gone. In an instant- no struggle, no noise. She just… fell away into the dense shadows, though Leia knew what had taken her. ... ... ... ... ... To stare wide-eyed into the darkness of her sleeping quarters, Han stirring in his sleep momentarily before settling to silence.
Leia lay breathless in the darkness, slowly gathering her thoughts, reassuring herself that it was just a dream- just another dream. She rolled over, pulling the covers over her chilled skin, tired to the bone but unable now to drift back to sleep, knowing that it would be there if she did. It was always there at the corners of her dreams; at the corners of her mind. Ever since Alderaan. Some… elemental link which bound them together, she and the black wolf, as deep and as compelling and as irresistible as the turning of the universe. It would always be there, no matter what else happened. No matter what beliefs she held to and what fell away, whether she acknowledged it or denied it… it would remain forever a part of her. It would always be there- like a shadow in darkness.
The Lambda-class shuttle glided silently through the void between the two Super-class Star Destroyers, the Honour Guard of twelve TIE’s hardly necessary this close to the Core Worlds. As it flew, it slowly rotated on its axis to correct its path in relation to the SSD Peerless, which maintained a position at a twenty-degree roll to the SSD Executor. Generally, it was standard practice for two military ships in close quarters to maintain a synchronous axis, the lesser ship rotating to match the higher ranking one. In this case, the two ships were both Flagships, one of the Core Fleet, the other of the Rim Fleet, each carrying their relative Fleet Commander-in-Chiefs, so that neither was prepared to give way to the other. It was a subtle little game, both Fleet Admirals unwilling to concede on behalf of their own CIC, neither so impolitic as to mention this out loud, and if the relative CIC’s had noted the stubbornness, they had chosen not to mention it. So Vader did not speak as the Peerless seemed to rotate in the black void of space before him, an optical illusion caused by correcting the pitch and yaw of the small Lambda-class shuttle he was on to match the looming bulk of the Destroyer, the distant, glowing orb of Duro tiny by comparison to the closing hulk of the massive Super Star Destroyer. Nor did he remark when the Core Fleet’s Commander in Chief was not present at the full Honour Reception of perfectly turned-out troops of the 701st who lined the landing bay even at short notice, since the attendance of the Core Fleet Admiral meant that official protocol had been strictly adhered to- in theory at least. Admiral Joss bowed politely to Lord Vader rather than salute him, Vader’s status in the Emperor’s Household outranking even his position as Commander in Chief of the Rim Fleet. Joss had to turn quickly however, since Vader stalked past without acknowledgement, “Lord Vader. May I welcome you aboard on behalf of The Comman...” “Where is he?” Vader growled, his bass voice reverberating through the cavernous hanger. “The Commander is on the Bridge at present- perhaps you’d like to accompany me there?” As he said this, Admiral Joss was forced to practically run to keep pace with Vader, who had slowed his pace not a whit.
The turbolift door opened onto the bustling bridge, all eyes lifting momentarily as it did, the slightest susurration of unease at Vader’s presence there testament to the fact that their own CIC was equally difficult to handle when the mood was on him. Vader walked forward without hesitation, betraying none of the agitation or anticipation he always felt when in the presence of the Core Fleet Commander, known everywhere only by his rank, never by his name. So few knew it now, but in private, Vader made a point of referring to him by it. To remind him who he was, who Vader was- what they were to each-other. He knew how uncomfortable the boy was to hear it, and some needle of that pricked at Vader's own memories- of his own name, his own secrets, his own identity, long since abandoned in payment for the power Darkness offered. He didn’t want that for the young Fleet Commander stood to the far end of the bridge, and more than most, he felt he had a vested interest, having been so instrumental in his rise to power. Vader was, he believed, very much entitled to make such decisions on the young man’s behalf, despite the boy’s resentment of this. Entitled to decide what should and should not be sacrificed for the greater goal. And he was willing to accede a great deal- to force the boy to do the same, regardless of his own desires or consent. Neither was particularly necessary in Vader’s carefully-laid plans. But there were some things he wouldn’t sacrifice, and the boy’s name - his identity, his sense of self, of independence - was one of them. Everything that he had once wanted for himself Vader now intended for the boy; power, position… and Darkness would offer it- at a price. But when he achieved everything Vader planned for him - and so for Vader himself - then it would be in his name. In their name. He wanted it for the individual; not for the Darkness which gave the power to take it. He wanted it for the man. For his son. He stood now before the wide bank of viewpanes speaking to his Generals, though he knew Vader had entered the Bridge; would have sensed when he boarded the Peerless, even without constant comm updates from his own carefully-recruited clique of loyal officers. The ever-present Mara Jade turned to glance down the main walkway toward Vader, green eyes ablaze. Part bodyguard, part Aide, certainly the eyes and ears of Palpatine, she disliked Vader with a vengeance- but the feeling was mutual. Vader remained uneasy at her presence so close to his son; at Luke’s apparent trust. Though his spies told him that this had its limits; Luke had learned to trust no-one in the past year as Commander of the Core Fleet, least of all those close to him. But like his Master the Emperor, he seemed a great proponent of the old adage to keep one’s friends close- and one’s enemies closer. Vader glanced at her for only a second, his eyes drawn inexorably to his son. Oh, he was so much like Anakin now- slim and lithe, strong and straight. He dressed in black, hair wild and loose, long enough to fall into soft, unruly curls. So much like Anakin… Absolutely in command here, on the bridge of his Destroyer, all activity centring around him. So very different from the callow, idealistic youth Vader had brought to the Emperor almost three years ago, which made it barely twenty-one years after Padmé’s… Vader broke the thought automatically, unwilling to allow his memories to follow that path, instead turning his attention to the man who watched him now with such wary animosity, as stubborn and as willful and as headstrong as Padmé had ever been. Realisation of their son’s existence after all this time had been one of the most momentous events in Vader's life. His decision to take the boy to Palpatine, forced by Luke’s rebuff in Cloud City, had in retrospect probably been one of the most ill-considered, and he had spent the last three years trying to undo the damage done by the Emperor’s involvement in the boy’s conversion. To little effect in truth; Palpatine held his son so completely in his power now that nothing Vader said seemed to get through to the boy, his mind poisoned by his Master’s contriving manipulations. And Palpatine was hardly about to give and ground. The boy’s power was incredible, and still developing. He had yet to find his limits, save for his own self-doubt, which Palpatine alternately fed and criticized, his command of Luke requiring its control but his fascination with the boy’s power driving him to test its limits constantly. Why Luke had not already challenged his new Master remained a mystery to Vader; the boy’s powers equalled Palpatine’s now, and if Vader knew this then Luke must too… but something held him back. Something always held him back. Sooner or later though, Palpatine would push the boy too far and he would turn on his Master with a vengeance. Could he take the Emperor down? Accomplish what Vader never had? Absolutely. Vader had complete, unconditional faith in that fact- even if his son did not. Was this pride? Was it possible to feel such for a son who called him father only to remind him of how far away the reality of their relationship really was? Because he still held aspirations for his son- the driving ambition to see him on the Emperor’s throne one day. Was pride not part of that? He did not love - Darkness could not love. He had loved Padmé and she had loved him…once. But they had destroyed each-other… as he had destroyed everything of value in his life. Even his son. He knew that- he wasn’t blind. He knew how completely he had betrayed Luke in handing him over to Palpatine, fully aware of what the Emperor would do in order to convert and control him; that he would break the boy to pieces physically and mentally in order to dominate and possess, to make that power his own. But he had given his son every chance to embrace the Darkness which would augment his emerging abilities, every chance to acknowledge and instigate his own destiny, and had been refused. What was left to Vader but to take him to the only man who could possibly accomplish what he could not - by force, if necessary. It had been… unexpectedly difficult- disturbing in its ruthless severity - an unforeseen complication. Who would have thought that the boy would be so obstinate, so committed to those who had done nothing more noble than use him and lie to him. Palpatine had been forced to invest long, gruelling months in breaking the boy, finding it necessary to destroy him completely in order to build his new Sith. And during that process he had very deliberately severed any link between father and son, binding Luke to his new Master completely. Considering his appalling maltreatment, his relentless manipulation and harsh indoctrination by Palpatine, the boy should have been an empty shell, a willing slave, nothing left but diffident obedience. That was how powerful he was. He was the only thing of value which Vader had ever created in his life. And of that…he was proud.
His son turned, glancing up momentarily as Vader slowed to a halt before him. He towered over the boy, as he did over most humans, though Luke remained not in the least intimidated. Their saber duel two years earlier in the Imperial Palace had settled all scores and clarified only four months after his conversion just how much power Luke had already gleaned from his new status as a Sith. He had nothing left to prove, least of all to his father. “Lord Vader.” He nodded curtly in acknowledgement. He never referred to his father as such in public, another of Palpatine’s little manipulations, all references to Luke’s identity having been removed from public records, replaced by hints and rumours and misdirections. The boy didn’t particularly care to correct them; he had long since abandoned his old life, though he seemed to Vader equally uninvolved with his new one. He went through the motions as was required, but very much like his father he remained pointedly uninvolved with Court and the machinations and power-plays of Palace life, avoiding them whenever possible in favour of his involvement with the Fleet. Ever paranoid, Palpatine still contrived to keep his new Sith close at hand however, keeping him confined to the Palace on Coruscant for many long months after his conversion before finally granting him command of the Core Fleet. But even now, almost three years later, he was never allowed outside of the Core and Colony Systems which he commanded in the Emperor’s name. And even here, Luke’s interests lay not with the acquisition and dispensation of power, but in the complexities of management required to maintain and subjugate the massive diversity of planets and cultures in the densely-packed Core Systems, consciously losing himself in the minutia rather than stepping back to acknowledge the greater picture - both of his position within the Fleet and of his life. “We need to speak.” Vader said simply, never one to procrastinate, having never been in a position where such was necessary, considering his status. Luke’s pale blue eyes remained guarded as he studied his father for long moments, then the slightest of gestures tilted his head to the side as he acknowledged the request and turned, heading for his private ready-room to the right of the rear of the bridge. Vader followed, noting that Jade also fell into step.
Luke had worn black today and in view of his visitor, was regretting it. Despite the Emperor’s preference for his inner elite, Luke generally chose to wear darkest blue, a half-shade away from black, but away nonetheless, the subtlest of independence expressed even here. The impeccable cut of his clothes remained almost but never quite a military uniform, a tiny sliver of white at the high stand-collar of his fitted, side-fastening jacket, the top three fasteners undone, giving a more casual air. At first glance they seemed such insignificant expressions of dissent given his position, but he held to them. Appearances were important here, and he had learned that in his Master’s rigidly controlled world, the subtlest of divergences could cause incredible ripples. Elusive powerplays and political subterfuge and were not his forte - but he was learning. “You have something to say which couldn’t be spoken over the HoloNet?” he asked pointedly of his father now. He tried hard to discourage any face-to-face meetings; everything he had to say to his father he’d said long ago, and it was he and not Vader who would have to answer to Palpatine when he found out they had met. Which he would - there were two of his Master’s spies on the bridge; three in fact, if Luke included Lieutenant Wez Reece, who had long since swapped allegiance, though of course he still had to report most of Luke’s dealings to the Emperor to avoid suspicion. Vader didn’t speak, only turned pointedly to Mara, who lifted her chin, unimpressed. She was one of the few who knew what Vader really was to him, Luke having consciously robbed his Master of whatever machinations he had in play long ago by choosing to tell her himself. Indirectly of course, the act appearing a momentary slip rather than a conscious defiance - he’d long since learned that lesson too. Now he turned immediately to Jade. “Mara?” he invited simply, and she walked from the room with the slightest of bows, conspicuously choosing to acknowledge Luke before his father. Luke waited until the door had closed before speaking again. “Well?” If his father was not in the habit of prevaricating, then Luke was well able to match him. “This room is safe?” Vader asked. “Of course.” “You have a new infiltrator in your command staff.” “You mean Ogo?” Luke prompted of the new Security Officer who had been assigned to the Peerless only two months earlier. Her record was impeachable of course, but records could be faked. Luke had done so himself many times now in order to place his own spies. Vader said nothing, but Luke sensed the slight fluctuation in the Force and was pleased that he’d been able to come back with her name. “Yes, she’s good, but a little too… excessive in her sense of duty.” “Then why is she still here?” Vader referred to his son’s habit, much like his own, of removing on principle unwanted spies placed by the Emperor in positions close to themselves in the most permanent way possible. “She’s useful to pass on information of my choice at present. When she outlives that usefulness…” Luke shrugged, unmoved. Both men remained where they were for long moments, Luke knowing that this was not why his father had come here and prepared to wait him out, refusing to blink before that blank, glaring mask. “You are playing a very dangerous game.” Vader said at last. Without seeming to move, Luke’s stance turned from waiting to wary, “I’m always playing dangerous games. Which one are you referring to?” “Using forged access codes to smuggle communiqués out of the Palace.” Luke’s expression changed not a whit, but his mind was racing now; if Vader knew, then others may also know, and he needed to maintain that line of contact. He glanced down, considering, hoping to buy time or redirect his father. “And who would you have close enough to me to know that?” “Irrelevant.” Vader stated flatly, refusing to be drawn. “The important fact is that I do- and it will cease.” That brought Luke’s eyes back up to his father, his innate stubbornness kicking in though it was, if not mastered, then at least tempered by the experiences of the last three years. “I don’t think so.” he said resolutely. Every meeting with his father was a contest to some degree. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, but he seldom backed down without a very good reason- it wasn’t in his nature. Nor was it in his father’s. “Then you wish me to bring it to the Emperor’s attention?” Luke hesitated, pushing past the freezing burst of adrenaline at this ultimate threat, knowing that the punishment for such subversion would be extreme- but even before this he didn't yet concede, mind racing to pull the pieces together- In truth it was unlikely that Vader would take this to the Emperor if he hadn’t already done so; to do so now would require him to admit that he had approached Luke beforehand, which their ever-paranoid Master would consider a damning betrayal on Vader’s part. Palpatine knew he was breaking every lore of the Sith by holding more than one advocate; history had illustrated time and again the dangers inherent in balancing the ambitions and power struggles which resulted, and the blood connection between Luke and his father made their cautious Master obsessively distrustful. More than anything else, Palpatine would tolerate no connection between father and son; he had made that very clear again and again, usually at Luke’s expense. But this would be unmistakably his father’s doing. It wouldn’t change the fact that Luke had been smuggling illicit communiqués - wouldn’t save him from Palpatine’s wrath - but it would mean that he would take Vader down with him this time. “Who are you passing the information to?” Vader demanded, interrupting Luke’s thoughts. So he didn’t know everything; if he didn’t know their recipient then likely he didn’t know their content, which meant he hadn’t cracked their code- possibly that he didn’t even have the messages, only the second-hand knowledge that they were being sent. “That’s none of your business.” Luke said simply , looking casually away. “Everything that you do is my business.” That was a step too far and Vader saw his son’s hackles rise at it, his ice-blue eyes narrowing… then the brief burst of emotion was gone and the boy turned calmly away, walking behind the desk to sit, his voice cool and disengaged, the momentary flare of resentment giving him the nerve to call Vader’s bluff. “If you wish to take it to the Emperor then do so.” Luke said at last, tone composed and even. “I wish you to stop doing it.” Vader repeated, having no real counter now that Luke had called him. “Which I’m not going to - so do what you must.” Vader stepped forward, though the wide desk stopped him from coming too close to his unresponsive son, his tone derisory. “You won’t beat him by playing him at his own game. You’re playing to his strengths.” “Thank-you for the advice.” Luke said coolly without looking up, eyes to the automemo on his desk. He neither wanted nor needed his father’s involvement in his life- and he certainly wasn’t going to be preached to by a man who had stood in the Emperor’s shadow for the last two and a half decades. Vader stared down at the boy, indignation and exasperation fairly blasting out of him now. He had no idea, none whatsoever, of how to speak to him, except in the way that he dealt with everyone else about him; as a menial or an adversary- someone to order and dismiss or to intimidate and oppress as he saw fit. “I made you what you are.” he asserted, voice clipped in anger. That brought the boy’s eyes up, burning with accusation. “Do you expect gratitude?!” “I expect respect.” Vader slammed his clenched fist down on the desk, making its contents jump. His son only smiled tightly, as if amused that he could instil such blind frustration, his final barb yet to come, “Respect is earned.” For a split-second, Luke thought his father would actually lunge forward for him, his own muscles tightening in response, regretting sitting now, aware of the vulnerability of his position. But then, he hadn’t expected his words to elicit such a response, and already now some uneasy pang whispered, so that it was he who lowered his gaze, not in submission and certainly not in guilt, but regret, on some level. He sighed quietly, rubbing at his eyes, uncertain as to how he could feel even the slightest trace of compassion for the man who had caused nothing but pain and misery to him, frustrated that he allowed himself such weakness, yet completely unable to do otherwise. Such challenges as this were perhaps the nearest his father ever came to expressing some sense of protection for his son… or should Luke open his eyes and see it for what it really was; a protection of his investment, nothing more? “If you want to help me then tell me who Lieutenant Reece’s watcher is.” Luke said quietly at last, speaking of the deep-cover agent placed by Palpatine to watch even his own most trusted agents such as Reece and Mara, both of whom were permanently assigned to Luke, supposedly as Aides, more correctly as spies. Luke had the identity of Mara’s watcher, but more importantly he needed Reece’s, and repeated searches had come up blank. Vader tempered his own voice just slightly in reaction to his son’s, but he didn’t concede - and he wouldn’t, not on this. “I won’t help you to play these foolish, ill-conceived games. Palpatine owns everything on Coruscant. He sees everything. You know that.” “We’re not on Coruscant.” Luke said levelly. “And you think that will protect you?” “No- I think knowing my enemies will protect me.” Luke stared into his father’s resolute silence, his own frustration beginning to rise again. “Either help me or get out of my way.” Vader remained silent and unmoving, only feeding Luke’s resentment. It was after all Vader who had instigated this - all of it. It was Vader who had brought him to Palpatine thinking he could use his own son to solve the problems he hadn’t the willpower or the commitment to resolve for himself; to realise all of his goals with none of the risk- and in doing so destroyed Luke’s life completely without even a moment’s hesitation or guilt. He didn’t see his son when he looked at Luke, not really- he saw an advantage and sought to use it, just as Palpatine did, with neither consideration nor remorse. And until he saw that he had guaranteed control, Vader remained always duplicitous and undependable, aiding or hindering his son as it suited his own ends, often erring on the side of greatest power, giving empty loyalty and lipservice to the man he wished to depose. And Luke was tired of it. He rose, eyes locked on Vader’s - no mask could hide his father’s eyes from him. “It will come down to this- sooner or later it will come down to this one fact; him or me. I won’t do what you want, it’s not going to happen. I have my own mind and I have my own agendas and they’re nothing like yours. But you’re still eventually gonna have to make that decision- him or me. I’d start thinking it over if I were you because one day you’ll have to take a side. You forced it on me without compunction, well get ready, because it’s coming to you now. Which will it be, father? Make a choice.”
