Mara came bursting into the bay, having run at full-tilt across and up several levels, the turbolifts down as the emergency systems had closed airlocks and forced her to backtrack again and again until eventually she’d taken to entering hard-wired override codes to release blast doors and airlocks, claxons blaring throughout the ship as she did so, her heart in her mouth, adrenaline burning her throat.

She entered a scene of total chaos, black smoke roiling up to gather at ceiling-level, small fires being attended by ‘droids and humans alike, the thin air aiding them, though the atmospheric shields had cut in to maintain the ship’s integrity, emergency systems pumping oxygen into the choked air to make it breathable again.

Many people were down - troopers mostly, medics already in attendance. Everyone capable of standing was gathered near a huge fissure ripped through the floor from the site of the blast, the space behind which was strangely untouched, the perfect floor still parade-polished. Mara ran forward, desperately scared, wildly hopeful that Luke would be stood there...

Everyone looked down through the gash in the floor, organic steel girders and power cables twisted back to spike into the massive Deep Storage Bay below, it too damaged by the blast, fighters and transports thrown back or over, dragging massive gouges into the soot-streaked floor, a mass of unsalvageable scrap. Below and behind the huge fissure which now cut through the two bays were a large group of people, gathered about a single spot. Mara climbed down the twisted wreckage, still hot to the touch, jumping the final few feet into the storage bay, running forward, pushing through the throng-

Luke lay crumpled on his back, Hallin and a team of trauma medics already there, his eyes closed, face blackened, a long deep wound running from close beside his right eye down past his cheek and through his lips, seeping blood over his face and into his hair and onto the scuffed, grubby floor.

Was he breathing? She couldn’t see him breathing…

Hallin was positioning a clear tracheotomy frame to his throat with frantic, brittle efficiency, a second medic holding a massive laceration to the side of his neck together, dark, arterial blood pumping from between his fingers. Hallin pulled the release free and slapped the insert forward forcefully, the tube cutting a neat hole in Luke's throat, the back of the clear, curved frame instantly red with blood.

Skywalker’s stomach hitched twice as Hallin leaned in, listening, then his chest heaved in a breath and the medic immediately leaned back, “It’s clear. Quickly please.”

A third medic leaned in, pressing conforming medical strip over the tracheotomy form, taping it to Skywalker’s neck as Hallin took a powered field ventilator and attached it to the cleared tube.

Still he didn’t move, didn’t react. Didn’t open his eyes.

Mara dropped down beside him, reaching out her hand, afraid to touch him. “Luke?”

The name, so rarely spoken by her, brought Hallin’s eyes up momentarily in surprise. Then he was all business again, taking the IV needle as the second medic set up an intravenous feed. “It’s bad- he has massive blood loss from his neck, blunt force trauma to the skull, multiple fractures and internal haemorrhaging. He’s hypovolaemic - we can’t wake him - he’s going into shock.”

Mara gently touched his shoulder, his left arm bent awkwardly away.

“Please- don’t move him at all.” Hallin warned, glancing at her now, belatedly realising how much this was affecting her.

His eyes went immediately back to his patient, mind completely focused. It was a hard thing, to be a personal physician, and have a friendship with the one you safeguarded. He'd spent so long worrying that this would happen- now that it had, he was at once on fire and strangely calm. “We need these people to get back- there’s a trauma capsule on its way. I need to get fluids into him before we can move him or we’ll lose him right here from multiple organ failure.” He glanced up, "Mara- Commander Jade?”

She stared at him blankly for several seconds, all colour gone from her face, then seemed to realise where she was and rose quickly, turning on those about her, “Everyone back! Get back - give him some room.”

She spent the next fourteen hours stood outside the Peerless’ main surgical bay as medical capsules were brought in, some carrying wounded, others carrying those long past any help.

Reece was among the wounded; concussion and shrapnel injuries, and though he hadn’t been able to help, the story of what had transpired came together very quickly. Mara hadn’t yet bothered to go up to the security Ops room to check the surveillance images which would have been fed to the main bank right up until the moment the blast had severed the connection. She had, however, been the one who’d had to go to Comms and tell her master. Which hadn’t gone well.

The Executor was en-route, due to arrive in four hours, the Fury and the Relentless having already been joined by the Intrepid and the Dauntless, everyone primed for another attack. So now all there was left to do was wait…

Skywalker still hadn’t woken and was laid on his back in Intensive Care, the bed carefully angled to protect against ventilator-assisted pneumonia from the tracheotomy, sutures running a long line down his face and resuming over the deep laceration at his neck, his right eye swollen closed, another deep, sutured gash disappearing into his hairline.

A series of pins had been constructed to support his left arm, shoulder, both collar-bones and his left shoulder-blade, all shattered in the explosion, and amother long line of sutures marked the surgical scar which ran from collar-bone to stomach, where he’d been opened up to deal with internal bleeding.

Not yet stable enough for bacta, he was now on full life-support, one of his lungs collapsed, heartbeat arythmic, massive blood loss, blood pressure not yet stabilising. He was, apparently, of a rare blood group and despite Hallin’s constant requests, Luke never bothered to give any of his own blood to be kept in storage for just such an emergency. It wasn’t particularly that he thought he was untouchable, Mara knew; he just didn’t really care.

“What are his chances?” Mara whispered, voice broken with guilt; he had been her responsibility- hers alone.

Hallin remained silent for long seconds- probably choosing his words with care, Mara reflected. “We will, of course, do all we can for him, but until we can stabilise him it’s difficult to provide any prognosis.”

Mara turned to him, “Which means?”

“Very serious. Critical, until we can stabilise him.”

Mara tried a different tack - she was after all a trained agent, and knew how to keep pushing until she got the truth- “Will he wake up?”

“I don’t know. His coma could be as a result of the hypovolemia - he lost around thirty percent of blood volume - or more likely traumatic brain injury. He had four seizures on the operating table, which would seem to indicate ongoing damage from brain contusions, though there’s no serious skull fractures. We’ve re-established perfusion to the organs, but we weren’t instantly able to put him on anticoagulants due to the internal bleeding into his abdominal cavity. Now he’s out of surgery we can monitor that more closely, but all indications are that the coma will persist so I daren't put him into bacta. We’ll know more within the next few hours I think.”

The silence hung for a long time, punctuated by the steady wheeze of the respirator and the gentle pips of the life support, before Mara found her voice. “Vader will be here in four hours. We’ll transfer him to the Executor then and jump for Coruscant, with a mid-jump stop to allow trauma specialists to board from the Dominant, which is en-route to us from Coruscant.”

“Move him?” Hallin’s voice expressed his opinion of that.

“Well we can’t fly back in the Peerless, can we?”

The Peerless had sustained damage to her forward bays, leaving them partially open to space over several levels, only the outer environmental compression shields maintaining atmospheric pressure. The first bomb connected to the shields had been far smaller than originally thought, so with mobile blast shields set about it to minimise the damage and internal seals engaged, it had caused little damage outside of a close radius whenit detonated. But it had still done its job efficiently; they were effectively flying without navigation shields, so the Peerless certainly wasn’t in any fit state to jump.