Mara’s eyes narrowed as Vader strode from Skywalker’s ready-room and off the Bridge without pausing. She didn’t bother to follow him, Admiral Joss and Reece already setting forward; they all knew that Skywalker would go ballistic if he found out that Vader or any of his crew had been allowed to wander the Peerless alone. Instead, Mara turned back to the door, pausing to knock lightly before pressing the door release. He had positioned himself so that he was able to see the door in the reflection of the transparisteel pane, watching her enter. In truth he needed only call on the Force to know her emotions or intent, but he used this method of studying without turning mostly on those who had Force abilities of their own and so would know if he was reading them and shield themselves in response. Though Mara’s own grasp of the Force was limited, one of the few things the Emperor had taught her well was how to shield her thoughts. Despite her suspicions that he was able to break through her shields, Skywalker seldom actually did so- more as a matter of politeness through familiarity than anything else she suspected, much as she would like to believe otherwise. Like Reece, Mara had remained with Skywalker, ostensibly operating as something between aides and bodyguards, and she and Skywalker had reached a kind of informal status-quo quite quickly, each learning to operate around the others’ restrictions, neither so impolitic as to mention this directly to the other. The first year and a half of his new life, Skywalker had been a constant trial, alternately listless and disinterested, holeing up in the same three rooms to the back of his extensive quarters for weeks, even months at a time, then tearing about the Palace like a vornskr with a sore head, striking out at anyone who came close when he was summoned to attend Court by Palpatine, always baiting and chastising, provoking and punishing until one or the other of them cracked and the game began afresh. It was the event of his promotion to the military which had finally settled Skywalker into his new life - or rather, Mara sometimes suspected, the attendant freedoms which came with it. As Commander in Chief of the Core Fleet, Skwalker had gained relatively free access out of Coruscant, even though the Emperor had placed a strict veto on his leaving the Core and Colony systems. To Mara’s mind it was a pointless restriction; in the first place, he was travelling with the Core Fleet, so was hardly likely to come to any harm, and in the second, placing any restriction further out than the actual Imperial Palace was academic, since if he intended to leave he had proved very early on in his association with the Emperor that pretty much nothing could stop him. She suspected very much that this move was in truth just another round in the eternal game that the Emperor played with his Jedi, though these days they weren’t quite the one-sided affairs that they had been in the past, the stakes rising subtly over time as Skywalker learned his craft and his opponent, making each victory on the Emperor’s part a little harder won. Yet Palpatine always enjoyed the challenge. He alternately adored his ‘Feral Jedi’, heaping gifts and power and accolades upon him, then turned on him with a vengeance, finding fault in the slightest transgression, his temper mercurial, his punishment always extreme. And Skywalker took it all with equal withdrawn distance, never involved, always impassive and aloof, equally wary of praise and punishment both. That his proof of this came in the form of violent retribution bothered him not in the least, even Mara could see that. He suffered in the moment, terribly sometimes- she had seen the proof etched into his skin, scars upon scars now. But the ability to trigger that reaction, no matter how severe, was a triumph and Palpatine was always pulled back in for one more skirmish. She knew her master well enough to know that this veiled tension was what he thrived on; any interaction with his Jedi was rewarding, but this battle of wills had become a fascination bordering on addiction. And Skywalker just kept on pushing. Partly because it was in is nature to be headstrong and stubborn, but also because deep down, Mara suspected that he believed he deserved no better. In this they fed each other. Mara remained just inside the door, uncertain of the Commander’s frame of mind; visits by his father often induced quicksilver swings between seething rage and bleak melancholy. Knowing he was watching her reflection, she glanced back meaningfully in the direction which Vader had just exited.“What did he want?” “He is Lord Vader.” The Commander corrected without turning, a warning to Mara to correct her tone when referring to his father. Though there was no love lost between them, Mara knew that Skywalker would tolerate no disrespect from others towards his father. She also hadn’t failed to note that it was an effective avoidance of the question, and since Mara hadn’t the authority to demand an answer from the Emperor’s Jedi, if he hadn’t chosen to reply the first time, he certainly wouldn’t do so if she tried to rephrase it and ask again. As it turned out, he didn’t even give her a chance. “Bring the ship about- join up with the Fury and the Dominant and resume course to Neimoidia. Alter lightspeed calculations to take account of our delay.” “Of course, Commander.” Mara acknowledged, letting the moment go; she would try again later when he was in a better frame of mind. “What should I enter into the ship’s log as the reason for the delay?” He turned to her, clearly amused by the uncharacteristic lack of subtlety in the question. Mara was probably closer to him than anyone else in his life at present, yet there were still gaping chasms between them, measured by wary amity and divided loyalties. “The truth, Mara. I’m sure the Emperor expects no less from you.”
Luke remained hidden away in the privacy of his ready-room as the Super Star Destroyer came about, its companion visible for a short time as it lined up in preparation for the jump to hyperspace, tiny fleeting glimpses of TIE’s catching the sharp light of Duro’s sun, dwarfed by the Star Destroyers’ bulk as they headed for the safety of their relative ships for the jump. He should have been out on the bridge, but the meeting with his father had left him uneasy and edgy, as they tended to do, and to go out onto the bridge now would only invite some poor, nervous unfortunate to err beneath his exacting gaze and bring his wrath down upon them. Better to stay here and cool down- his reputation was harsh enough without underlining it. There were others of course, whom he never removed. Some by dint of converted loyalties, some in the belief that it was better the devil you knew and a few who had gained some measure of immunity through familiarity. Which of these Mara Jade was remained very much under question- it had been the latter two which had defined their relationship for the last three years, but Luke still held out some distant hope that it may become the first- to some degree. Every ounce of rational intelligence told him to abandon this thought, but some tiny spark of conviction remained, which was why he allowed her so close, even knowing that she was his Master’s informer, her limited ability in the Force enabling her to communicate information and receive orders from Palpatine at surprising distances. He was still expecting at some future date to sense that grating burst of presence in the Force which meant that his Master had made contact, and turn just in time to see her bring her assassin’s knife up to his throat… The slight stomach-churning lunge as artificial gravity rushed to compensate for incredible speed marked the Peerless’ jump to hyperspace, the stars outside streaking to infinity as they outran the sluggish drag of light. Luke stared blankly out into the void, completely unmoved by the spectacle which he had imagined a hundred thousand times as a boy, still locked to the dry deserts of Tatooine. Tatooine- it had been a long, long way from there to here, measure in lost souls and broken dreams rather than lightyears and parsecs… He turned quickly away, aware that he was dropping into this melancholy state simply as a reaction to his father’s visit, glancing about the featureless grey walls of the room - he never bothered to add any kind of human touch to his surroundings here; what was the point? It was in reality little more than a prison. Carefully disguised of course- Palpatine awarded his precious ‘Jedi’ the illusion of freedom but they both knew the truth... in this at least. But there were other secrets; greater lies... Luke had, after all, learned at the feet of a master. Learned to conceal, walls within walls, to twist the truth just enough to serve his own ends. To apreciate the irony of every lesson learned. Because the freedoms his Master so judiciously doled out when he had awarded his Jedi command of the Core System’s Fleet, enabling Luke to escape the stifling restrictions of Palace life on Coruscant and his Master’s close presence, were in truth granted on the strength of a lie. A lie committed three years earlier and reinforced many, many times since that fateful duel between his father and himself. A lie that Luke was more than happy to have his Master believe; he could assume whatever he wanted as long as it bought Luke the freedom he craved… Only it was never quite that. Palpatine never let his prized ‘Wolf’ run completely free. He simply awarded a longer chain. And even that would be snatched back in an instant if Palpatine knew the truth; what freedoms Luke was allowed were based on Palpatine’s belief that he controlled his new Sith absolutely - and in many ways he did, Luke acknowledged that fact. But one of the cornerstones of that belief was his Master’s conviction that Luke had stayed the lightsaber blow that would have killed his father because of Palpatine’s direct command; that his order had overridden Luke’s one driving desire. The truth - and Luke had learned long ago to hide such things from his Master’s searching mind - the real truth was that Palpatine’s shouts and orders as that duel came to its explosive conclusion had affected Luke not one whit. If he had wanted to kill Vader he would have done so, and faced the consequences. It had, after all, been his intention when he initiated the duel. But something else had stayed his hand that day- some hidden spark, some muted cry. He hadn’t killed his father because in that moment…he couldn’t. Despite everything he believed he’d thought, everything he thought still…he couldn’t bring himself to land that blow. Was he weak? Yes, and he hated himself for it. But then he hated himself for so many things- this was simply one more, lost in the crowd and easy to ignore. He didn’t think about them anymore. It was too hard and they were too many. Palpatine believed him fearless because he would answer any challenge, take any risk, throw himself against any enemy without hesitation. In truth all he craved was a quick death. The chains his Master had so diligently wrapped about his precious Jedi, mind and soul both, precluded any easier option. But if he was too bound to do the job himself, then others were queuing up for the privilege, and though his Master had taught him well, Luke had to believe that there was someone out there who was faster or more committed than himself. He had no illusions- they were too close to hope, and that was long lost.
CHAPTER TWO
Leia leaned in, studying the image closely, Mon Mothma and General Madine doing the same. Taken secretly from a distance with no sound, hand-held and compressed to smuggle it out, the grainy 2-D image showed three Lambda-class shuttles settling to a smooth landing, twelve of the Empire’s new Interatmosperic TIE fighters overflying in tight formation as they did so. From the first two shuttles, full squads of stormtroopers marched in perfect unison- the 701st Leia recognised, from the dark blue pauldren on their shoulders. They formed two wide double-lines at the entrance ramp of the third shuttle, Neimoidia’s official representatives shuffling nervously as the ramp lowered. A man walked down, long cloak billowing in the fierce wind, high collar turned up. Following him were the same two humans who accompanied him everywhere- a tall, wide built man with dark hair and olive skin and a lithe, slim redhead with the kind of athletic frame and bearing that suggested a lifetime of training, her eyes everywhere, always tensed for action. Leia frowned, squinting at the image of the man she had known so well- and not at all. “Were our people out?” she asked, eyes still on the screen. “Yes.” Mothma assured, voice uneasy, “He’ll work it out though; he always does.” “It doesn’t really matter- it’s too late now." Madine said. "Everything’s underway. They only need stall him for a few more weeks.” Leia turned on him, “And the Neimoidians?” He looked away, contrite. “They’ll pay the price for helping us when this all kicks off.” Leia said, frustrated, turning back to the image. “And how long do you think they will stall a Sith?” Mon asked absently, eyes on the image. “There’s no-one left there who was involved - he can’t pull from them what they don’t know.” Madine murmured, thoughts as ever on the greater mission. The cloaked man stood before the Neimoidians, who all bowed nervously - with good reason, Leia knew. She frowned in scrutiny as he waved one hand in dismissal or refusal, cutting them off, speaking briefly to the assembled dignitaries and planetary representatives before walking through them, forcing them to step aside submissively, heads down, body language apprehensive and anxious; whatever he had said, it had panicked them. He walked from the landing platform without looking back, stormtroopers filing in behind him. At its edge he paused, turning his head to the side, waiting for the slim redhead to catch up. She did so, raising on the balls of her feet as she was little more than shoulder-high to him. He spoke, gesturing with his hand… pointing directly into the long-distance lens filming him. He kept his gaze on it for a few seconds more, the redhead pulling a comm from her belt and glancing up. Obviously realising that his cover was blown, the agent who was filming stood to make a hasty retreat, the view of the landing field shaking wildly and twisting to its side, giving a fleeting image of the camouflaged hide he’d been in, incoming fighters visible in a momentary glimpse of the sky. “They bombed the bluff he was on, but our agent managed to get out.” Mon Mothma reached down to reverse the image as she spoke, rocking it forward again to play out from the moment The Commander had stalked through the assembled dignitaries, making them back away deferentially. Leia frowned in scrutiny, eyes on… whoever he was; certainly not the name he had once used here; Luke Skywalker's past trailed into nothing when the Bothans had tried to track it back three years earlier, just months after he'd inexplicably shown up in Cloud City. He was looking up the lens again now, giving Leia the unnerving feeling that he was staring straight at her. “He’s so.…” “Different.” Mon Mothma finished at last, watching the soundless recording, the image enhanced and the shake stabilised to give it clarity. This was as close as they got to him now- as close as anyone got to him. “Changed. Or perhaps not at all - perhaps this was always his true self.” “Do you think he was ever one of us?” Leia asked, the slightest tremor of hope in her voice even now. Madine slowly shook his head, “Think about it- think about what he could do and where he said he came from. His abilities and his background just didn’t add up.” “Why didn’t we question it at the time?” Leia asked, then in answer to her own query, she murmured, “He seemed so…genuine. So sincere.” “So did Palpatine before he took office.” Mon Mothma replied, unmoved. Leia sighed, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, still unable to believe she had been fooled so completely, almost three years after Luke had returned to the Emperor. Madine shook his head slowly “He has to be Vader’s son - he’s so like him.” It was one fact they’d never managed to substantiate, rumours abounding that he was the Sith Lord’s son. But then there were just as many which linked him to an even greater threat- “No-” Mothma said, eyes narrowing in consideration, “Like the Emperor.”