How anyone in the fore bays had survived that explosion was beyond Mara- that gravity had held and the whole bay hadn’t decompressed was a miracle.
Or maybe not- initial reports indicated that the blast from the two-stage explosion in the bay had been channelled down, preventing the force of the discharge from ripping the external walls of the bay wide open to space and thus explosive decompression over many levels, which would have instantly killed everyone in the bays effected. Yet on early inspection the recovered fragments of the bomb casing indicated no such feature.

Had Skywalker found the time, Mara wondered, to limit the damage- to direct the blast?

Was that even possible?

There was, to Mara’s memory, only a fraction of a second between his shouting ‘Back!’ and the sound of the explosion. Had he been able not only to form a Force-shield strong enough to withstand a four-click explosion, but also have enough power left to actually control the direction of blast itself?

She looked at the broken, bruised man before her, still as death, a cold weight settling in her stomach. He’d probably saved a couple of hundred lives…but had the cost been his own?

Leia sat quietly in the noisy, bustling main fighter bay of Home-One, waiting for Han’s flight to come back; they were due about five minutes ago, so it could be any time now. In the meantime, she stared out into the velvet blackness, eyes drawn to the distant moon of the inhospitable Anzat, thoughts far away. Beside her, his fur warm against the chill of the cool docking bay, Chewie crooned lightly, dismayed by the news she’d just given him. enough so that he’d decided to come along to mediate in this coming confession, though it was hardly Leia’s fault; she’d been as in the dark as everyone else here, and she knew exactly why; they hadn’t trusted her not to tell Han…

They were probably right.

The first of the A-Wings came in hot and effected a sharp stop, repulsor engines cutting in as its sublights cut out, bobbing it precariously on the spot as several others came in to land close by, the rest waiting outside the bay for a clear slot. Leia sighed as Han's A-Wing came in to a fast landing, then she rose, dusting imaginary dirt from her pale blue trousers as she set forward.

Popping the canopy on his fighter Han grinned, seeing her set toward him, Chewie in tow, “Hey, what’s this, a welcome committee?”

Leia didn’t smile, and Han pulled off his helmet, sitting up on the side of the cockpit to swing his legs clear, “Woah, who died?” Even as he said it he bit his tongue; it was a real day-to-day occurrence here and he felt he’d jinxed someone by even saying it.

“Han, I heard some news and… I thought you should know- I wanted to tell you myself.”

Kini, one of the ‘techs, stepped in, oblivious to the grave conversation, running her expert hand over the still-freezing panels of the A-Wing as she did so, “Hey, Commander- hear the news? There’s no Heir any more, courtesy of the Alliance!” She paused, unaware of his widening eyes, rolling her panel-gauge backwards over her fingers like a gunslinger, “Boom!! Just like that!”

Han spun round to Leia, who cursed beneath her breath; she’d wasted the last half-hour in the bay waiting for Solo to come back, wanting to be the one who broke it to him…

“Is that true?”

She shook her head, “I didn’t know - nobody did. It was a covert operation; strictly need-to-know.”

“Whose?” Han ground the word, making Leia worry that he may well march from the bay right now and find them.

“Madine had a unit at Kuat Shipyards… the Peerless was being outfitted there… ” She didn’t know what else to say.

In truth it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise; Mon Mothma had made no secret of her intent to bring The Heir down, though no specific plan had ever been mentioned. Somehow Leia still couldn’t believe it and somehow… she’d know it was happening. She’d dreamed of the black wolf last night, though as often happened in the light of day, she couldn’t quite bring the dream to mind anymore. All she knew was that it had been there again… hunting. Had Mon been there too? She narrowed her eyes, almost remembering…

“So, what? They planted a bomb?” Han asked, disgusted; cowards way. If you were gonna kill somebody, you should at least have the decency to look him in the eyes when you did it.

“Two. Mon disclosed the details about an hour ago. Madine had organised and implemented the action and she had authorised it. No-one else was told, to avoid any leaks.”

“Avoid any leaks!” Han dismissed sceptically, “Avoid any arguments, more likely. All wrapped up, nice and neat, huh?”

She looked down and Han’s gaze turned up to Chewie who keened in mournful agreement. The truth was Han had no idea how to take this news; no idea if this was a bad thing or a good. All he knew was that regardless of… everything, the kid had been a friend and there weren’t that many he gave that name to. And now… “They’re… sure?” he asked awkwardly, chiding himself for looking for hope.

Leia nodded, “Pretty sure, yes. They had confirmation that he was inside the bay when the bomb blew. We’ve been listening on all official channels since before dawn, and they've been like livewires, but nothing’s been mentioned to contradict that.”

Han nodded his head, completely bewildered as to what he should do next. Finally, pursing his lips, he set off across the bay, jaw tense,face like thunder. Leia made to follow, but Chewie took her arm to keep her there, shaking his head as he gruffed advice, knowing she would understand his action if not his words; “Let him go.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hallin turned back into the medibay, having been called away yet again to answer a deeply troubling comm – not only because of its originator, the Emperor, expected almost hourly updates on his patient – but once again because of its content.

In his first comm, days earlier, he'd been to be closely quizzed on every aspect of The Heir's injuries whilst actually still in surgery, the comm being held by a rather squeamish-looking officer whilst Hallin remained in surgery, gloved hands held out before him, five surgical ‘droids continuing to work to repair internal injuries, another team of five attempting to reconstruct the shattered arm, oblivious.

Palpatine had gone to great lengths to clarify in no uncertain terms that, although Hallin had explained the nature of the extensive injuries to The Heir’s left arm would suggest amputation, under no circumstances was this to happen. Amputation was not an option unless the injury became life-threatening, and even then, it was only by direct permission of the Emperor; if this caused complications later, then they would be dealt with. For now, Hallin’s job was to stabilise Skywalker until Lord Vader’s arrival.

On his next comm, the Emperor had clarified which drugs may and may not be used, based on their effects on a Force-sensitive individual.

Another comm was to communicate the fact that should The Heir die, various organic samples were to be collected before any cellular breakdown began, this to be done in absolute secrecy, even from Jade, Reece and Lord Vader.

This latest comm had been to make very clear, as only Palpatine could, the consequences that The Heirs death would have on Hallin’s own life-expectancy. Which weren’t too rosy.

All of which left Hallin in something of a quandary. Because, if it came down to it, his loyalties lay squarely with Skywalker and not with the Emperor- as they had done for some time now. Consequently he’d stopped off once again at Reece’s quarters, where The Heir regularly removed any surveillance devices, to discuss the comms again. Now, on his way back to intensive care, he was yet again fretting over the fact that, unless Skywalker woke, their hands were pretty much tied…

He passed the numerous troopers and security details arranged outside his medibay and trudged tiredly through the darkened bay, glancing through the semi-closed, slatted privacy blind of the transparent wall, momentarily able to see through the blinds at this particular angle- and stopped dead.

Mara Jade was still in there, as she had been almost every hour of the last four days, draped on a chair beside the bed, her unmistakable gold-flecked red hair almost glowing in the low light. In the darkness of the room she was sleeping, head leant on the edge of The Commander’s high medical bed, arm crooked up to lie there… hand resting on Skywalker’s, her fingers entwined around his.

Hallin remained frozen, stock-still. Had he not glanced up at just the right moment, he would never have seen. Were they…?

Mara had always been with The Commander, as long as Hallin had known him, and he knew that The Commander purposely kept her close, that he allowed no slurs of her… yet he had also told both Hallin and Reece that she was not to be trusted. Then again, he always played his cards close to his chest and unless he felt they actually needed to know, chances were he wouldn’t tell them. And even Hallin could see that Mara was a stunning woman- if one was that way inclined, which he wasn’t. It occurred to him suddenly to wonder if Reece knew about this… or maybe he was reading far too much into it?

Stepping toward the entrance, he kicked against the bottom of the door before hitting the release, coughing deeply, eyes down as he walked in… and lo, when he’d entered the room and looked up, Jade was sat bolt upright, both hands on the chair arms.

Interesting…

Five days later, Hallin was nervously escorting Skywalker down the ramp of the shuttle which had landed on one of the small dedicated Tower pads close to the Palace’s private Medi-center, a full-array medical capsule serving as life support. Skywalker’s condition had remained critical as he had dropped into a coma, the arrival of Lord Vader halting that gradual decline as Vader remained every subsequent hour with his son, often standing at the head of the bed, gloved hands resting against Skywalker’s temples, or to the side, hand resting on his son’s surgery-scarred chest, head down in concentration.

He had twice been readmitted to surgery when his blood-pressure had drastically dropped, the second time enabling one of the trauma specialists the Executor had made a brief stop to bring onboard to lend his own expertise to the medical team presently staking not just their reputations, but very probably their lives on their ability to heal The Heir.

At the moment, it was a battle just to keep him alive.

They paused briefly on the platform as the Emperor stalked forward, face tight and pinched, skin sallow in the harsh light of day. He reached out briefly to rest his hand on the sealed sled, then stepped back to allow the solemn, nervous little contingent of white-dressed medics to pass, all eyes and attention on the sled’s delicate passenger.

Hallin didn’t even particularly relax when Skywalker was ensconced in the Intensive Care Unit, since all they had been able to do to date was keep pace with the situation, no real stability ensured as yet, and the truth was that there were no more advanced facilities or staff available here in the Palace than had existed on the Peerless.

Skywalker hadn’t once gained consciousness, nor had his brain dropped into the particular pattern that would indicate any kind of Force-induced trance, save for when his father stood quietly beside him, hand resting gently on his temples, as he was now.

Lord Vader had been… surprisingly subdued throughout his son’s struggle, remaining at his side almost constantly, thus rendering Jade unable to do the same since they had boarded the Executor five days ago, she and Lord Vader having a history as a volatile combination at the very best of times. Hallin had expected explosive retribution rained down on all about Vader from the moment he arrived, yet he had kept strangely, uncharacteristically passive. Restrained and self-possessed, even when his son had been rushed back into surgery.

Now the medi-center doors slid open to the Emperor and his entourage, whom he gestured to remain outside as he stepped forward, cold yellow eyes locking mercilessly on Hallin.“How is my Jedi, Medic?”

“He’s um… st.. em..” Pull yourself together, man! “He… remains in a critical condition I’m afraid, Excellency. His injuries were very severe - the proximity of the blast caused blunt and penetrating trauma leading to internal haemorrhaging and hypovolaemic shock. He also has blunt trauma hairline fractures to the skull which caused early seizures. Subsequent scans have shown this to be under control, though we have no prognosis as to complications yet. He also suffered traumatic internal injuries from shrapnel, some of which are very serious - one piece punctured his trachea, causing acute damage and his consequent blood loss. The resultant dip in blood-pressure further restricted oxygen flow to the brain. As you know, he also has compound, comminuted and spiral fractures to his left side which have shattered the radius and humerus of his arm as well as the acromion, scapula and both clavicle. The final impact also caused spinal injuries to L-four and five, and it was probably this which dislocated his femur and ankle and broke several ribs, one of them puncturing his right lung.”

“I did not ask what had happened,” the Emperor ground out, “I asked his present condition.”

Hallin took a heartbeat to calm himself; Not blinded by medical terms then. “In this kind of severe trauma, there are often secondary repercussions due to shock and resultant complications, and it’s these which are causing problems now, making it difficult to stabilise the patient, though the team presently in attendance are extremely experienced, and we are trying our level best.”

“Without any real effect, is that what you’re trying to say?”

Hallin remained silent before that cutting observation.

Palpatine turned away, disgusted, to walk into the dim of the life-support bay and stand beside the boy, his father stepping back, straightening to bow deferentially, the act completely ignored by the Emperor.

There was a stillness to the boy, in body and mind- a stillness within the Force. He reached out to rest his hand on the boy’s lacerated chest, spindly fingers spreading as he closed his eyes and searched… a tiny spark remained, neither dwindling nor trying to reignite. Palpatine opened his eyes, frustrated and apprehensive. Had all this work - all this expenditure of energy and time, been for nothing?

It would not be the end of his greater plan were the boy to die now, though it would delay it considerably. Still, the boy could be kept alive physically until his usefulness was at an end. But Palpatine didn’t wish to lose that which he had invested so much in creating. He didn’t wish to lose this power. He stared at his fallen Jedi for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall mechanically in the dim lights of the medical units. Finally he reached up to brush a long, curved nail down the deep, severe scar which ran from above his Jedi’s blood-bruised eye down his cheek and through his pale lips, still swollen and split.

Slowly, he became aware of the boy’s father stood silently nearby and lifted his head.

Vader watched the Emperor press his hand to the boy’s chest, searching for his familiar presence in the Force, normally a rush of incandescent light, now little more than an ember, and he knew what his Master would say.
He watched him study the boy, lost in thought, seeing only his precious plans and his manipulations, afraid that he might lose them, and still he knew what the Emperor would say.
He watched him reach out to touch the angry, ugly gash which scarred his son’s face from forehead to chin, burning Vader as if it were his own, and he waited for the words he knew would come.

He knew they’d come because he'd thought them himself a thousand times since he’d seen his son laid unconscious and injured, bloody and bruised, still as the grave.

Palpatine looked up to him, cold voice hard and gravelly, absolutely unyielding; “It should have been you.”

He turned and walked from the room, leaving Vader to lower his head back to his son, wishing absolutely that it had been.

Hallin stood quietly by the bed, checking the readouts for the umpteenth time that day, willing some kind of change.

He gently tried to pry open The Commander’s right eye, both the white of the anterior chamber and the iris still flooded completely red from internal haemorrhaging, blood darkening over the days but not yet clearing. This too had been injured by whatever had hit his face, the iris split and the lens damaged, causing fears that he may well lose sight in that eye. Specialists had reassured that it could be treated or replaced, and everyone was simply waiting for the blood to clear and the lens to reattach as the swelling went down, before they made a more accurate prognosis.