“I thought you’d have been in the Command Centre today.” Leia said casually to Han over dinner, sat on the pressed plassteel seats of the mess hall. They were tired to the bone, but this was their only remaining opportunity to steal any real block of time together when they were both at least partway awake. Han’s promotion to A-Wing’s Flight Commander had caused all kinds of complications, not least of all the fact that Leia knew he’d be Unit Commander in another year or so, which meant that even this time would be taken away by duties and commitments. She glanced down unenthusiastically at her plate. “There were some new images of The Commander from the Bothans. He’s backtracked Madine's operation to Neimoidia already. They’ve covered their presence there and the fact that they were supplying us with technology from the manufacturing plants at the Kuat shipyards, but losing that source will slow us down… it’s months of planning up the…” “The kid? How’s he doin’?” Han turned, face lighting. He’d never accepted the truth, Leia knew; he’d always believe that Luke was… Luke. Leia shrugged, “Sharp as ever. And he’s not a kid, he’s twenty-five.” Han grinned, clearly speaking of an old friend as much as Leia felt she was now speaking of an old enemy. “Ah, he’ll always be the kid to me, you know that.” She frowned, annoyed more at his determination to still speak of Luke in such terms than at his belief. But it was an old fight, and everything had been argued into exhaustion long ago, leaving their only option in this instance to agree to disagree. “He’s the same age as me- am I a kid?” Han leaned sideways to kiss her on the cheek, “No, you’re a doll, sweetie.” “Suckup.” she teased, unable to hide her amusement. “Pushover.” He grinned, tensing his arm against her incoming fist. They each turned to their meals in silence for a few minutes, but Leia knew Han wouldn’t let it go so easily- he just couldn’t. Even now. “I’m just saying-” He glanced up from his plate, weaving the food on his fork around before him, “That he’s never done a thing against us - never lifted a hand.” “Because he’s in command of the Core Systems, you know that.” Leia reminded easily; the Core Systems were hardly the kind of place that the Alliance liked to be operating- especially now. Han shrugged, unmoved “Whatever. All I’m saying is its pretty convenient; the one thing that I think Palpatine couldn’t force him to do just happens to be the one thing he’s not required to.” “For a cynic, you have a very gullible side.” Leia accused lightly. “I’m serious - name one time that he’s actually come after us. He stops us, but that’s it… he never follows up and finishes the job. Which is pretty rare for him, you gotta admit - he doesn’t generally leave unfinished business, doesn’t leave an enemy at his back... unless it suits him somehow. This Neimoidian thing will get handed over to Vader, you’ll see.” “Because Vader’s in charge of the counter-insurrection taskforce.” Leia said, “He always has been.” “And Luke’s in charge of the Core Systems and the Colonies. Neimoidia’s his responsibility- doesn’t that make it his jurisdiction?” Han countered. “I’m not going to argue with you over this again.” Leia said, tired of covering the same ground. Maybe because it upset her so much; it stung that she’d trusted Luke so completely- and been wrong. Been hurt. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of beings she’d actually trusted that much - and she could count with just one finger the ones she’d been wrong about; one. Luke Skywalker. It never stopped hurting…and she could never figure why.
CHAPTER THREE
Mara let not the slightest hint of triumph show on her face as the sabacc cards changed again, giving her the nine. Along with the four cards she had in the interference field, that totalled twenty-three - and a winning hand. She was sat in Skywalker’s quarters onboard the Peerless, the stars streaking past as they headed back to Coruscant, the Neimoidian incident suppressed and settled in less than four weeks - quite an accomplishment, ever for Skywalker. The price had been a month of very long days and very short nights if he rested at all, not one break taken from his duties, pursued to obsession as they always were with Skywalker. But he’d achieved the unthinkable; put down a planned insurrection, broken a specialist Alliance saboteur ring trained and re-established Imperial control with the minimum of resentment and maximum long-term efficacy. Despite his rank in the Rebellion, Mara had held her doubts when her master had appointed Skywalker Commander in Chief of the Core Systems Military, but she’d learned to respect his judgement as again and again he’d proved his worth, both in small, frantic skirmishes and complex, system-wide insurrections. The huge amount of knowledge that Palpatine had imposed on him in his enforced incarceration when he’d first arrived on Coruscant must have crystallized it, but that kind of leadership required some innate abilities which couldn’t be taught. The Rebellion had lost more than they knew when they’d abandoned Skywalker to the Emperor. But their loss - carefully manipulated by her master - was the Empire’s gain, and Mara had developed a genuine respect for The Commander. Did it make her job more difficult? No- they were both aware of what she was and why she was here, and each was professional enough to respect that. Palpatine trusted nobody; it wasn’t in his nature, they both knew that- and neither were prepared to allow it to limit their friendship, which suited Mara perfectly. Now, finally, they were off-duty - or as much so as the Commander ever was - so naturally, he was playing Sabacc… again. She glanced up at Skywalker. His expression had changed not a whit with the interference field’s action. This time, she had him! “I bet…fifty.” She said at last, her voice very casual, tinged with the slightest hint of carefully-feigned self-doubt. Which nontheless brought his eyes up, “Why, what do you have?” “Put your credit down and I’ll show you.” Mara challenged, casually placing the nine face down in the interference field to freeze its value as she slid her own credits forward. Luke looked down at it now, narrowing his eyes, “You don’t have anything.” “Care to bet on that?” He lifted his chin just slightly- which meant he was considering it, Mara knew. She knew him well now; almost three years of playing sabacc over countless tables had granted her that, as well as accompanying him on endless missions at her master’s command. The Emperor had never rescinded his original order to Mara charging her with responsibility for Skywalker, and she still took it as seriously as she took every command from the Emperor, becoming Skywalker’s de-facto bodyguard as well as his Aide. And his watcher of course; along with Reece- Palpatine trusted no-one. Mara still occasionally wondered who her watcher was… “Fifty…?” he asked now, bringing her mind back to the game, her face a neutral mask, knowing he would be looking for subtle clues. He always did- in life and on the sabacc table. He played selectively, choosing with care the hands he betted on but betting aggressively when he did, not afraid to put his funds where his faith was. And every now and then, just to keep her on her toes, he’d bluff big style, always waiting until there were lots of chip-cards in the field, lots of possibilities in play. In life and on the sabacc table. He narrowed his eyes at her now, running his free hand through loose, unruly curls to pull them from his face as he searched Mara’s neutral expression looking for those clues. Use of the Force was strictly prohibited in their games, but in truth she couldn’t really tell whether he did or not, her own abilities far too limited. Still, he claimed he didn’t and Mara believed him- whatever else he was, he was still a man of his word. “It defeats the object of the game.” He’d maintained, when she accused him once. “You don’t have it.” he repeated now. Mara lifted her eyebrows in expectant silence. “…… One hundred.” he said after a long pause, his voice issuing a hesitant question as he pushed the gently chinking pile of credits forward. Mara’s heart did a little flip at that - was he bluffing? Drawing her out? Or did he believe she was bluffing and he was trying to make her back down? He had three cards in the field, and they’d been locked in there for three rounds now… plus the table had just flipped the cards he held- had it given him a hand too? What are you worried about, Jade- you have pure sabacc?! “Fine.” She pushed her chips forward, slapping the flat of her palm on the pulse-generator to stop it and freeze the cards at their present value. Then she reached down and turned her field-cards, a note of triumph in her voice, “Pure sabacc.” “Ah.” Luke said lightly, turning the mismatched chip-cards in his hand over as he placed them down, Mara reaching for the credits, triumphant. “Array.” He said simply, freezing her mid-reach. “What!?” she reached out for his cards in the field, turning them over; the two, the three…and The Idiot face card grinned back at her. “Son of a…you’ve had those in there for ages- why didn’t you play them?” “I was waiting for you to put some serious currency down - I don’t get an Array very often; I have to make the most of it.” he said, amusement breaking through that detached calm- probably at the look on her face, Mara mused. She slammed down the cards, as if it would make any difference. “You are so lucky at cards…” “I like to think there’s a little skill involved.” he said, that perfect neutral façade slipping just a little, giving her a glimpse of Luke Skywalker behind the stony face of Palpatine’s precious Sith. “You know what they say- lucky at cards…” he shrugged lightly, stepping up from the table without bothering to take the credits scattered there, knowing they wouldn’t play again tonight. Walking toward the side table where he’d left his drink he paused with his back to Mara, looking out into the glowing void of hyperspace. Probably because he’d realised that he’d let his guard drop just a little, Mara realised, and was uncomfortable with it, even in front of her. Though she didn’t know why; she knew him better than anyone else- had seen him in pieces in the Palace cells when Palpatine’s wrath was on him. She never judged him; she’d learned that from him- She glanced up at him, taking in the sight as she always did. He was slim and strong and… and she should stop that thought right there. Instead she spoke out, knowing the rest of the rhyme; “Unlucky in love.” “No- very rich.” he said easily, turning those sharp sky-blue eyes toward her. She took her leave around an hour later, Skywalker claiming tiredness, though Mara knew he was nothing of the sort. She would get a call in an hour or so from whoever was on watch to let her know that The Commander had returned to the Bridge and was working in his ready-room, as he often did well into the early hours of the morning. Or perhaps that he was in one of the exercise bays with his lightsaber, or that he had entered the 701st’s restricted hold, or summoned the unit commander’s to his quarters. He hadn’t so much quietened down over the past few years as become more circumspect, more cautious in what he allowed to show and before whom, as Palpatine invested ever more time year on year in creating his perfect advocate. Emotions were something to be exploited in his Master’s eyes, as well as in the treacherous Court which Luke was so often forced to endure on Coruscant. Oftentimes he was calm, confident and centred, the Emperor’s Dark Jedi, absolutely in command of himself and everything about him. Yet other times, he seemed so lost, so discontent and deranged as to crumple her heart in empathy, leaving her with the unsettling impression of a wild animal caged, pacing the same short path over and over in the solitary dead of nigh like a wolf howling at the moon, desperately trying to outpace the bars which caged it, knowing it never could. But she knew with absolute certainty that if she tried to reach out to offer it comfort in these bleak times it would lash out at her as surely as if she were its captor, so blinded by frustration did it become. Which was real and which was the front? Both and neither, as she had often told the Emperor. The changes were mercurial, and Skywalker tolerated no pity or concern- nor for that matter did the Emperor. Did she feel any guilt at making her reports? No- she’d never hidden her reason for being here, and eyes and ears were everywhere, Skywalker knew that. Though Mara knew she was among them, she at least prided herself on holding some sense of honour and integrity. And she knew Skywalker appreciated this; that he too held to his own moral code, skewed though it was. In this they were, she supposed, kindred spirits. Which was as close as Skywalker came to genuine friendship these days.
“I’m just sayin’,” Han said defensively, eyes scrunched up against the bright light of hyperspace, pouring in from the viewscreen behind Leia’s office desk and creating a diffuse halo affect about her, “What about the Death Star?” Leia frowned from her cluttered desk, “Han…” “What the hell was going on there, huh?” he interrupted, affecting his best offended, unbelieving tone, as if he felt she was surely arguing just for the sake of it, because he was patently right. “Please-” Leia dismissed, frustration in her voice, as much at herself for being taken in so easily at the time as at Han for still holding faith now, when it was all so obviously a lie. “They needed information; a location. He broke me out so that I would lead him back to…” “No, I’m talking about Yavin- when he blew that thing to dust. What was that about?” he was tired and cranky; everybody was. “I don’t know why he bombed it. I don’t have all the answers.” Leia defended without looking up. “That’s a pretty big answer missing, sweetheart- ‘cos that was one of the most expensive fireworks I ever saw.” She shrugged, anger quickly waning, tired of going over the same argument yet again. She had so much to do; they were trying to set up new bases on Rishi and Ord Biniir, almost a galaxy apart in terms of creating and sustaining supply lines. The last bases were out of the Core Systems now, no longer sustainable under pressure from the Imperial Fleet- under Skywalker’s command, no matter what Han claimed to the contrary. But then Luke had always been an exceptional Commander even when he was here, hiding his true identity. He had the knack of seeing the greater picture, keeping his mind on the end goal, willing to use unanticipated, unorthodox means to achieve it. Madine, a tactical mastermind himself, always had such faith in him; ‘Outstanding aptitude’, he’d always quoted- ‘he’ll go far’. Leia laughed mirthlessy at that; he hadn’t been wrong. Han was still sat on the edge of Leia’s desk looking at her expectantly, and she glanced up at him, hoping that he would take the hint that she was too busy to go through this again, “Ackbar wondered if it had some basic flaw.” “Seemed to work pretty good to me.” Han replied- and instantly regretted it at the haunted look in her mahogany-brown eyes. “Sorry- I’m sorry.” She shook her head, nothing to say against those memories. All of them- Alderaan, imprisonment… Vader. And Luke- once again the rumours were doing the circuits; that he was Vader’s son… was it true? The son of the man who had tortured her on the death star. The man who’d stood behind her and watched her world, her people, everything destroyed. Was it his son who had come to her in her darkest hour, claiming to be her saviour, knowing…knowing what his father had done. Knowing that if he could deceive her, she’d lead him back to the Alliance base. How could she have been so stupid? How could he have been so cruel?
CHAPTER FOUR
General Veers didn’t turn when an Aide entered the Emperor’s Private Audience Chamber behind him- one did not turn one’s back on the Emperor. It was rare that the Super Star Destroyer Executor, Lord Vader’s command and flagship of the Rim Fleet, came to Coruscant, but they had been recalled a few weeks earlier, though if Lord Vader knew the reason, he had chosen not to mention it to Veers- as had Emperor Palpatine in this private audience. Veers had made all his official reports of course, but this unofficial one was always made directly to the Emperor. He was always invited to a private audience with Emperor Palpatine when on Coruscant - just to clarify that he was one of Palpatine’s more valued agents in the field. Which was good, because Veers was an ambitious man, much like the man who left the Emperor's Audience Chamber before him, passing Veers as he waited patiently in the antechamber beyond. Beladon D’Arca, head of the powerful D’Arca family, strode by without a sideways glance, a contented smile on his smug face. What exactly had pleased D’Arca so very much today Veers didn’t know, but he was sure it was in the Emperor’s interest too, since when he entered the Audience Chamber, it was to a very self-satisfied Palpatine, smiling a yellow-toothed grin to no-one but himself . “My Jedi is in orbit.” Palpatine announced contentedly to Amedda, who bowed in acknowledgement. “Yes Excellency. His exact whereabouts however, is unknown.” “Explain.” The Sith Master said, voice hardening. “I contacted the Peerless and requested to speak to him, but was answered by Lieutenant Commander Reece, who stated that The Commander was unavailable at this time. I informed him that an official military reception had been prepared on the Palace landing platform and requested The Commanders projected arrival time and shuttle designation and he became… evasive.” To Veer’s surprise, the Emperor seemed not in the least perturbed by this, the first signs of a grin tugging at the corners of his thin, cracked lips. “And where is he?” “He has apparently taken an Interat TIE Interceptor and is… en-route to the Palace. I understand that Commander Jade followed.” Amedda said neutrally. The Emperor laughed out loud at this, completely unconcerned. “Inform my errant Jedi that I will see him upon his arrival.” As Amedda bowed and left, Palpatine turned again to his favoured General, taking the opportunity to address this point. “You seem…perturbed, my friend?” he invited. “Forgive me, Excellency. I find I am perhaps a little… uncomfortable with The Commander’s often… unorthodox actions.” Veers explained politely, knowing better than to lie to his Emperor, but wishing to remain politic, knowing The Commander’s favoured position. “You disapprove of my feral Jedi?” the Emperor said , cutting through Veers’ politeness. The General bowed his head just slightly, “I acknowledge The Commander’s tactical skills of course - I respect them very much - I simply… struggle with this… impulsive unpredictability. I find Your Excellency’s disposition is far more indulgent than my own.” Palpatine still smiled, settling back; yes, he was indulgent with the boy- sometimes far too much so. But then, when he did use force, it was also without bounds. “He is a Sith, my friend. All Sith need to be handled with due care.” Palpatine said easily; Skywalker was still the wild thing pulling at his leash, and the Emperor knew full well that if he were to pull too hard or too often in return then every exchange would become a battle of wills. “He simply needs to stretch his wings. Now, he’ll return to the Palace without trouble.” Veers nodded without truly understanding - how could he? How could anyone without an ability in the Force hope to comprehend the complexities and subtleties which existed within it? But he could perhaps grasp at its edges, which was important, because Palpatine had a place for him in his future Empire- and to fulfil it the General needed to see some glimpse at the larger picture, carefully distilled down into something he could revere. “You should start learning how to deal with this particular Sith, General- he will rule my Empire when I am no more.” Veers raised his eyes, shocked, but Palpatine only smiled. “Do you find it so surprising that I should plan for my Empire to continue long after I’m gone? Or did you perhaps think I would hand it over to Vader?” Palpatine smiled, noting the subtle shift in Veer's sense with his realisation that he was, if not backing, then certainly giving empty lipservice to the wrong contender. “That would destroy it. Vader isn’t strong enough to control my feral Jedi - he doesn’t have the will to hold him in check. The legacy I have begun to build would crumble in just a few years. The moment I died, Skywalker would leave the Palace, taking anyone who remained loyal to him with him - and there would be many; he has built a solid base in the military - yourself excepted. It would divide my Empire in two and Skywalker would rip apart what was left in taking control from Vader - he would never accept him as Emperor - but he would take control in the end, despite Vader probably holding the greatest number of forces in my name.” Veers stared in open surprise- that The Commander would take power by force, that his Emperor was telling him this… “No,” Palpatine continued casually, voice little more than a murmur, as if lost in thought, “My Jedi will be Heir to the Empire. Only that will hold him and keep him here.” It would be the only thing which would have held Palpatine in similar conditions, and as much as he told the boy he was his father’s son, he now very much reminded Palpatine of himself. He would provide Palpatine’s Empire with the power and the focus it needed to withstand any threat. And he would provide it with an all-important heir- a natural chain of succession. A Sith dynasty which would endure generations- in Palpatine’s name. “It’s natural selection” Palpatine offered to Veers at last, “The strongest wolf will lead the pack.” Veers was silent, and Palpatine turned to him after a few seconds, knowingly. “You’re wondering if that natural selection will cut in a little sooner- if my protégé will challenge my leadership?” He shrugged, supremely confident. “In all likelyhood he will- and I shall put this down decisively and without compunction, as I do any dissent. When one teaches a lesson, one should do it in a manner that will never be forgotten, otherwise one must teach the same lesson again and again.” Now was the moment- to clarify Veers’ part in this, to instil some sense of genuine commitment in the ambitious General, all be it self-serving. Enough to perhaps get him past Skywalker’s close radar and into his trusted elite. “If you were wise, General, you would look to beginning some kind of dialogue with your future leader. By the time he takes the throne, his own power base will be in place and there will be no room for latecomers. A request for transfer to the Core System Fleet and the Peerless would not be looked upon unfavourably.” Palpatine let this final point dangle before he turned pointedly to Veers, confident and assured, “But remember who leads you now - and who will do so for the foreseeable future. When he takes power, it will be because I allowed it. By my decree and not before.”
The massive suite of rooms named ‘The Cabinet’ extended over a full floor of the South Tower of the monolithic Imperial Palace, and were the working place of Palpatine’s personal ministers and aides, the site where the actual act of daily government of the countless systems of the extensive, far-reaching Empire took place. Situated immediately above the vast, four storey high Throne Room where Court was held daily from early evening well into the night, the Cabinet housed two huge, lofty ante-chambers leading to the Emperor’s Private Audience Chambers, as well as the Emperor’s personal offices and those of his favoured few, rooms here being awarded only to the ‘established’; those personal advisors who had held high office for many years. The equally impressively-appointed Council Offices one storey below the Throne Room, where sessions of the Ruling Council were met, also boasted offices for the most favoured, these too allocated and revoked at the Emperor’s whim, as were individual invitations to attend Council or Court. Like apartments in the East Tower, offices carried great import; no-one understood better than the Emperor the art of enhancing the value of a favour, and once given, the fear of having this newfound status revoked held many-a Royal House or powerful individual to silence. On being awarded command of the Core Fleet, Luke had been allocated two offices in the prestigious Cabinet. He had never once entered them, continuing to work in the private offices within his own apartments or those long-since allocated to him within the War Cabinet in the North Tower. Whether the Emperor knew this or not Luke had no idea, though he couldn’t imagine Palpatine failing to note something of such import so close within his own sphere of influence. But his Master had never remarked upon it and the offices remained allocated to The Commander, their permanently closed doors visible at the end of the long corridor which stood just beyond the entrance to the ante-chamber of the Emperor’s Private Audience Chamber. It was in the gilded opulence of that scarlet-walled ante-chamber that Luke stood in uneasy silence now, waiting to see his Master, the command to attend already waiting when he had arrived on one of the small, inset landing platforms in the North Tower, successfully avoiding the pointless pomp and ceremony of an official return. Uneasy because he’d been summoned to the Private Audience Chamber- the cavernous room where he had fought his father years earlier. It wasn’t the first time he’d returned here of course; he'd been here many times at the summons of the Emperor, but it never failed to send some burst of emotion through him. Regret, frustration, confusion- he didn’t know; didn’t care to look too closely. He only knew it was here where he fell - truly fell. Where he lost his way so completely. He had fallen far earlier in many ways, he knew. He was already in that cage; had built the bars which held him. But the day that he'd fought his father- that was the day those bars fell away… and he stayed. Did he want to be here? No. did he trust Palpatine? Absolutely not. Could he leave? Never. If he tried to return to the Alliance, even ignoring the fact that he was under the death penalty there as an Imperial spy - not an unwilling captive or even a defector, thanks to his Master’s maneuvering, but an actual double agent - Palpatine would throw the whole fleet at it; rip it to pieces just to get him back. Wherever he went and however he tried to hide, Palpatine would find him and bring him back, whatever the cost- he had made that absolutely clear. Though he would never destroy his precious ‘Jedi’, he had made that clear too; he would simply break him to pieces and rebuild him one more time. One more grating, grinding trial; a test of torture and thresholds executed with pitiless, surgical precision or self-indulgent gratification depending on his Master's mood from moment to moment, and damned if Luke didn’t even know which was worst anymore, because they too had become a part of his life, the incensed, raging outbursts and the cool, cruel manipulations. Because somewhere along the way he had become just one more of the Emperor’s possessions. Whether Palpatine wanted the snarl of complications and aggravation that his precious new advocate purposely embodied was immaterial; what mattered was that Palpatine owned him- which meant that nobody else did; that he would never have this power turned against him. In an effort to control Skywalker, Palpatine gave his wolf an ever longer leash; the illusion of freedom when they both knew it was nothing of the sort. Still, they played the game, Luke remaining at first because he quite simply had no-where else to go, forcibly isolated, all other options stripped away. Then, damn himself for his own stupid weakness, then held by obligations and associations, aqcuaintances and allies formed even here. Because Palpatine had made it very clear what would happen to them should Luke steer too far from the accepted path. Besides; he had become used to the situation. It had become, Force help him, the norm. So he walked the knife-edge between opportunistic dissent and resenting obedience, taking the opportunities wherever they were available, living his life in the gaps between his Master’s overbearing, incontestable presence as his father had said he would learn to do. And just as Luke had stated to his father three years earlier, it was no life at all. Still, in some private corner of is mind he felt he deserved no better… and his Master knew this and used it and treated him accordingly. And slowly, the lines of battle and tolerance had been drawn on both sides, the contentious, often explosive disagreements which had marked his early interactions with his Master mellowing now and settling out into a subtler game as experience taught him the futility of open conflict. He had long ago stopped trying to look at his motives; the reason was always too uncomfortable to consider, because either he had grown tired of the constant battle and now gave ground more often simply out of defeated indifference, or he had simply grown used to his role here, jaded cynicism rendering what had once seemed outrageous demands on his Master’s part insignificant. What discomfort Luke still held he clung to, all the more so because it had become so easily ignorable, just one more drop in a sea of misgivings, leaving the distasteful suspicion that he had not so much surrendered to his role here as he had perhaps grown into it. But there had been at least some concessions on his Master’s part, because Luke’s time away from the Palace and the Emperor’s manipulations had increased steadily, and he knew that wasn’t by his Master’s choice. And occasionally Palpatine did now defer on a point of contention.
The tall, ornately-carved doors of the Audience Chamber whispered open and Veers - one of his father’s Generals - walked out, turning as he saw Luke and pausing momentarily to click his heels together and incline his head deeply in a smart, military bow. Luke only watched him, expressionless, filing the fact that he was here at all away for later consideration. Chancellor Amedda stepped out and inclined his head just slightly in invitation as Luke turned away from the departing General. He took one last clean, clear breath of air and put the thoughts and doubts he connected with this haunted place carefully away behind mental shields - they were his alone and not for his Master’s scrutiny. Then he stepped forward.