Everyone was simply waiting…

Fifteen days since the explosion, and everyone was still waiting. Fourteen days put Luke past the preferred norm, but still a long way from the upper limit of thirty-five - but he was now officially beginning to cut into his chances of a full recovery and increase his chances of regression into a vegetative state.

Hallin leaned in close and said loudly and clearly, “Wake up. You’re doing this on purpose and it is not funny.”

He checked Skywalker’s left arm, still encased in strapped polycarbonate forms, long organic steel tension bars protruding from wrist to elbow and elbow to shoulder, taking the strain of broken bones too badly damaged to hold otherwise, another two maintaining tension across his shattered collarbones. A separate team of three surgical ‘droids had taken almost seven hours to reassemble the shattered fragments of bone to save the arm whilst Hallin’s team of surgical ‘droids had concentrated on tracking down internal injuries in that first mammoth surgical session.

They’d replaced lost fragments with porous, lab-grown polyhusk, laminating the shattered remnants together and securing them with dozens of fine surgical pins, using external tension bars to relieve pressure on the delicate repairs, veneering the reassembled bones and joint surfaces with xenotol. They’d re-laid shredded muscle, scaled from the bone by the fury of the blast, packing the wound with more cultures where mass was lost before suturing the surface, using bacta-impregnated synthiflesh where nothing was left to suture then setting the arm in moulded, polycarbonate splints, sections cut free to allow for the bars set into the bone, two further external tension bars set into bloody, bruised skin over his collarbones, rising gently now with the rasp of the ventilator.

Nathan checked the tracheotomy tube which kept Luke's reconstructed trachea open and the fluid tap which drained his collapsed lung, remaining due to necessity, then he turned his eyes back to the organic steel pins and bars of Skywalker’s arm, frowning. It was a mess, and would have been far better removed. Hallin had intended to do so - had already loaded the amputation program into the surgical ‘droids when the Emperor’s comm had stopped him. Now it would be at best a long, difficult recovery.

Luke's prosthetic right hand, damaged beyond repair, had been removed. Synthiflesh was already being cultivated over a new replacement prosthesis, the wet-wired connections which joined synthetic and organic nerves together carefully re-spliced and left inactive, bundled together in preparation for the fitting. The long, chromed locking bar which had been grafted into the bone when the first prosthesis had been fitted three years ago protruded unnervingly from the scarred stump, the bundle of wet-wire connections pulled back and taped to his arm.

In short, he looked dreadful - scarily so in fact, even to Hallin. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, “You may have slept, my friend, but you’re costing me way too much of the same. If you wouldn’t mind waking up now, maybe I could get a little shut-eye?”

Someone tapped lightly on the door, catching Hallin's attention; Commander Jade raised her eyebrows in question and he nodded her in.

“Any change?” She murmured, hesitant and hopeful. It had been five days since she’d last visited; the day they’d arrived at the Palace

Hallin shook his head. “Nothing, I’m sorry. Perhaps you’d like to sit a while with him? Lord Vader will be gone for a few hours.” He instantly regretted adding the last; it was impolitic of him to speak so openly here; proof of how little sleep he was existing on, but she didn’t glance up from Skywalker, only nodded and stepped forward.

“You should speak to him.” Hallin prompted, “His eardrums are repairing so he can hear you now. Sometimes it helps.” He heard the defeat in his own voice but was too tired to hide it, turning to shuffle from the room.

As he reached the door, Jade called him gently, “Hallin? I just wanted to…” Her face was uneasy as he turned to her, her voice lacking its usual confidence. “…. Thanks. For stepping in. I know it was you.”

He smiled tiredly, “Are there no secrets in this place?”

She set her head to one side, green eyes bright in the low light, “More than you think.”

Hallin froze at that, but managed the slightest of disconcerted smiles, and for the first time, she allowed one back, glancing away as she did so, “Anyway… thanks.”

He raised his eyebrows, glancing pointedly to Luke before he turned to leave, his perfectly-modulated tones as pithy as ever. “I didn’t do it for you.”

.

Mara turned back to Skywalker, smiling affectionately, “Hey, remember me?” She had been banned from visiting Luke since they’d arrived, Palpatine rounding on her that first night when he had found her in the room.

“What are you doing here?” he’d grated, making Mara flinch inwardly. This was the first time she had seen him since her arrival, and she’d been expecting some kind of rebuke.

“I was… checking…”

“You have no right to be here.” His words caustic with accusation and Mara frowned, uncertain, his stare withering her.

“Since you seem incapable of carrying out the task which I assigned you, you are hereby relieved of it. Return to your quarters. There will be no more contact between yourself and my Jedi.”

Mara had shrunk back before that, the punishment settling like a stone in her stomach, leaving her cold. “I couldn’t stop him- I tried to make him…”

“Tried?” He bit out, tone mocking and dismissive. “The Emperor’s Hand does not try- she does not whine like a child. You’re pathetic- get out.”

He turned to his Jedi, hand reaching out, then glanced up at Mara who had remained frozen to the spot,

“GET OUT!!” he shouted, and the body-blow in the Force sent her staggering backwards, knocking the air from her lungs in a gasp, making her lift her hands in defence as she slammed into the wall behind her.

Skywalker flinched in sleep, the readouts on the monitors peaking momentarily, bringing the Emperor’s eyes back down to him.

He didn't look up as Mara gathered herself together, bowed before her master and walked shakily from the room. She'd passed Hallin in the corridor - he never went far from The Heir - but didn’t turn or acknowledge him, head down, eyes glassy.

And now, suddenly, she was allowed back. After five stomach-churning days of worry and countless comms to his apartments enquiring as to his condition, all of which had been returned with the short, official form explanation that The Heir was unavailable at the present time, his whereabouts confidential.

Then, less than an hour ago, she’d been visited by Saté Pestage. The Emperor, he informed her, had in his magnanimous generosity, decided that she would be allowed one more chance to reprieve his low opinion of her. She would be reinstated – on parole – to her previous position. Not because he had any great faith in her, but because he had been advised that medically, at the present time it was in The Heir’s interests to keep those with whom he was familiar close.

She’d walked straight here- practically ran.

Now she sat alone in the room with the man who had slowly crept under and around every barrier she’d constructed to keep him out. Without even realising it - that was the galling thing; he didn’t even know. But whether he knew it or not, he was under her skin and messing with her head and making her stomach do little backflips whenever he let his own shields down just enough to flash her a grin or a sideways glance full of dry humour and easy charm. Five days away from him, the threat that she may never see him again hanging like a thunderstorm over her head, had clarified a few things which had been stewing for way too long.

From an early age she’d lived in the Palace, and she’d always been taught that one day she would be a soldier, and a soldier learned that in any tough situation, you step back and you calm down and you look at the facts. You come to a conclusion based on those facts then you decide a course of action which will bring that conclusion and your mission objectives to a convergent route.

It had taken her a long, long time to reach those conclusions about Luke and realise just exactly what she wanted that optimum outcome to be, all of which clarified as never before that some things just defied logic and when they did, you had to throw the rule book out the window and damn well get on with it. Live with it. Deal with it. Stop trying to ignore it. She’d tried that for the last three years and the results weren’t exactly sparkling to date.

New tack. New direction; “You listen to me, Luke Skywalker,”

She’d meant it to come out fierce and angry but it was small and scared and the rarity of that just made her all the more so, “You listen to me and stop messing around. You get your ass back in gear and open your eyes ‘cos if you think for one moment that I’m gonna let you leave me all alone again then you are very wrong. This is all your fault - you and your stupid, big blue eyes. Well you’d just better open them before I black ‘em both! Who the hell am I gonna play sabacc with if you’re not here? I don’t even like sabacc! I spend ten hours a week playing a game I don’t even like and owe you about two years’ wages! That should tell you something…. for a guy who can read minds, you seem to have a hell of a hard time knowing mine.”

She studied him for a long time, looking for some response…

Eventually, she slumped again, reaching out to run the back of her fingers down his bruised cheek, pushing his hair back gently as she sighed deeply. “Wake up, Skywalker.” She murmured at last, “Don’t mess with my head. You’re already messing with my heart.”

Hallin stood in attentive silence several steps away from the door, hidden by the turn in the wall, smiling. This was what he needed - forget all the scans and the facts and the figures - this was what Luke Skywalker needed. He needed someone who cared for him, whom he had some connection to, to come in here and lead him back out. He needed someone he wanted to hear - he needed someone who needed him.

“Damn I’m good.” Hallin murmured, walking away.

Days of waiting were marked by the staggered disappearance of medical machinery as a broken body slowly took time to heal, and the featureless square room which was once crowded by life-support systems fell to still silence as each one was removed. The pips and the beeps and the regulated, rasping breaths of the tracheostomy air exchange, which had formed the clinical background chatter of the room for so long, fell one by one to silence as medical intervention was no longer required until eventually all that was left was the neural monitor interface and the cradle scanner which still ran its silent track up and down beneath the bed, scanning its occupant with a muted ‘pip’ every time it returned to the cradle.

And still he didn’t wake.

Sometimes, unsettlingly, he would lay for long periods of time with his eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling, blinking with exaggerated slowness. This was the most disquieting thing of all to Mara, who didn’t know that coma victims did such things, unsettled by the impassive, unaffected stillness behind those blank eyes.

His right eye remained swollen half-closed, the deep slice which ran the length of his face having taken a gouge from his lid and rendered the eye - barely visible beneath the swelling - completely red, both white and iris infused with blood. Hallin would enter often, talking and bustling about as he checked IV’s and performed hourly tests without fail, explaining his actions, warning when something would hurt, looking for a reaction, always acting as if Luke were awake and aware.

But he wasn’t.

Mara knew she should stand on guard outside the room, but couldn’t bring herself to leave him alone to stare in blank silence at nothing. Couldn’t bring herself to think that he may remain in this state as the days came and went… and he did.

All the while her master’s accusations rang in her head- that she had failed. Both her master and Skywalker. And for the first time she began to wonder… which bothered her most?

Days came and went. Five, then six, then seven…and Hallin began to worry that maybe he wasn’t quite so good.

He knocked politely and leaned in through the door to look at Mara. “How’s he doing?”

“Oh, he flashed the little blue light at me a few times.” she said dryly, glancing up at the readouts behind her, “I think he was just showing off.”

“That’s good- blue is good.” Hallin said, smiling slightly before stepping back out of the room.

They had come to an unspoken agreement, he and Jade; neither of them mentioned anything. He acted as if he hadn’t worked it all out about she and Skywalker, and she acted as if she hadn’t realised he’d worked it all out… which dovetailed quite nicely.

He wandered over to conference room nine, where yet another group of specialists had been brought in by the Emperor to deal with the problem. Hallin was quite proud - very proud in fact - of the way he’d managed to deflect blame neatly away from himself for the last week or so and onto a variety of specialists whom he’d basically shipped in specially for the purpose of keeping Palpatine off his back unil Luke finally opened his damn eyes. It wasn’t as if any of them could refuse…

Time to meet this week’s cannon-fodder.

Mara sat quietly in the room, automemo on her lap, reading today’s dispatches out loud for want of anything else to say, pointing any she thought he might like to know out to Skywalker, passing the occasional comment as she did so. “… of course, it’s easy for them to say changing the Rim borders will clarify the…” she trailed off as the life-support made a disturbing new sound, what had been a low, regular beep for the last week raising in pitch then joining to a staccato tone.

“Chell!” She cursed, jumping up to reach over to the alert resting on the far side of the bed-

and glancing down into open, slow-blinking eyes.

“…Luke?” she dropped the alarm comm in her surprise, distantly hearing it clatter to the floor, aware that there was something different this time - that this was awareness.

“Hey, look at you,” she said gently, heart pounding, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

He blinked several times, and Mara tried not to notice his right eye, which still had no white at all, even the iris shot through with the dark, reddy-brown of old blood, then his unfocused gaze drifted up to the ceiling. Mara was prevented from saying any more by Hallin barrelling in through the door, skidding to a halt and leaned in close, fumbling for something in his many pockets before eventually giving up.

“Commander, can you hear me?”

Luke didn’t look, and Hallin repeated the question a little louder, Mara stepping back to give him room. He moved in, snapping his fingers before Luke’s eyes, to worryingly little effect as far as Mara was concerned.

“Commander…Luke? Luke, I need you to look at me. Luke?” Hallin again snapped is fingers, Luke finally lowering his gaze just slightly towards them, though his eyes bobbed and weaved and he blinked constantly.

“Luke, I need you to speak to me. Can you say your name?” With no answer or acknowledgment forthcoming, Hallin leaned in closer, “Luke can you hear me? Luke, I need you to say ‘yes’…this is very important… you need to say ‘yes’.”

Mara watched hopelessly as Luke’s vague awareness drifted, bruised eyes gradually closing.

“Luke?” she asked at last, but he was gone, eyelids fluttering shut, the audio marker on the display dropping slowly to a pulse again. Mara sighed deeply dispirited.

“Well, that was pretty positive.”

Hallin practically beamed, bringing Mara’s eyes to him in disbelief. “How the hell do you work that out?”

“He woke up.” Hallin nodded in reassurance as he looked to the readouts, “Everything will be fine - there’s nothing wrong with his brain activity, no damage on any scans. We just needed him to open his damn eyes.”

Mara raised her eyebrows in accusation, “You said that some patients never progress beyond basic responses.”

“I did, that’s true. But neurological damage is minimum and he’s regained consciousness well within that thirty-five day window of maximum potential… everything will be fine now Commander Jade. Trust me.” He practically buzzed with excitement and relief, gesturing to the automemo she held when Mara continued to stare at him, “You should…keep going with that. Clearly he likes it. What were you reading?”

She glanced down, askance. “Just dispatches.”

“Ah.” Hallin deadpanned, keeping a serious face, “He always likes to keep up with current events.”

Mara raised her eyebrows, not knowing whether the strange, slight medic was joking or not.