Palpatine’s feral Jedi walked calmly the length of the long room, taking the steps at its midway point without looking either left or right, keeping his eyes on his Master. But he knew, Palpatine could tell - he knew already that something was wrong. Perhaps because the room was empty save for Amedda, and when he was to be chastised, it was always behind closed doors. There was no public discord between the Emperor and his Jedi. “The Neimoidian insurgency has been dealt with Master. The plot was unsuccessful and all of the military factories remain intact. Marshal law has been imposed on the Northern Continent only, but I foresee few problems. It will be relaxed within the month with only curfews and weapons restrictions remaining.” Palpatine remained silent as his Jedi spoke, studying him without really listening to his words - there was no need; he would have done as ordered or he would not yet have returned. And what he had not done, Palpatine already knew. So he watched, admiring again his Wolf. Admiring those cold blue eyes, like ice in twilight. His wild hair was raked loosely back from his remarkably youthful face, long enough to twist into disarray, dark against pale skin. Scarred now, as he hadn’t been when he’d first arrived here- mentally as well as physically. But then it suited him, gave him a dark edge to temper that naive countenance; depth and interest where before he had been unpolished and artless. When he finished speaking, he made to stand, and Palpatine brought his mind to the moment. “I have not given you permission to rise, Jedi.” he said, the slightest hint of cold threat in his voice. The boy froze - then settled dutifully back into position, his jaw tightening just slightly. “You met with your father.” Palpatine prompted curtly. “My father met with me.” The boy corrected, not lifting his head. “For what reason?” “He believes there is a spy working onboard the Peerless.” This wasn’t the time to be playing games, but Luke couldn’t resist. “Indeed?” Palpatine said blandly. But Luke noted from the corner of his vision that his Master placed his gaunt, pale hand before his mouth in a considered gesture, as he often did when lying, “And who would that be?” Luke didn’t hesitate, “His name is Drea Vose. He’s an engineer.” Palpatine settled back slightly, his hand lowering at the reprieve. “Is Lord Vader correct?” “Forgive me- he was an engineer.” Luke corrected smoothly, setting a mental reminder to communicate the name to his father as soon as possible - for his own protection rather than Vader’s. “Then the matter is dealt with?” “Yes, Master.” “And you are sure he was working alone?” Oh, the temptation was just too great; “One must always remain vigilant, Master.” Palpatine narrowed his eyes at that, then settled again just slightly. “What of the ringleaders on Neimoidia?” His Jedi tensed just slightly at the change in topic, the action visible in the changing folds of his cloak. He had changed before meeting with Palpatine in an effort to diffuse what he knew would be a problematic meeting, wearing more traditional black robes rather than his customary military-cut suit, in a subtle expression of deference. It was discreet and understated, but he knew that the Emperor would not fail to have noticed. “The Rebels were already gone, Master. I passed their identities…” “The Neimoidians.” Palpatine cut in. The boy did not raise his head though he knew he’d been found out - then again, he knew he would be; there were few secrets here and this was not exactly concealable. All he didn’t know was the extent of his punishment. “They were dismissed from office. New leaders of a more…” “I gave the command to kill the ringleaders.” “They were not the ringleaders, Master. They were merely…” “I did not ask for your opinion. Merely your obedience.” “You ordered that the ringleaders…” “Don’t argue semantics with me. You chose to interpret my command as it suited you- you knew exactly what I had ordered.” “Yes Master.” the boy grated. The Emperor sat in silence, staring at the kneeling form for a long time, considering. “Perhaps you should stay a while and consider your actions, Jedi.” Palpatine said at last in dry tones, and the boy shifted uneasily at the implied insult in that designation, though he didn’t look up. Palpatine turned to Amedda, “Chancellor- the disruption on Bimmisari?” Luke remained in genuflection, one knee on the hard marble floor, one arm resting on the bent knee which was not, eyes fixed on the point at which the dais raised in carved relief from the main floor. So long that his muscles trembled, his spine cramped and his ribs ached. But he did not move- wouldn’t give Palpatine the satisfaction of seeing him do so. Time trickled slowly by, the sun pushing shadows across the vast, ostentatious room as he stared resolutely at the floor before him, beginning to call on the Force to maintain the awkward position. By early afternoon, Palpatine had found four opportunities to scold Luke for distracting him when Luke had attempted to resettle his weight, moving even slightly. Now the Emperor stood a good distance away at the huge arched windows which stretched to the vaulted and fluted extravagance of the gilded ceiling, gazing silently out into the distant metropolis, his next audience not yet admitted. No longer the subject of his Master’s attention, Luke leaned back just slightly onto his haunches in an attempt to still trembling muscles, and Palpatine turned on him. “Are you incapable of so simple-an act?” he bit out venomously, “You’ve knelt so often that I would expect it to be second nature by now. It’s where you belong, lest you forget.” Luke turned slowly, even this slight movement lighting fireworks down the tense muscles of his spine. “Isn’t it?” Palpatine provoked, meeting his feral Jedi’s eye. Luke held that gaze for long seconds, knowing he could so easily push this over into a genuine fight… “Yes, Master.” He allowed at last, though they both knew it cost him. Palpatine only smiled, voice amused and mocking now, “You bitter little creature. I made you everything that you are- you were nothing without me.” “I’m nothing anyway Master- isn’t that what you always say?” There was the barest hint of defiance in his voice- but it was enough to ignite Palpatine’s anger again. “Don’t dare think to challenge me!” his voice dropped from wild yell to threatening growl as he stalked forward, lips pulled back over spoiled teeth, hands held loosely before him, fingers stretched out as he disappeared behind Luke’s view, the threat implicit in his action. Luke remained still, reaching out with his senses, searching for the familiar sharp mental buzz of Force lightening being summoned into razor-sharp focus, his stance tightening in unwilling response. Instead a strong hand grabbed at his hair, nails scraping his scalp, yanking his head back, “You are nothing! An irrelevant amusement for a powerful man. Everything that I grant you I can take away- position, power, freedom… life.” Head held tightly back, the boy met his gaze without struggling, no real fear in his eyes, even in the face of this. But Palpatine knew how to slice through that indifference. “And everyone around you.” The Sith growled pointedly, leaning close. “Do you understand?” Skywalker held his gaze for long moments before he broke at that, turning his eyes down though they were still as defiant as ever. “Yes Master.” he said at last, another hard capitulation. Palpatine released him, turning away, voice scathing. “You’re weak. How many times have I told you that if you allow yourself a vulnerability, people will use it against you?” Luke said nothing, face a mask, boiling with frustration inside. “Do I have a weakness?” Palpatine goaded, and Luke almost said it - almost turned and said it; ‘Yes-me.’ He wanted to do it- just to see what his Master would do. Because they both knew it was true. Instead, aware of how close to the edge he was skating, he maintained his silence. “Clearly it would do you well to stay a while yet and consider what I have just said.” Palpatine ordered as he turned away, not yet feeling he had made his point…
And the day wore on, Palpatine remaining in his Private Audience Chamber attending to matters of State, his errant Jedi remaining on one knee before the throne, back straight, eyes set on the middle distance, calling the Force to him to maintain the unnatural, awkward position, his mind eventually wandering, no matter how unwillingly, back to Palpatine’s words. He was nothing. His Master hurled this fact at him over and over with such absolute certainty. Had done so since Luke had first been imprisoned in the cell beneath the palace- when he’d still naïvely believed that he had some kind of choice…that he could change anything at all. That Palpatine’s will wasn’t absolute. Every time he wavered, every time he faltered, every time he hesitated; who was he to question? He was nothing. He was nothing. Not even himself; even this his Master claimed; his name, his will… his soul, in due course, just like his father. He existed only to serve, to fulfil Palpatine’s expectations, despite his continued rebukes and punishments. This was his life now, to stand by his Master, prey to his commands and coercions and volatile, mercurial temper. Perhaps that would never stop; He sighed against the trembling muscles of his aching ribs, resigned to the realisation. It didn’t matter- very little did anymore.
By mid-afternoon he was well past discomfort, his whole body beginning to tremble, spasms causing short, jerky movements as the bunched muscles of his stomach, back and legs tensed to cramping every few moments in dire complaint, his breath coming harder now, diaphragm compressed against the rigid tension required to maintain the position. But he remained silent, remained focused. Palpatine allowed three private audiences to prolong the day, each representative walking forward and coming to an uneasy stop beside the silent, kneeling man, each invited to rise when they had knelt, none daring to make comment on the Emperor’s Jedi, Palpatine conducting the audience as if the boy was not there at all, watching the representatives trying without success to hide their furtive, nervous sideways glances. And all the time, his Jedi stared resolutely ahead. Finally his Aides were dismissed and the Emperor stood for a short time staring out over the city as the sun dipped below the line of distant buildings, before walking slowly back to his throne to sit, taking his time to settle before, at length, bringing his eyes back to his Jedi. He watched him in silence for a short while. Watched the headstrong determination in those hooded eyes which would not meet his, watched his muscles trembling with fatigue, watched his chest rise in short, sharp breaths. “You are so stubborn.” he observed at last, amused and exasperated in the same breath. “How can you be this obstinate over so small-a thing?” The boy remained looking steadfastly ahead, jaw clamped tight, head tilted forward slightly at the continued effort. “Why did you not simply kill them?” Because he knew, Palpatine reflected; he knew there’d be a price for his disobedience; there always was. It never stopped him. “It was unnecessary.” the boy said at last, between clenched teeth. “At the very least it would have fed the Rebellion’s cause with a new surge of outraged idealists ready to fight. At worst, it would have caused riots which would have spread civil disorder across the continent and probably the planet; it would have taken months to fully subdue and reinstate order, and countless troops would have had to be committed to the action. As it is the leaders are gone now and there is nothing to react against. The situation will dissipate within weeks.” “Have I taught you nothing, Jedi?” Palpatine dismissed easily, bringing the boys eyes momentarily up to his own. He still revelled in calling him that, knowing how it stung; his fallen Jedi, his feral Jedi his dark Jedi… his Jedi. His. He had given the boy no other name, though he had taken his true name away long ago. Now this was all that was left; his Jedi, his Wolf, Commander of his fleet. But nothing more. Let them whisper and guess. The boy would never tell the truth; he did not care for his own past and was no longer bothered what name people gave him. He knew what he was, no matter how much he disliked it. Palpatine frowned at this; had it been mercy which had driven him to disobey, or logic, as he claimed? He had killed many times at his Master’s command - and always with such savage grace, like setting a hunting-bird free - so why had he held back this time? He still occasionally had the power to surprise his Master, even three years after his arrival… which was why he remained of interest- of value. “Never hesitate.” Palpatine admonished, leaning forward indulgently. “It is your greatest weakness- conquer it or your enemies will conquer you with it. Anyone who can get the better of you will do so- it is basic nature, pack mentality. Someone will always seek to challenge you. If you react swiftly and violently to make examples, people will remember and you will not be forced to repeat the same lessons again and again.” “Yes Master.” The boy said levelly without meeting Palpatine’s eye. “Conquer your flaws, my friend. Or I will do it for you.” The boy brought his head up at that, knowing… Palpatine only shrugged elaborately, “The Neimoidian sympathisers you left free were rounded up and killed this morning on my order. If there is rioting in the streets, then perhaps next time I shall not make you kneel quite so long.” He rose, satisfied that he had proved his point; disobeying was not only painful but pointless, the futility of even this small dispute underlined. Walking slowly past his Jedi, cane in hand, Palpatine paused without looking down to pat the kneeling boy on the shoulder. “Don’t make me remind you again. Today I found it amusing, given what is about to transpire. Next time I will not be so indulgent.” He walked from the room and the silent, kneeling man, his cane tak-takking on the cold marble floor. When the doors closed, Luke collapsed down, burning, biting cramps searing at this final release, agonising as blood returned to numb muscles. He sat alone for a long time on the Audience-Chamber floor …for the simple reason that he was unable to stand.
CHAPTER FIVE
Stood before the bank of tall windows in the private rooms within his sprawling apartments, Luke remained silent before his father’s words, tired, at low ebb, wishing him to leave. The room was barely lit, and he stared out into the ever-moving lights of the Capital planet, Vader’s voice a bass background tone which rumble at the edge of his awareneness. Reece, Luke's Aide and a scarce ally here, had remained discretely in the room beyond, his presence a wash of concern and disapproval as Luke spoke with his father. Having now passed on everything which was necessary to maintain his deceit to the Emperor, Luke now simply wished Vader gone before one of them lashed out at the other, as they always did when their obstinate wills eventually clashed. It was well past midnight and much as he disliked it, he had been forced to speak to his father, Vader answering Luke’s unspoken nudge in the Force and coming to his apartments. If it had been safe to pass the information on through a third party then Luke would have done so without hesitation, but each extra person in the chain was one more possible double-agent and even a trusted ally could be easily read by the Emperor, so that, distasteful as Luke found it, he had contacted his father directly. That they were seen to have met was unfortunate but unavoidable here in the Palace, so it was better to do so out in the open rather than try to hide it at all. Still, Luke had limited the damage as much as possible, admitting Vader to private rooms within the vast Perlemian Apartments, his designated residence in the West Tower of the Palace. The three private rooms set together in the corner of the sprawling, extensive quarters were his only safe haven within the Palace, all surveillance equipment here rendered inoperative. Every time he left the Palace with the Fleet, the devices were carefully restored or reactivated from the empty levels above and below his apartments, and every time he returned, Luke immediately invested the time in finding them and subtly disabling them with the Force. It was yet another ongoing battle of wills with the Emperor which neither ever mentioned but both upheld. Now he remained silent, listening to the familiar rasp of the breathing mechanism in his father’s suit, leaning subtly back against the upright chair behind him for support, his body still fatigued from Palpatine’s unexpected choice of chastisement. In truth, he’d gotten off very lightly; his Master had flown into vindictive, violent rages over far less. Which prompted the question- why? Why had Luke been allowed that defiance? Palpatine had even used the term indulgent - not generally a word he associated with his Jedi… And what was ‘about to transpire’?
“Luke?” He turned, suddenly realising that Vader was speaking his name. “Yes?” “Did you hear my question?” “No. I wasn’t listening.” Luke said curtly, wishing to clarify that he had no interest in his fathers’ claims; no curiosity in digging up old vendetta’s one more time. “Why did you not seek me out?” Vader asked, his tone indicating that he was condensing several previous questions into one. Luke turned away again to look out into the distant city lights, considering…. not what to answer, but whether to answer at all. Should he simply turn around and leave the room? After another long pause punctuated only by Vader’s grating breaths, Luke sighed, annoyed as much at himself for allowing this conversation to continue as his father for initiating it. "I’ve told you- Ben said that my father had died, killed by Darth Vader." The resentment bit out in Vader's bass tones; roiled through the Force like a wavefront. "Kenobi was a bitter, weak old man who filled your head with lies." But though Luke was willing to answer his father, he was certainly not prepared to humour him. "Kenobi was right; my father died twenty-five years ago, when Darth Vader came into being. Everything he was, was destroyed by that creature- and him just the empty husk of pointless ambitions.” It was a pointed accusation, intended to bring this discussion to a close, but his father remained silent, prompting Luke to push further, his exhaustion giving him a brittle edge. He met his father’s eyes, as if looking at an object of curiosity, his voice distant and uninvolved, “Was it worth it, all your ambition? Was it worth all the suffering you caused? How do you sleep now… or do you sleep at all? Can a machine sleep - or feel guilt?” “I am trapped in this suit because of your precious Jedi teacher!” Luke shook his head mildly, unoffended. “I don’t defend him- I have no more loyalty to him any more than I have to you.” It was a subtle barb, casually delivered but with awareness of its power, Vader knew. The boy had long since learned to play the discreet games of the Palace which the Emperor had instigated- he had after all learned them from the true master. Intrigue, contrivance and artifice, true intentions hidden- or politely, patently clear. Luke turned pointedly away to look out to the distant city, that reality growing ever more distant now- a fading dream, like so much of his old life. “But you’re right, he was weak. He failed in his duty on Mustafar. He failed whatever beliefs and tenets he had held to in that moment. He failed the Jedi, he failed the galaxy- and he failed Anakin Skywalker.” Vader thought of all the misery and anguish Kenobi had rained down on his old student since that day- a revenge far worse than mere death. “I would have killed him, given the chance.” His son turned, that dispassionate expression a sting in itself, though it was nothing compared to his words; “But you did have the chance- you were there. You lost.” That brought Vader’s head up, the acerbic harshness of it surprising even him. “You could not possibly understand - you were not there.” “No, which is a pity.” His son turned away again to stare at the lights of the city, “Because I would have killed you.” He did not turn back, the conversation clearly over as far as he was concerned. Vader remained for a time, staring at his son, wondering whether the boy would eventually feel obligated to acknowledge his father. But he didn’t, and finally Vader turned to leave, seething, wondering why he had pressed; why he continued to ask these questions, searching for some connection, some spark, when the boy pushed him away time and again. He had no answer- except that he knew he could not do otherwise.
Luke was lost in sleep when the sharp susurration whispered through the Force in his dreams, making him frown… then everything tilted, reality itself realigning, Luke gasping out, jerking upright, hands out to steady himself against the ethereal motion, his surprise lighting the dark room with a flash of Force-driven brightness, every surface, every wall, every structure within highlighted… Seconds later, he sensed Reece walking purposely through the withdrawing room adjacent to his bedroom and twisted about. “Yes.” He allowed in permission, though the Aide had not yet knocked on the door. “Something’s happened.” Luke prompted as the thick doors swung open, Reece bowing before entering. “Forgive the intrusion Sir, but I thought you’d want to see this.” Reece set quickly forward, tone somewhere between excitement and portent, the backlit screen of the automemo he was holding illuminating a small circle about him in the thick gloom of the cavernous, sparsely-furnished room. Luke took the automemo, read it, re-read it then glanced up, “This is verified?” “Yes, Sir - it's already been announced across the HoloNet.” “Hm.” Luke said simply, the tone of his short exclamation revealing that it explained a great deal- though probably only Reece could have read so much into so little, knowing him as well as he did. Luke handed the automemo back to the Aide. “This changes nothing, nothing at all- you know that?” “I think perhaps in the eyes of others… it may make certain alliances easier.” “Too easy. Allegiance and ambition are not the same thing.” Luke shook his head, too tired to consider the implications right now. “We’ll talk in the morning.” Reece bowed then, realising new protocol, he backstepped and bowed again before turning to walk from the room. “And don’t ever do that again when we’re in private quarters.” came Luke's voice from the darkness. Reece smiled, amused, pleased that The Commander hadn’t ordered him never to do it at all, which considering the news would have been a breach of protocol, but had chosen to dismiss the pointless etiquette in private- which was very much his modus operandi. And one of the many reasons why Reece had defected. “Of course, Sir.” He acknowledged, leaving. Busy night ahead, once this got out….
Leia was woken in the early hours of the morning by the comm, Han turning over and pulling the pillow over his head with a groan. Flicking the low light on, squinting from its glow, she fumbled across the nightstand. “Leia.” she acknowledged, not in the mood for talking. “Leia, you need to see this.” It was Mon’s voice, tense with concern and trepidation, dragging Leia’s eyes open with the same. “Where are you?” “In Ops.” Mon said tightly, her voice obscured by a buzz of others close by. Feeling her stomach tighten, Leia sat up. “C’mon flyboy.” She prompted Han. “What is it?” he drawled, still clinging hopefully to the pillow. Leia shook her head, already dressing, “I don’t know- but it’s big.”
Fifteen minutes later, she was in Ops, staring at the message on the HoloNet channels with the same mixture of disbelief and unease as everyone else. “Well that’s it then.” Leia said firmly, looking to Mon, a sense of empty finality flooding the small pocket of hope she'd secretly nursed for so long. “No arguing with that. When did it come in?” “When I commed you.” Mon replied, looking as dishevelled and sleep-weary as Leia felt, “We got a message a few hours ago from the Bothans, but nothing was verified.” “Well, it seems pretty authentic now.” Leia said. Mon nodded, looking back to the screen, “Heir Apparent.” The message was lengthy and authoritative, sent over all official channels on the HoloNet, the language decorous and legally relevant, painstakingly refined- but it ultimately boiled down to one thing. Palpatine had named a successor - Luke Skywalker was now Heir to the Empire. “I’m not surprised- it was always heading that way.” Madine said uneasily. “It seems so unlike him though,” Mon reflected out loud, reading the proclamation for the fifth time, “Palpatine’s never shown any willingness to share power.” “This isn’t sharing; he’s really offering nothing more than everyone already knew.” Ackbar said, gravelly voice low, lost in consideration, “This has simply made it official.” “And bought him a few year’s grace.” Leia added. Mon turned to her, and she shrugged, “All the analysts say The Commander’s formed a strong following within the military. They all say he’ll take power within a decade- maybe Palpatine is officially confirming his position to head that off - why risk a coup when you can get everything you want just by waiting. It’s all guaranteed now.” “We need to take this to the War Room.” Mon said firmly. “We need a course of action- a response.”
“In your opinion?” Mon was trying to lock Tag Massa, the Intelligence Chief, down. They sat around a large circular table in the War Room, the plain walls and low light giving weight to the discussion, everyone staring to their automemo’s to check again this amazing and totally unanticipated turn of events. “This is a very unexpected move, Ambassador.” Massa evaded, never one to be tied to a statement prematurely, “However I doubt that it’s a stabilising move on the Emperor’s part - it’s simply not necessary.” “What about all the reports of The Commander forming a retinue in Court?” Leia prompted. “It’s true that The Wolf has formed a very strong power base in the last year, particularly in the military, but he’s never exhibited any serious intention or desire to overthrow the Emperor.” Tag said, her casual mention of The Commander’s alias, often quoted in Imperial circles, setting Leia ill at ease and prompting her to wonder once again what his real name was. He’d never been referred to by the names of either Luke or Skywalker by anyone in the Empire- only when he’d been here, spying for his Master. Even the Bothans could find no definite links to that name, save for unsubstantiated verbal accounts relating to an Old Republic Jedi by the name of Skywalker. But as much as she tried not to, Leia still couldn’t ever think of him by any other name. Massa continued over Leia’s thoughts, “Certainly nothing above the normal level of powerplay that one would expect in such circles. And on the few occasions that we have noted any real conflict forming, we’ve also noted that The Commander will disappear for days or even weeks. Whether he’s banished from Court or chooses not to attend in order to diffuse the situation is unclear. What information we have is in his case-file… screens ninety through one-five-eight.” She added, flicking quickly through them on her battered, well-used automemo. “And he goes where?” Ackbar prompted with a flick of his elongated, webbed fingers. “That, we have no idea, sir.” she admitted, rubbing her eyebrows- she too had been up all night over this one, and didn’t expect to get to sleep anytime soon. “But when he returns to Court, he appears more elusive and insular than ever- often for an extended period. That’s in his psychological profile- screens…” “And the conflict’s always dispersed?” Mothma half-stated, half-asked, prompting Tag to look up without finishing, nodding just slightly in reply. “Certainly it seems a deal less contentious, yes.” “But he is loyal to the Emperor?” Leia asked, feeling something important was being left unsaid. “His psyche profile lists him as such.” Tag said. Which didn’t answer the question, Leia knew. “And in your opinion?” she pushed. “Opinions are biased, Ma’am.” Tag said flatly. “Please…” Leia soothed, inviting Tag Massa on. She was a balanced, thoughtful woman, young for her post at two years Leia’s senior, having taken it on the death of her predecessor Odin Latt, who had been lost in an Imperial raid just eight months ago. Tag glanced down as if considering, then looked Leia in the eye, “In my personal opinion,” she emphasised, “I question whether The Wolf has any explicit loyalties within the Empire. He accords every respect to Palpatine but he appears to make no friendships outside of the professional, maintaining a discreet distance from Court and the Emperor’s entourage as much as possible… He remains, to all intents and purposes, outside of the society with which he is theoretically allied. Most of his own small entourage and known associates are military or ex-military, and he seems to spend time away from Court whenever possible, travelling with the Fleet in the Core and Colony Systems. Which is - in my personal opinion -” The table remained very quiet for long seconds, in which Tag looked nervously down to her automemo. “In…my opinion.” she finally added. Leia blinked, taking all that in. Tag Massa had certainly given the issue some thought - but then, that was her job. “And Lord Vader?” she asked, moving the conversation on. “Lord Vader would never have been given the Empire, Ma’am, not with The Wolf in the sidelines. Palpatine would always have held back power for him- it’s clearly what he’s been prepared for.” “Why?” Madine prompted, never one to mince words. Tag considered before answering, “As far as we’re aware, no-one outside of Palpatine’s most trusted allies were aware of The Wolf's existence until he was presented to Court aged twenty-one, and awarded command of the Core Systems the following year, a reasonable age, considering his future position and his responsibilities. Despite his reluctance, he remains attached to Court and has a position of power second to none- the Emperor always keeps him close at hand…” “I thought that was because he’s considered unpredictable?” Madine said. “If the Emperor considered him so very unpredictable, I would question why he was given control of the most affluent, influential planets in the Empire with the Core Fleet.” Tag countered evenly, back on familiar ground now. “All our profiles indicate that he’s in a highly favoured position with the Emperor and he always has been. Taking all of this into account, the unsubstantiated reports that he’s Palpatine’s son rather than those that he’s Vader’s may well be correct.” “I don’t believe that. It just doesn’t ring true.” Leia maintained, searching in vain for facts to back up her gut feeling on this. “If he were Palpatine’s son, why not declare him earlier? Why wait until he was twenty-one before presenting him to the Palace?” “He would be better able to defend himself effectively by then.” Admiral Ackbar said. “From both external and internal threats.” he added pointedly. Leia frowned, unconvinced. “If that was Palpatine’s concern, then why send him out on missions as dangerous as infiltrating the Alliance?” “Perhaps Sk…” Ackbar almost said it, Leia knew; almost committed what had become the unforgivable mistake of referring to Luke by the name he’d used whilst spying on the Rebel Alliance. But he recovered admirably, continuing without further pause, “Perhaps he felt the need to test himself, to gain some practical experience - it would certainly increase his standing within the military. Or perhaps Palpatine felt the same?” “It’s too much of a gamble. Would you risk your son and heir by sending him to infiltrate the Alliance - it’s like throwing a lamb to the wolves…” Even as she said it, Leia knew her error, given the nickname which had rifled through the Empire’s military circles since Luke's promotion to Fleet Commander. Surprisingly it was Mon Mothma who called her on it. "Considering his success, it seems that it was rather more like throwing a wolf in among the lambs. Perhaps Palpatine knew it would be the same.” There was a long silence at this, everyone stewing on the past; Skywalker’s alias was first heard from the Bothan spy network immediately following his return to the Empire after infiltrating the Alliance, his codename whilst working as a spy first made reference to by Black Sun. But that was all they had - that was all anybody had on him; a few disjointed accounts and untraceable details. Everyone remained silent in consideration of the conundrum he still represented. “I would argue that given his new position it’s immaterial whose son he is.” Mon Mothma said at last, bringing everyone’s minds back to the present. “It’s what he will be that concerns us.” It was Crix Madine who voiced what everyone had thought but no-one would be the first to utter. “It would seem reasonable for us to break the chain - to stamp out this line of succession before it’s established.” No-one reacted, no-one made eye contact. It fell to Leia to speak it out loud; “Are you talking about assassination?” “I would say yes.” Madine said, meeting her gaze. “It would be difficult, but not impossible, given that he travels around the Core Systems regularly, unlike the Emperor.” Leia squirmed in her seat, deeply uncomfortable with this, “No-one would ever get close enough.” Had she said that? Was she inviting discussion? She felt her cheeks heat- what would her father have said? He had believed that there would eventually be a diplomatic solution- believed it with all his heart. What would he have said now? “There are other ways.” Madine said, all business now. As an ex-Imperial, Leia always felt he believed he had something to prove- and he was never afraid of getting his hands dirty. He retained that particular confidence that all Imperial Officers enjoyed; the absolute conviction that he was right- that whatever means he saw fit was an acceptable action, no matter how… blunt. “There are numerous methods which require no direct contact and therefore would be difficult for even a Sith to trace. Methods on a grander scale.” Leia frowned, uncertain she wanted to hear this. “Like what?” Madine shrugged elaborately, looking to Mon Mothma for support. “A bomb perhaps?” Leia didn’t fail to notice the meaningful glance that passed between Mon Mothma and General Madine, though Mon turned her eyes down in warning. As Leia turned to Madine, she caught Tag’s eye and recognised the same look on the Intel Chief's face; this was something going on between Mon and Madine then; something even Tag Massa didn't know. Mon Mothma considered, finally speaking out loud. “We’d have to consult existing records, find out exactly what he’s capable of. I’m sure it would require more complex consideration to ensure a favourable result.” Leia was dragged from her reverie by Mon’s casual air, hard intent disguised by oblique references. Why didn’t she just come out and say it- to guarantee we could murder him. “Is this what we’ve come to? Is this what we are now?” The tone of her words brought everyone’s eyes to her. “What has he really done against us?” Leia couldn’t believe she’d said that - almost word for word Han’s argument. She’d dismissed it so easily then but now, faced with this- it wasn’t even that she liked Luke Skywalker or whatever the hell his real name was, it was just that… it felt wrong. In every fibre of her body, it felt wrong. “I assume you’re talking beside standing second-in-command to the Emperor, maintaining and stabilising his dictatorship, murdering individuals without trial, infiltrating and informing on the Alliance, overriding inalienable sentient rights and practicing Sith doctrines?” Mon challenged smoothly. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.” “I think we’re beyond superficial sophistries now, Leia.” Mon chided, “Sometimes one must look at the greater picture. Can we really afford to let a Sith dynasty take hold?” Leia shook her head, not certain why she was fighting this corner, but very sure that she was doing so alone, “I’ll say again; what has he ever done to indicate that he disapproves of the Alliance- that he would be a threat to us if he came to power? He may well be the one to end this civil war.” “One way or another.” Madine said grimly. Leia turned to Tag Massa for support, “You said yourself; he has no loyalty to the Empire.” “He’s already illustrated the extent of his loyalty to the Alliance.” Mon argued, shooting that argument down. “If we’re going to make an assassination attempt, should it not be for the Emperor?” Mon shook her head, “The Emperor is far harder to reach. Even if that were possible, the logical path would be to remove his successor first, otherwise all we do is aid The Wolf’s ascension to power, create a dynasty by putting another Sith on the throne, an unknown, unpredictable quantity. General Madine is right- better to stop this line of succession now.” Leia rubbed her forehead, tired and irritable, “I can’t condone this action. I won’t.” “May I ask, Leia-” Mon said, voice like steel wrapped in silk, “Are you speaking as a leader in the Alliance - or as his friend?” That was a low blow. Leia drew herself up in her chair, fixing Mon with her most unassailable stare. Mon had been a master in the Senate chamber, but Leia had served too, young as she was - and she’d learned a thing or two. “That was uncalled for. Yes, I was deceived, as we all were- but my loyalties remain the same. They are to the Alliance and to democracy. And I won’t have that brought under question to serve ulterior motives.” Mon held her stern stare for long seconds, everyone else at the table suddenly finding some pressing reason to look elsewhere as the two strongest wills in the Alliance hierarchy met head on… “Perhaps,” Ackbar offered at last, always the voice of reason, “We should reconvene at a more convenient hour. We’re all tired and this isn’t the time to make far-reaching decisions- it requires a more considered approach before we move forward.” Both women slowly settled back into their chairs, but Leia couldn’t quite let it go yet. “I’m not happy about playing devil’s advocate in this, but I won’t see us make a decision which would shape the view the rest of the galaxy holds of us and the course of all our future dealings without considering all possible ramifications.” “Are you suggesting that we would?” Mon asked, unyielding. “I’m suggesting that our principles seem a little compromised here. You accuse me of having a biased opinion of The Commander. I would accuse you of the same. He hurt us and he undermined our image… and you want retribution.” “It was not me who brought the question as to how to deal with this subject to light, Leia.” Mon challenged levelly. Oh, that was good, Mon, Leia had to allow as General Madine stepped in, Mon having neatly brought him into the argument, deflecting Leia’s last comment towards him. “May I remind you, Princess, that we are at war.” The General said sternly, “And our enemy’s strategy has suddenly become very clear. It is my duty to do everything within my power to shorten this war and ensure a positive outcome. Or do I misinterpret the parameters of my duties?” Leia turned to him, forced to defend on two fronts now. “No, General. But there are conventions, even in war. It would be rather difficult to maintain the moral high-ground when we’re holding assassin’s knives.” “In case you failed to notice, your Highness, The Wolf's primary Aide is an Imperial assassin.” Madine countered, voice full of scorn. As good-a soldier as he was, Madine was no diplomat, and Leia again blessed her father for drilling those skills into her before she had the slightest sense of their value. “And you disapprove of that, General?” Madine paused, seeing that he had been cornered, glancing momentarily to Mon Mothma. Admiral Ackbar took the initiative in the ensuing silence, “I think that perhaps we should break for now, to give Intel some time to put forward a more rounded view of this situation. We’ll reconvene in the morning- details will be sent to your offices. Thank-you.” There was a pointed finality to it which no longer invited debate, everyone looking to disperse before the situation deteriorated, even Leia. It wasn’t what she was there for- it had just somehow happened. But she hadn’t failed to notice that Mon, ever the consummate diplomat, had managed to get someone else to fight her corner rather than dirty her own hands. Leia sighed, rising to walk from the War Room, her automemo clutched to her chest, Han catching her eye as she passed into the ante-room. “Hey. You got that ‘someone just stepped on my toes and I’m about to jump up and down on his’ look in your eye.” He murmured easily, falling into step beside her, hair still mussed from sleep. “Not at all.” she said tersely, eyes on Madine as he walked from the room ahead of her, deep in discussion with Mon. “O-kay.” He said, clearly unconvinced. After several silent steps, he tried again, “So what’s going on?” Leia’s mind was still reeling, trying to find a path through too much information. But she turned to Han, knowing this would be a blow for him, “Luke’s been named by Palpatine as Heir Apparent to the Empire.” Han’s feet stuttered to a halt as he stared at Leia, who felt for some reason strangely guilty- as if it was she and not Luke who had let Han down. “That’s…not…” it was all he could manage, his face bewildered and wounded, Leia regretting now having told him so directly. “I’m sorry, Han.” she said, but he was looking away now, eyes to the assembled Chiefs as they walked away, heads down. “So what were you talkin’ about in the War Room?” he asked, voice low with suspicion. “They’re…we’re,” Leia corrected herself, “trying to decide a course of action.” Han’s eyes narrowed, “Like what?” Tag Massa passed through Leia’s field of vision behind Han, and Leia briefly rested her hand on Han’s arm in reassurance, “Wait here.” Leia hurried her step to catch up with Massa, Han holding back, knowing her well enough to know that she was up to something. “That’s quite an interesting opinion you hold, Chief.” Leia said as she drew level with the Intelligence Chief. Tag turned those sharp eyes on Leia, “If not a particularly popular one.” Leia shrugged, “I’d rather be fair than popular…fortunately.” she added wryly Tag smiled just slightly at that. “I stand by it.” She added, though she glanced down, Leia feeling that she was uneasy at saying so aloud. “May I ask you a question?” Leia said breezily, the memory of Tag’s studied expression at the meaningful look between Mon and Madine still foremost in her mind. Tag smiled, “On or off the record?” Leia too smiled at that; never try to get smart with an Intel Officer. “Off. But then you knew that.” “Go on?” Tag invited. “If you were outside of this situation - an impartial observer - given the characters and the present leadership here… what do you think the outcome of this debate will be?” Massa glanced down, walking on for a short time in silence, Leia not pushing her as she turned that pin-sharp mind to the question, running through all possible scenarios. She glanced apologetically to Leia, forced amusement in her face, “But that’s just a personal opinion, you understand. I haven’t run it through any programs.” Leia smiled again without looking up, “And in your personal opinion…is that right?” The smile fell away from Massa’s face and she let out a long breath, “No. I don’t think we should be lowering ourselves to the Empire’s level. We don’t assassinate people on a whim; we put them to trial by jury. If we can’t maintain that basic tenet then I think we should seriously re-evaluate our ties because we don’t deserve to associate ourselves with the values of the Old Republic. And I also think your assessment was valid- The Wolf has never made an unprovoked move against us. That may seem like splitting hairs to some, but given the subtle plays which define the circles in which he moves, any gesture, however small, would have been carefully considered by himself and therefore should be be taken into account by us.” Leia glanced down, blessing Han for giving her this opportunity - and an unexpected ally. Massa was one of the very few beside those directly involved who knew the full story of Luke Skywalker; it was considered necessary to her position. “I would add one thing, Ma’am,” Massa offered, stopping in the corridor to face Leia, “I’ve watched him a long time and read every psyche profile and incident report, and I think I know him well enough to tell you this much- if they do decide to make an assassination attempt, then I will do my level best to make sure it’s flawlessly executed and hope with all my heart that it will be successful... because Force help us all if it’s not.”