Day fell into night but Hallin remained in a buoyant mood as the scanners showed sustained, elevated brain activity, Luke just a few beats away from sleeping, now. Despite his assurances to Jade, somewhere in the back of his head Nathan had been dreading the spectre of a slow decline from coma to a persistent vegetative state then a minimally conscious one and eventually brain death, or death from complications. He hadn’t realised until now just how afraid he’d been of losing Luke. He headed back to do a final check of his patient for tonight, confident that in a day - two at the most…

He stopped dead as he entered the room. The Emperor was leaning forward over Skywalker, hand resting lightly on the long surgical scar which ran down his chest.

Hallin hadn’t been informed that the Emperor was here and no extra guards had given his presence away, so now he simply froze, uncertain what to do.

Palpatine didn’t turn as Hallin finally remembered to bow.

“My Jedi woke today.” It was a statement, not a question. Hallin had of course informed the Emperor’s office as soon as Luke had woken, but still, something told him that Palpatine would have known anyway. A small shiver ran down his spine, at what he didn’t know; some distant alarm sounding…

He finally found his voice, “Yes, Excellency. Just for a few moments, but I’m confident that he’s turned that corner.”

He stepped forward just slightly then stopped, deeply uncomfortable. Palpatine didn’t move, didn’t turn away from his study of Skywalker’s face, hand remaining lightly pressed against his chest. The brittle silence stretched out, until Hallin could stand it no more. “The um…the scars, we’ve been treating with Inabertol and bacta. It will diminish the…”

“Not these.” Palpatine said, finally lifting his hand to gently run the back of one ridged nail down the long, severe scar which ran from Skywalker’s eye down his right cheek and through his lips, trailing down onto the still-severe wound at his throat. “These he’ll keep. A permanent reminder of betrayal; the limits of misplaced trust.”

Hallin frowned, voice barely a whisper beneath the intensity of the Emperor’s will. “You want me to stop treating them?”

The Emperor set his head on one side, continuing quietly as if Hallin had not spoken, “Art should have a signature. Until it does, one is never quite sure that it is truly finished. And it suits him – suits his nature… He’s become rather… striking, don’t you think? Charismatic; fascinating in his contradictions.”

Hallin slowed, realisation running cold down his spine. “I’m not…”

Palpatine turned on him, yellow eyes seeming to glow in the low light, “Don’t you think?”

Hallin fell to silence, frozen to the spot, no idea of how to diffuse this, then the Emperor laughed just slightly, amused, “Oh, don’t worry, medic. This one has a built-in immunity- it’s kept him safe for this long.”

He turned back, leaning in to touch the grim scar just above the sleeping man’s lips, long, thin fingers so pale as to be bonelike in the low light, trembling just slightly as they hovered there. Then he turned away, walking slowly past Hallin, his gnarled cane clicking against the sterile floor. He paused beside the medic without looking round, voice coolly perceptive, as if sharing some unspoken mutual accord, “One may appreciate a work of art even if one cannot own it- but then you know that, medic… no?”

Hallin remained still, eyes down, and eventually the Emperor walked on, his cane tak-takking into the distance, its every strike sending a jarring pulse up Hallin's spine.

“He’s not dead.” Leia said simply as she came to a stop, bringing Han’s eyes quizzically up to her from his breakfast plate.

“What?”

“He’s not dead; we didn’t get him. He’s on Coruscant.”

Han’s eyes lit, a lopsided grin of realisation spreading across his face, “Luke?”

“Whoever.” Leia shrugged, sitting down beside him and gazing down at her own plate to hide her face. For some reason, she could feel the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth too, much as she tried to repress it. It had just never felt right; not that way.

“Hey, kid’s bombproof as well now, huh?” Han crowed, amused.

“No. we hurt him pretty bad, we think. We only have a few fragments of information, but Tag put it all together and could only make it make sense one way. He’s alive but badly injured. He was taken to Coruscant immediately, she thinks, when the Executor made orbit there a few weeks ago. The Bothans say the official line in the Palace is that The Heir is unavailable at present, on an assignment for the Emperor, yet all his Aids and adjutants are still at the Palace, including Jade and Reece, both of whom he never goes anywhere without. But there’ve been absolutely no sightings of him, and there are only two guards outside the Perlemian Apartments, which Massa thinks points to his being too ill to be allowed to return to his own apartments.” Leia shrugged, “This is all conjecture of course, but since they’ve not announced his death by now, we have to assume he’s alive. Added to that is the fact that his personal medic hasn’t left the medicentre for weeks and he’s generally close to The Heir, plus all kinds of specialists are being summoned to the Palace on a daily basis, and no-one else seems ill. The reasonable conclusion is that he’s alive but badly injured and in the Palace medicentre. Tag is working every trick she knows and pulling in anything even vaguely related to try and get something more concrete. ”

Han nodded his head, aware that Intel had been going ballistic since the assassination attempt had been announced, firstly because they were kept out of the loop and secondly because they now needed to get some kind of solid evidence either way, but because they hadn’t known about the attempt, they had no-one in place to do so. Every resource had been committed to that goal within hours and the initial intelligence had looked good. The Peerless had returned to the Kuat Shipyards and the Heir wasn't seen to disembark, the official line being that a recent repair had failed. But the unit Madine had placed there to lay the bombs had verified that there was visible blast damage as it came in to dock… and then fallen off the radar; simply disappeared.
Again, the normally cool, unflappable Massa had stood up to make her point in no uncertain terms that if she’d been in the loop, then this could probably have been avoided.

Leia lifted up one of the graincakes from the plate she’d been carrying; it was almost lunchtime and she hadn’t had breakfast yet… and it was cold.

She ate it anyway, pulling a strip off the edge and chewing thoughtfully, both Han and Tag Massa’s words ringing round her head as she tried to decipher whether she was disappointed or relieved at the news. Han wanted to believe Luke was honourable because he and Luke had a history, but Massa… despite her official line, Leia had a feeling that privately, she felt pretty much the same - and there was no connection there that Leia knew of; no history. “I can tell you this much though, without any Intel - whatever remote chance we had of ever negotiating with him when he came to power is now effectively ruined. Whatever he was, we’ve made him an enemy now.”

Han glanced away, not willing to consider that right now, still euphoric at the unanticipated turn of events. Strange; he’d just finally begun to let the kid go , then here he was, back in the picture one more time. His grin turned into a slow frown as he considered the timescale; kid had been in the medicentre an awful long time. “No idea how bad he was injured?”

Leia frowned as she collapsed down onto the hard wire-frame chair beside him, “Not really. Bad, all things considered.”

“But recoverable?” Han prompted.

Leia said nothing and Han glanced down at his food, no longer hungry.

“Look at it this way,” Leia said in solace, unable to keep a touch of wry hostility from entering her voice, “He’s Palpatine’s Heir and he’s in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant; he will, I promise you, be getting the best care the galaxy can offer.”

“When will he wake again?” Palpatine demanded, sharp gaze turning to the uncomfortable Hallin.