Luke sat in the huge, coffered-ceiling dining room in his private quarters eating breakfast, the tall balcony doors flung open to the morning, dispelling a little of the stuffy gloom that always encapsulated the dark-paneled room. “So what is my title?” he asked doubtfully of Wez Reece, who was sat at the table with him, the medic Hallin beside him. Between them Reece knew they constituted the total number of people Luke believed he could trust on Coruscant. Neither men ate, of course, but it was amazing how comfortable Skywalker had become with the fact that there always seemed to be an inordinate amount of people who found it necessary to be close to him at any given hour of the day. An awful lot of people, requiring an awful lot of managing to keep them always subtly removed from the Commander - now the heir - a fact that Reece, whose job this was, assumed would continue to cause him headaches in the near future. Though he had a feeling that his next major hurdle was looming right now- “Highness.” Reece said simply, identifying the Commander’s new title and waiting for the anticipated reaction. It was now three days since the official announcement had been made and though he hadn’t said as much, the Commander was clearly trying his best to keep a low profile which was difficult within the Palace at the best of times, a steady stream of Courtiers, politicians and military climbers contacting his secretaries and requesting permission for an audience to congratulate the new heir, none of which had been granted as yet. Many others who knew his reclusive ways opted to leave messages or gifts, believing this the more politic choice. Neither would work of course, since the Commander hadn’t wanted the title in the first place and placed little store by it anyway - this was in fact the first time he had even asked his title, prompted by Reece’s insistence that certain matters of State needed to be dealt with, a string of gradually more insistent communique’s arriving from the Ministry of Court Protocols. So all in all Reece had been braced for a less-than-enthusiastic reaction. Luke practically balked, “Really? Couldn’t it be something a little less… pretentious?” Reece raised his eyebrows, his tone both formal and familiar, something he had spent the last three years developing. Ten years Luke’s senior, he had been recruited to his present post by Saté Pestage, and regarded a large part of his job as grooming the younger Commander - now officially heir - for his future position. “It’s not a multiple choice, Sir. That is your correct title now. The Emperor should of course be Majesty, but since that’s also the title of any ruler to any Royal House, it was felt that a distinction should be made and Excellency is also an acknowledgement of his previous position as High Chancellor. His Imperial Majesty is however, also correct, which makes your title as Highness correct Form, as it would be for any heir to a throne.” Luke frowned, pushing back his plate, his provincial accent coming defensively to the fore as Reece had known it would. At the Emperor's command, after almost a year of avoidances, the Commander had finally relented and an etiquette tutor had invested a great deal of time in eradicating his Rim accent, but one could only ever overwrite such an old habit, Reece knew, never remove it entirely. It now faded in and out as Luke saw fit, depending on his audience, mood or provocation at any given time. “Highness is just a little… you know…” Memories of Han regularly referring to Leia as ‘Your Highnessness’ drifted unbidden through Luke’s thoughts. Reece stifled a sigh, considering. “You could perhaps petition to be referred to on official documentation as ‘The Heir’. The request could reasonably be made on the grounds that, like the Emperor, some distinction should be made between yourself and any Crown Prince to a planetary house. The title could also be used when referring to you in the third-party, which is general etiquette for someone of your stature anyway. Recognized ‘Form’ is for someone speaking directly to you to acknowledge you for the first time each meeting as Your Highness and subsequently as Sir.” Luke glanced at Hallin, who shrugged elaborately into his friend’s distaste, “Who’d have thought a name could be this complicated?” “Can’t they just call me sir like they do now?” “No, Sir.” Reece said flatly. “You just did.” “That’s because I have already addressed you several times in this meeting, so I may now properly address you as Sir.” Reece clarified in his most stately manner, always the experienced voice of decorum and Form, his many years in the Palace gaining him an extensive knowledge of such matters; surprisingly so considering he had an ex-military background, having originally come here as a Royal Guard. Luke leaned back, uneasy; Reece’s formal manner always got his back up; it was like talking to Threepio on a bad day. “This is nothing.” Hallin dismissed, “Wait until you get to who may and may not properly address you directly and how close they may stand and how they enter and leave your presence…” he paused momentarily as Luke turned to him, appalled, then shrugged apologetically; “They gave us all lessons the day before yesterday.” Exasperated, Luke twisted up and out of the chair, turning on the other two men as they both made to rise, finger pointing in warning, “Do not stand up!” Both men froze uncomfortably as he turned and left, heading for the privacy of his withdrawing room. The silence stretched out for long minutes before Hallin asked casually, “Happy now?” Reece settled back down, eyes on the large autoreader he had brought in with him. “I haven’t even mentioned the flag yet.” “Flag?” “He has to pick a flag…. for when he’s in residency.” Hallin rose, quietly sliding the heavy carved chair back against the table with exaggerated care. “Where are you going?” Reece asked of the medic. “I think I’ll be giving The Heir a wide berth for a few hours,” Hallin observed matter-of-factly, “But good luck with that flag thing.”
It was Mara who came to Reece’s aid when she passed on yet another message from the Master of Ceremonies and Palace Protocols - apparently his fifth today - politely requesting clarification on the new Heir’s decision, Reece having to admit that he had not found ‘the right moment’ to broach the subject of the flag yet. Mara had raised finely-arched eyebrows and turned about, retrieving the designs from the staff offices. Not even close to shoulder-height with Reece’s hefty bulk, her trim, almost delicate and misleadingly non-threatening form often bought her immunity in many situations where Reece would hesitate to tread. Knocking on the door to the drawing room she entered without hesitation, the large Autoreader under her arm, images already called up. She was her usual direct self; “You need to choose a flag.” Luke didn’t even glance up from the table where he was working, automemo and stylus in hand, doors once again flung open to the morning, “Aren’t you supposed to call me Highnessness or something?” “You need to choose a flag, Highness.” Mara stated without hesitation. It had come as less of a shock to her when she’d heard a few hours before the official release that Palpatine was about to name Luke as Heir; he’d always privately made it clear to Mara that this was his ultimate aim, from the very first time she had seen him when he’d arrived unconscious, battered and bruised from Bespin. It hadn’t exactly been a seamless transformation from Rebel pilot to Sith advocate and judging from Luke’s less than gracious reaction to the news, more was undoubtedly still to come, but essentially the change was made and set in stone; even she could see that. “Where’s Hallin?” Luke countered as she stepped forward, throwing Mara momentarily. “What?” “Hallin- where’s Hallin?” he repeated expectantly in that particular tone that everyone, even Mara, couldn’t help but react to. “I don’t know - do you need him?” “Yes- find him.” Mara turned about and was three steps to the door before she faltered; oh, he had the whole confident authority thing down to a tee now, she reflected irreverently. The amount of time he’d spent at the Palace and in Court, no matter how unwillingly, had forced him to learn to use every tool in his box to prevail, and his position and people’s perception of such, was just one more. “I’ll organize that.” Mara said aloud, turning about to set back towards him, “In the meantime, you need to look at this.” Skywalker raised his eyebrows, glancing from her to Reece, who had entered with her, clearly seeing that he was under a two-prong attack here. “Reece, find Hallin please; Commander Jade seems incapable.” Reece automatically backstepped and left the room with a sharp bow, leaving Luke and Mara to square off, Mara realizing she had just lost half her team. Still, she kept walking, placing the automemo on the table before him, “Flags; would it kill you to choose one?” Luke sighed, sliding the automemo away, “No, not really- I’ll choose one later.” “Chose one now and then it’s done.” He glowered, squinting up in the morning sun, “What - have you got someone sat at a table with needle and thread, waiting?” Mara sat opposite him, unfazed, “If I said yes, would you pick one?” “Aren’t you supposed to wait until you’re invited to sit now?” “Who told you that?” “Reece, and he’s seldom wrong about pointless etiquette.” Luke countered, pulling his own automemo back to him, which Mara had subtly slid aside when she’d put hers down before him. “See, some of it does sink in.” Mara countered, of Reece’s constant lessons, turning as he re-entered the room. “Hallin is on his way, Highness.” Luke glanced up, unamused at the title, however ‘correct form’ it was. “I think I’m gonna ban that right now- in fact I am. No-one uses it again.” Reece turned a long-suffering look to Mara, who shrugged; she didn’t like it anyway, it didn’t suit him- it was a pretentious title and he was many things but that wasn’t one of them. “Well now that’s sorted, could we move on to choosing a flag?” Luke sighed, placing his automemo down with exaggerated frustration, “Why?” “Because one needs to be flown on the pole in front of the main Monolith whenever you’re in residence- which is now.” “Seriously?” “Yes.” Mara held his eye, refusing to buckle. “That is the most pointless thing I’ve ever heard.” “Welcome to the Palace.” Mara countered, unmoved. He sighed, turning the automemo Mara had carried in with her around to face him, “Fine. I’ll have that one.” “You can’t just pick the first one you see.” “I like it- it’ll do fine.” Luke countered unconvincingly, glancing back to the image, “It has colors, it has… what the hell is that?” “It’s a….” Mara leaned in, looking at the design and reading the short explanation that came with it, “ ‘Modified Navy Jack of the Core Fleet- to make reference to The Heir’s military standing’, it says.” Luke squinted, “It doesn’t look anything like the Fleet Jack.” “It’s modified.” Mara repeated pointedly, reaching out to press the ‘image replace’, “The point is that there are thirty or so designs- you’re supposed to choose one which you feel best exemplifies you.” “Do they have one with a womp-rat on?” Luke grumbled. “It’s not a literal translation.” Mara countered, unable to resist. There was a quiet knock at the door and Hallin entered, performing his usual flawless bow before glancing over to Luke, “Am I supposed to call you Highn…” “No, Highness is banned.” Luke said sharply without looking up, “And so apparently is waiting to be allowed to sit, so you may as well do that too.” Hallin paused a second before setting forward, his manner changing abruptly, voice open but droll, “Ah, let normality reign- or as near as we get around here.” Luke smiled and glanced up at that, and Mara shot a surreptitious sideways look at Hallin, aware of what he was doing. She’d never really thought about it before, but the medic had always seemed to be somewhere near Skywalker, whether he was in the Palace, with the Fleet or planetside with Imperial Forces. She’d always just considered him a medic in attendance rather than part of Luke’s entourage; someone on the fringes of the elite rather than closely involved, though Luke tended to be guarded even in this. Still, much as she dismissed him, it was Hallim's casual, flippant air which had effortlessly dispelled Skywalker’s difficult mood now, and if she’d had any doubts as to his position here, then Skywalker’s next words shattered them. “Hallin will do it.” Luke said, gesturing him forward. “What?” the medic had just made to sit and froze mid-action, aware of all eyes turning to him. “Come and choose a flag.” Luke said, ignoring Mara as she spun back to him, green eyes narrowing as her jaw flexed. “For what?” Hallin asked, stepping forward uneasily, though he knew full well; had been trying his best to avoid it. “Me.” Luke said, turning the automemo about. Hallin glanced uncomfortably at Mara as he walked around the far side of the table then stretched out to press the image-change, leafing through the designs. Mara resisted the urge to snatch it back, frustrated that Skywalker wasn’t taking this seriously. “Really- a flag?” Hallin asked, echoing The Heir’s own indifference. “Absolutely.” Luke assured, coming round to the idea now, “Choose with care- one day soon you may be flying it at half-mast.” “Why,” Hallin asked, tone glibly dismissive, “What have you done now?” “Nothing yet,” Luke grinned, teasing eyes turning to Mara, aware that she was fuming, “That Mara knows of anyway.” Hallin leaned in to rearrange three images on the screen, “This one is good, with the stylized lightsaber hilt against the two…. are they moons or suns?… and that one with the… what is that?” he prompted, finger on a wreath on one of the flags. Mara pursed her lips, so Luke prompted her expectantly, “Mara?” She ground her jaw, but answered without looking to the medic, “It’s lorric willow- a sign of royalty. They used to crown their rulers with it in the Teta System because they thought it encompassed the best attributes of a leader- it’s strong but flexible and never breaks.” “I’m not from the Teta System.” Luke parried without hesitation. “Hey, I didn’t design it.” she grumbled. When she glanced up at him though, his expression was laced with wicked amusement rather than genuine confrontation, and she huffed, annoyed that he could bait her so easily, frustrated by his lack of interest in or excitement about his incredible new position and title. She held his eye and he grinned momentarily, then glanced down, finally giving a moment’s considered thought. “I like the first one- the twin suns…” Again he paused, seemed to reflect; “But with two sabers, crossed, not one.” Dark eyebrows scowled beneath her flash of gold-streaked auburn hair, “Why two?” “I like the symmetry.” Luke replied vaguely, adding, “And why don’t we have Palpatine’s precious wreath of lorric willow behind them, just to keep him happy.” Mara frowned; Palpatine had of course dictated the designs that Luke would be given a choice of, though he’d been sure that Luke would choose the twin sun design, given his heritage. But Luke was right; the lorric willow had been his Master’s concept. “How did you know?” it was all she could ask. “You said lorric was flexible,” Luke said, rising dismissively as if tiring of the game now, “That which is flexible is also compliant.” Was that what the Emperor was inferring when he’d ordered the design? Mara frowned; was he still playing his games, even here? It would be so like him to do that- and typical of Skywalker to spot it, his close association with his Master ensuring that he’d identify any entendré, no matter how subtle. “Then why use it?” Hallin asked, offended on Luke’s behalf, though Luke himself seemed completely indifferent, having already turned away to gaze distractedly out over the city below. “Because I don’t care; let him have his petty game. I really don’t care.” Mara stared uneasily at the design of the two suns, the smaller of the two set part way behind the larger, not hearing Luke’s words, something disturbingly familiar about the images, as if she’d seen them in a dream once…