“I’m not sure, Excellency. The side-effect of the painkillers he requires is drowsiness. I’m confident that…”

“Stop them.” The Emperor ordered.

Hallin paused, uncertain how to continue but knowing he must. “The um… the painkillers are vital to….”

Palpatine turned just slightly, and it was all that was needed to make Hallin’s voice trail off into silence, his resolve lost before that sulphurous stare. Still, the Sith clarified his wishes as he turned back to the boy, “As of now, he’s to be given no more.”

“It will slow his recovery.”

It was a last-ditch attempt by the medic, Palpatine knew, and quite immaterial. He had made this decision days ago.

“Then he will have time to consider his betrayal. This is not something he should forget or easily dismiss. It is his final lesson and it has been a long time coming - and knowledge always comes at a price. I am not blind to what he has been doing, medic, the fine line he’s been treading, and he cannot remain neutral. It is quite impossible in his position. There is no mid-ground, there are no misgivings. Insurrection is a crime. Rebellion is a crime. Betrayal is a crime without equal. He must learn to destroy his enemies or they will destroy him. It is a hard lesson but it must be learned; one must surrender the past to own the future.” Palpatine glanced momentarily to the medic, dismissive, “You are treating a patient- I am creating a Sith.”

“The drugs are keeping him alive- suppressing infection and sepsis, preventing biochemical cascade and organ failure. They’re managing hypermatabolism and aspiration pneumonia. We’ve only just begun to deal with complications presenting from TBI.”

“The drugs which deal with life-threatening injuries are to be continued. All else - including painkillers in any form - will stop.”

“What you are asking will cause… considerable… distress.”

“That is the point.” Palpatine dismissed blandly, gaze still on the boy.

Of course it would hurt him, but there was no greater teacher than pain. No greater reminder. And the boy was no stranger to this lesson. He didn’t like to think so, Palpatine knew; didn’t like to think such things influenced his thoughts and reactions, but they did, no matter how reluctantly. It was human nature. It was one of the most basic impulses in the galaxy, written into every cell in his body from the time that life first crawled from the seas- self-protection. Self preservation. And no matter how many times he dug his heels in and resisted, even his own outrageous stubbornness could not fight the mass of evolution.

Months of chastisement and indoctrination locked in that cell when he had first crossed Palpatine had made him obey - for a while. Six months, almost. Then the boy had finally pushed too far - pushed to see how far he could push, and lessons had to be re-taught, as they often did when such a relationship was new. His Jedi had woken once again in that same cell beneath the palace - his cell - a prison built to hold a Jedi.

And again, eight months later, when he had challenged too brashly on some minor point. And again ten months after that, when he pushed the limits of Palpatine’s patience.

There were smaller incidents in between of course, things which could be dealt with harshly but immediately without resorting to weeks of brutal imprisonment, caging and taming that wild will all over again. One must be ruthless in dealing with even small disputes or dissent- pitiless and unforgiving, regardless of who instigated them. It was not only a lesson but an example to be followed. Had he done so, the boy would not be injured now.

Proof of the value of this method lay in his Jedi’s own actions. It was almost a year since he had last laid half-conscious on that cold white floor of the cell - his cell - drugged to subdue and restrain him, but still awake enough to be aware of his own helplessness, resentment boiling up inside him as it always did, feeding the fires Palpatine had ignited,

He watched the boy now and remembered… remembered sensing the dread of his comprehension burning through the drugs, though he was too weak and too injured to move, to even turn away as Palpatine settled comfortably down beside him, using the long sleeve of his scarlet robe to gently wipe the blood from the boy’s face as the guards had left the cell.

Palpatine remembered quite distinctly how dark the blood had been, even against the claret red of his robe; true red, like liquid rubies, his rich robe paling by comparison. Remembered being fascinated by its depth of colour for long seconds before tearing his eyes away and back to the flawless blue of the boy’s eyes.

“It should not come to this. Not between us.” he had said at last, regretful and impassioned in the same moment.

His Jedi turned his head just slightly, eyes heavy with drugs, aware of his Master’s driving emotions, though he did not speak.

“You are mine, Jedi.” Palpatine had said with total conviction. “You always were - you know that. Why do you fight what was preordained?”

“I am… not…”

“You are mine.” Palpatine repeated with absolute certainty across his broken words, reaching out to wipe again at the open wound above his Jedi’s eye, holding the cloth of his sleeve there until it blossomed beautifully through the fabric. “Perhaps I should tell you the past…”

“I don’t…want.. your lies.” the boy had whispered weakly, though Palpatine knew he didn’t mean it, not really.

“My Master, you see, was a great Sith.” he continued, as if Luke had not spoken at all, his voice kind and fatherly, as if telling a familiar tale to a young child. “A powerful Sith Master. He found me when I was very young, and he showed me the pre-eminence of the Force and told me that I could learn these things- if I went with him. Simply walked away from everything- my family, my world... my life. I walked away without hesitation, because I recognised greatness… and because I heard it call within myself.”

Luke looked away, but Palpatine reached down to gently take the boy’s chin and turn his face back, no admonishment in the gesture. “His name was Darth Plagueis, and he taught me well. Taught me everything I knew… but he didn’t teach me everything he knew, I realised. Plagueis became obsessed with his own mortality, spent years studying Sith doctrines and holocrons to discover the secrets of renewing and prolonging life. But he believed immortality was a personal journey. He did not understand... you see immortality is also the continuation of one’s lineage.”

He wiped again at the gash which bled profusely over Luke’s eye seeping a wide, viscous trail across his bruised skin and down hair and scalp to bloom into a rich burst of vibrant colour on the blank white floor, smiling benignly as he continued. “But what can one do in the face of natural selection? I thought… that I would always be disappointed. That nature had decreed that I be the last of my line. One cannot clone a force-sensitive without repercussions - the Force will not be bound by science - and why would I want anything less? Without the Force, the child would be nothing. But in his search for eternal life, Darth Plagueis discovered an ancient text… and with it the ability to create existence. Truly create; the Force itself bringing forth life. My Master learned this dark art… and destroyed the texts, knowing that through this he could control me."

Palpatine leaned back, eyes raising in proud rmemberance, “At the height of our combined power we did this- created life. But we did not know that we had succeeded. I believed that we had failed - that my Master had failed… and so he ceased to be of further use to me.”

Palpatine paused at that, remembering… “And then something miraculous happened. A chance meeting; a serendipitous moment - a child, conceived at the moment that the rites were performed, had been born… on the far side of the galaxy.” He shook his head, voice distant, lost in reliving the memory.

“I had succeeded- I had simply not realise it… but a being created of the Force could not remain hidden forever - not from his creator - his power was simply too great. It shone like a beacon, it sounded through the Darkness like a note of perfect pitch, striking instinctive resonance. The Force wanted us to find each other. So I found him, and he me… and the connection was instantaneous, the draw irresistible.. He was mine - created on my command to fulfil my aspirations. Mine alone.”