As he left, Mara slipped away to catch up with Hallin. He cut through the unofficial shortcut which took him through Luke’s spacious office and down the curved corridor beside the library, Mara taking the alternate route through the main cupola and running to be at the intersection point of the main hallway before Hallin, leaning casually against the wall as he rounded the corner. He slowed a few steps as he saw her, but clearly decided to try to brazen it out, setting forward again. He didn’t break pace as he continued down the corridor and past the silent Mara, aware of her disapproving gaze on him every step of the way, her eyes narrowed to emerald slits though she didn’t move, didn’t speak until he was three steps past her, the relative safety of the more public, surveillance-heavy hallway tantalisingly close. “That was quite a show.” Mara said, voice studied but casual. “Amazingly I never really realised until today.” “Realized what?” Hallin stopped, turning as he spoke, feigning ignorance though he knew what she was talking about. Mara only nodded, “As I said; quite a show.” “Whatever it is you’re referring to, I’m sure you’re right.” The medic said vaguely, hoping to disperse this, setting forward again. “Don’t get too comfortable though.” Mara sniped, stopping him dead. “Meaning?” She shrugged, “I’d hate to think you… abused the position you’ve obviously worked so hard to gain. The repercussions would be… grave.” Hallin turned, “I think you have me confused with someone else- I have no ambitions above backing up a friend. And yes, I have worked very hard to gain that position; because I happen to value that friendship.” “Really? Because that was quite a display of persuasion today and if it was for my benefit I’m not impressed.” Hallin rounded on her, tone wounded and affronted at once, “Did it ever occur to you that The Commander’s awkwardness today may be due to his discomfort at his new position - that he may feel that this is being forced upon him, or that he’s uncertain what the Emperor expects in return?” Mara paused before his sharp words, embarrassed by the obvious insight, “He doesn’t need your protection.” she maintained, unwilling to back down. “Then whose does he have, Commander- yours?” Hallin countered dismissively, and Mara was surprised at the fire she saw in his eyes; it wasn’t something she associated with the diminutive, easy-going medic. “Does that seem so unlikely to you?” she asked; a momentary slip. “Actually no.” Hallin said, that perfectly-modulated voice as self-possessed as ever. “I’d like to think we’re arguing the same point here, Commander. I don’t wish to see him hurt- I assume you are searching to clarify the same. So if it helps, I can assure you that I am sincere in my commitment. I’d like so say I hold the same confidence in you… but the truth is that I can’t, can I? And I’m not alone in recognizing your conflict of interest.” With that final sting, he set off down the corridor, leaving Mara to watch him go, surprised at the honesty in his words. She glanced down, the slightest of smiles touching the corners of her lips, amused in the way that a timber bear might be when cautioned by a pup’s yap; it was kind of nice to think that Skywalker had someone watching his back, even if it was only Hallin. She pushed off from the wall, shaking her head in amusement; still, she shouldn’t get complacent. Some pups grew up to be house dogs… and others grew up to be wolves.
“Autonomy is earned.” The Emperor remained casually seated on the heavy, carved chair without looking round to his charge, who paced before the bank of tall, slim windows in the audience chamber of his Cabinet like an animal caged, eyes roving the cityscape beyond, always on that dark horizon. “When?” The boy had asked permission to leave Court and been refused again. He desperately wanted to return to his ship, to the fleet, and Palpatine’s refusal had instigated this discussion again, another replaying of an old argument. Not that Palpatine minded; it was never quite the same, the boy always managing to bring some new twist to it, especially when he was as frustrated and as discontented as he was now. “When I trust you.” he said instead. “Trust!” the word came out in a disbelieving, derisive laugh, “You’ll never trust. Try another tactic, Master- that will never work.” Palpatine set his head on one side, unoffended, “Tell me, Jedi- what do you want?” “Freedom.” Luke said simply. The Emperor only smiled, “Freedom is an illusion.” “Then give me the illusion.” Luke replied doggedly. Palpatine shook his head tolerantly, tone laced with patronising familiarity which grated against Luke’s terse irritability. “You would always look for the bars, child; always seek to test them. It is in your nature.” “Why do you always speak in riddles?” Luke challenged, hearing the frustration in his own voice. “Because you do not want to hear the truth.” “Because I don’t believe that you speak it.” Luke said, turning to face his Master, pulled back in to the battle for one more round, frustrated as much at himself for allowing it as at his Master for instigating it. Palpatine only smiled, enjoying the game. He had in truth no reason to keep the boy here and they both knew it; all the official functions were done, the long list of formal procedures and protocols which accompanied the Emperor’s announcement of his heir observed and concluded yet still Palpatine kept him here- in truth for no other reason than that he enjoyed the boy’s company, reluctant as it was. And Skywalker knew it too- it unsettled him; offended him, as all Court life did- the distanced, indifferent façade he maintained transparent before the Force. The Emperor grinned, thin lips pulled back from stained teeth at his fallen Jedi’s frustration, , “Black and white exist only for the pawns in board games. The Force will not be bound by such absolutes- life will not be bound. The truth will not be bound… and neither should you.” “There is right and wrong.” Luke held firm. “Yes… but they are not the constants you try so hard to cling to and I think you know that now. And yet still you hobble yourself- try to judge your actions according to the simple allegories of children’s tales. The universe is far too complex to be bound by yes and no, right and wrong, light and darkness. They are only words.” “They’re not words, they’re ideas.” Luke refuted, “Ideals.” “Ideals which destroyed the Jedi because they tried to hold to a principle which was not viable- one which was fundamentally flawed in its naïve rigidity. The Jedi themselves were great advocates of the value of history - that we should learn by the mistakes of the past - yet they failed so completely to do so themselves.” “They gave their lives defending something they believed in.” Luke said, adamant. Palpatine set his head to one side, allowing the defiance in order not to alienate the boy before he had made his point, “You would be surprised how many doubted. How many questioned the decisions of the Council. But they were locked into a course by their own inability to adapt when it became clear how flawed their tenets were. Those few who understood - who tried to amend their actions accordingly - the Jedi hunted them down. Persecuted their own kind for nothing more impertinent than asking’ Why?’. How is that a crime?” Luke glanced to the Emperor, pale eyes searching, “And that’s the truth?” The slightest smile traced Palpatine’s thin lips- how wonderful that the boy would ask that of him; that he even asked it inferred that he was willing to accept the answer Palpatine gave… and there was the victory. “That is the truth.” Palpatine stated without doubt. Luke tilted his head just slightly, “But there is no ‘truth’- isn’t that what you just said, Master? Everything is relative. Everything you tell me is simply a point of view.” They remained still for long seconds, steadfast blue eyes locked onto calculating yellow ochre- then Palpatine threw back his head and let out a grating laugh, amused and indulgent. “You play this game too well, child,” he allowed at last, “And here I thought you did not listen.” Luke glanced away, uncomfortable; he listened. He listened to refute, but he still listened. Somehow Palpatine had always held that influence over him. That was the problem- because sometimes, the arguments wouldn’t come, and then… then just occasionally, something slipped past all Luke’s denials and his contentions and it lodged in his thoughts and stuck fast. Did that mean… Force help him, did that mean he listened to the old man? Were acceptance and the inability to summon yet another coherent argument the same thing? And was it all a waste of breath now anyway, all these endless arguments and petty semantics? Did his refusal to accept the fact that he had already fallen make it any less true? Or was it simply self-delusion- the worst of all possible lies. The dour stillness of the grand, cavernous room crushed in on him, overwhelming. He hated this place; the vast, excessive extravagance of endless maze-like halls and countless sprawling enfilades sterile and soulless, isolating and restricting despite their imposing majesty. He hated this place- Palace, prison- call it what you would, the name meant nothing. He knew what it had done to him- what had been taken from him inside these towering walls. What had been stolen, ripped away like flesh from bone… and what had been lost, slipping through his fingers like dry desert sand. The truth- the truth was that he had already fallen- he knew all that he had done and he could not call it any name but evil. He knew the power which cringed at his feet and leapt with impatient, impulsive agitation whenever he lifted his hand was Darkness; absolute, infinite, unrestrained power. And yet sometimes - when he meditated and reached instinctively beyond the hulking mass of writhing Darkness - he still sensed… Light. All around him, like an uplift of air, like a pure, perfect note which fired a resonant tone within his own soul. And he knew- he knew- that it too was part of him. He didn’t even need to reach out to it; it was part of him. When he listened to the secure confidence behind Palpatine's rasping, grating tones, he was so sure; so sure he held Luke. The undisputable certainty rolled out from him in waves, engulfing and suffocating, shaping reality; rolling over it regardless. Luke’s own fragile faith felt pale and ghostlike by comparison, so battered and beaten for so long that these arguments were little more than a pointless game anymore; the motions they both went through out of blank, established familiarity. Even when Luke disagreed he still laughed; allowed the dissent because he knew how empty and automatic it really was. In a way that was worse; harder to fight than intimidation or pain. He wanted to believe; wanted to believe that he still had some faith, some convictions- some principle, no matter how skewed. How broken and ragged. But if, in his heart of hearts, Luke believed he had fallen, then was it the truth… or was it simply two differing points of view; his and the Emperor’s? Which was right and which was wrong… and if everything, even truth, was subjective, then how could either be either? Or was that too just another delusion he allowed himself rather than face the truth? He shook his head, lost. Truly lost. “Where did it all go wrong?” he murmured, bleakly into the darkness of the city’s night, eyes on that distant horizon, the dull glow of the city burning it clear of a single star. Though his voice had been no more than a whisper, Palpatine seemed to have heard, and answered, taking any opportunity to impose his will. “Nothing is wrong- except that you are still looking for bars to a cage which no longer exists, because you still want to believe that if you can find those bars, if you can break them down, you will finally be free.” Palpatine rose and walked slowly over to Luke, resting pale, bone-thin fingers on the boy’s shoulder, the gesture of empty reassurance masking his need to control- to possess. “You are already free, my friend. I told you once, long ago, that I would do anything to free you. I held true to that promise. That is why you are here today; you are exactly where you were always meant to be.” “The why does it feel so wrong?” “That is in you, child,” His voice was indulgent and condescending, like a teacher with a favored savant, “You project your own doubts onto the Force, when it has no such reservations. You are so determined to deny the truth, but destiny is a hard thing to fight. I did not make you Sith child. I only released that which was inside you already. You are your father’s son and you despise him for that. That is your choice… but your heritage remains. The blood which runs through your veins is a constant. That is your strength- that is what I see when I look at you. Darkness and destiny. You think that you can renounce it; reject it, but this is the Force at its most basic- elemental. This is the power which turns the galaxy and even we cannot fight that. You think you are refusing me but you are fighting a far greater force… one that will not be denied.”
CHAPTER SIX
The moment Luke arrived onboard the Peerless, he knew something was wrong. The moment his foot made contact with the deck, the shiver of warning ran up his spine through the Force, like being submersed in freezing water. The Peerless had taken the opportunity afforded by its Commander's accession to Heir and his subsequent enforced stay on Coruscant to bring forward its intended visit to the Imperial shipyards at Kuat for the latest upgrades to navigation and atmospheric shields, bringing her up to par with the partially-constructed Invincible. When he had finally been given parmission to leave Coruscant, Luke had immediately set out to return to the upgraded Peerless onboard the Fury. A full honour-guard of the 701st, the Heir's own regiment permanently attached to the Peerless, had been waiting in perfectly-lined ranks for his arrival, everyone onboard well aware of the mark of distinction which had been bestowed upon them by extension when their Commander-in-Chief had been named Heir. At two years old still the newest Super Star Destroyer in the fleet, , the SSD Peerless had become the pre-eminent vessel of the entire Imperial military; the flagship of the Heir to the Empire. Now she was slipping majestically from dock, her massive bulk dwarfing even the sprawling mass of the Kuat Drive Yards, the Fury and the Relentless forming her guard - as if she needed one. In the main docking bay, surrounded by the bustle of official practice and parade procedures, Luke knew, awareness travelling up his body as surely and familiarly as the physical vibration of a starship in motion... something was very, very wrong. He paused, reaching out, spreading his senses thin to encompass the whole of the huge Super Star Destroyer- thousands of minds and intents and thoughts… Already aboard, Mara had bowed and walked forward from the Command Staff to greet Skywalker as he stepped down the ramp, Reece close behind, but she had slowed to a halt as he froze. “What?” “Shhh…” he intoned softly, manner distant and preoccupied. Mara frowned, her own danger senses flaring in response as she glanced around. Skywalker remained absolutely still for a long time, eyes unfocused, head tilted just slightly, as if listening… Suddenly Skywalker set forward, jaw locked, eyes stormy. Mara spun to keep up, “What’s happening?” “I need to go to the bridge.” “Wait- is there a problem?” “Yes.” “What is it?” She felt that she was having a decidedly one-sided conversation here… “I don’t know yet.” As he walked through his staff, Luke glanced to Admiral Joss, who had been waiting with Mara, “Battle Stations. Full alert.”
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