The boy’s attention began to falter now, made weak by drugs and injury, eyelids flickering. Still Palpatine continued speaking, reaching out to push back blood-matted hair from the wound, the gesture full of empty, indulgent compassion. “I thought I had everything that I wanted in this child - that all my ambitions could be fulfilled. He was an elemental being, raw power contained, exceeding my wildest hopes. Everything was possible through him. When I knew that I owned him, all my far-reaching plans were instigated and for a while I became unstoppable; invulnerable- invincible. But then he was injured, badly - and the power that I had poured into his creation was lost. Not all, but enough. And, more importantly, he had no heir - my line was broken yet again.”

Finally the boy’s head dipped to the side. He caught it once, eyes flicking open momentarily, but he soon drifted again, the sound of his Master’s even tones strangely hypnotic, soothing even, though Palpatine wondered whether the words still held any meaning, lost beneath the boy's exhausted body’s need to repair. “My Master, in his final revenge, had not told me all that was needed to create life, it seemed. And so everything; all my aspirations and ambitions - my dynasty - was lost beyond retrieval. I was left only power… but power is never enough, one always wants more... and that which I truly desired had been placed far beyond retrieval.”

He smiled indulgently, raking the back of his nail slowly up from the deep gash, drawing a line in scarlet blood up into the boy’s long, wild hair as he combed curved, ridged nails through it, voice contented and quietly triumphant. “And then you appeared, and everything, everything was within my grasp again. You are mine; that same resonance still sounds true. I created your father; brought him into being. Therefore I created you. You were destined to come here - to serve. To continue my work. You are my immortality, child. You are my dynasty. My legacy. You are mine.”

Everything changed - everything descended into pain and restless, fevered confusion. Luke woke briefly from time to time, driven more by sudden peaks in agony than by any real awareness. The drugs which had given relief had numbed mind and body alike, but now, in their absence, he was left with pain which lanced through him and twisted about him so intensely that all hope of concentrating around or through it had been burned away.

There had been no time, it seemed; no moment’s grace to gather the Force about his hazy, paralysed thoughts as the effects of the powerful narcotics left his body, the grating pain already bone-deep before he tried to bring his drug-numbed mind to focus, leaving him too distracted, too injured to reach out as Master Yoda had taught him. He needed only a moment, a fleeting respite from the all-encompassing pain to gather his thoughts and try to understand what blocked his path, but it dug and grated and twisted like knives with every barbed intake of breath, the exhaustion of simply withstanding it crushing any hope of concentration. Too much- too much to process, to even react to.

Time broke into short, shattered clips of awareness punctuated by long periods of pain so intense that all he could do was lie still and breathe. Just that. To simply breathe against it was a triumph, every inpull of air lancing through cramped chest muscles and aching bones, requiring concentration so complete that all else paled and fell away, senses muted to insignificance by the need to deal with the intense agony carving through him.

He was occasionally aware of the presence of others in the room - Mara, Nathan, or just as often his father - but the idea of speaking, of even opening his eyes to acknowledge them, was so completely beyond him as to be inconceivable.

Time passed like this - how long he had no idea, but every moment burned through him like an eternity - so that when it finally began to subside even slightly, just enough for him to become aware of his father’s presence in the room, he reached out for him like a lifeline.

“Help me…” it was all he could manage to utter past his injured throat, through dry mouth and split lips, but the man he had rejected so completely stepped forward without hesitation.

Vader moved to the head of the bed, his black-gloved hands reaching out to gently take the weight of his son’s head, thumbs to his temples, “Calm, now.” he uttered in deep, bass tones, the words so composed and pacific, reaching out to Luke’s enervated awareness, soothing and settling, benignly guiding. “You need to find your focus… fall back into the Force - it is all around you. Just breathe- relax. Stop struggling. Let it guide you - let it heal you. You know how to do this. Reach within yourself - remember that path, calm your mind and listen. Everything that you need is here, waiting. Sense it. Call it to you. Let it heal you.” His tone was even and hypnotic, leading the Luke on, soothing and centering…

Vader had no idea if his son could still do this - the ability to heal was not of the Dark Side. It could sustain, could enable an individual to operate far beyond his injuries, but it could not heal. That ability was long lost to Vader. Yes, he had maintained his son’s condition on the fraught journey back to Coruscant, but it had been just that; the ability to sustain, to slow any further decline. Any capacity to restore or revive was beyond his reach, then as now. All that he could do was try to lead his son through the motions and hope that Luke was still capable of reaching out in this way, channelling the Force even to a small degree to gain some limited relief, though in truth he knew this was in vain - the boy was no longer a Jedi.

It hadn’t failed to come to Vader’s attention that the aspect of the Force which he always berated and dismissed for its weakness had the power to help his son when the Darkness Vader had so resolutely wrapped about himself for so long, so sure if its invulnerability, was of no value whatsoever.

Still, he sensed the boy calming now at his words, the bewildered twist of pain and turmoil which had gathered to a knot within him beginning to unravel just slightly. His shoulders slumped in response as he finally regained some contact, his breath slowing and regulating, head falling heavy against Vader’s hands. Vader felt his own tight chest relax in response, aware that he had remained tense as a wire in the face of his son’s pain, unable to help.

Unable to help… he reached out now and sensed that mental link with his son re-established and with it... that particular mindset, the willingness to merge without loss of self, to accept with grace, to surrender without submission into the Force.

Darkness never surrendered… so it was not this that the boy touched now.

He knew Luke had built his barriers, walls within walls within walls. Knew how much he was able to hide, even from the Emperor…

Vader reached out again to touch that sense and it slipped away like a half-imagined haze, diffuse and oblique, hidden completely from him now. But the memory of that momentary contact remained and he studied it again, searching to categorise it. It was not Light… nor was it Darkness- it was neither and both, defying any classification, giving Vader cause for deeper thought.

Palpatine believed him converted completely, as did Vader, even now… so then what was this?

Something… some distant awareness of voices and senses and disparate minds swirled about Luke, obscure and indistinct in his twisted perceptions. Voices murmured words he couldn’t hear as shadow-senses closed in about him, though he remained in the void, neither truly aware nor completely unconscious, the scarlet haze of pain wrapped about him, cutting him off from reality.

A hand reached out to rest lightly against his chest, cold as the grave, and the finely-honed shock which burst through him lit old memories, dragging them to the fore in his fevered thoughts with absolute focus and staggering intensity…

…Of that room - that cell - cold as the tomb, dark as pitch. And his Master, always pushing and provoking and punishing, of force-pikes and broken bones and lightening arcing through the gloom to sear skin and burn through flesh. So much that his bones felt hot within his skin and his muscles would cramp for hours afterwards, dragging him awake through drifting unconsciousness, blood and adrenaline in the back of his throat….

Luke jolted awake, gasping a breath in, anticipating the sharp stab of the Force-lightening and bringing his arms up to protect himself. The motion sending a shock of pain searing up through his arm and across his chest, making him cry out.
Someone grabbed at his arms, holding them down, the agony lancing up through his left arm and across his shoulders, their voice alarmed and stern and worried and demanding all at once. For long seconds he was so stunned, so shaken by the intensity of the pain that he didn’t recognise it, couldn’t work out the words, struggling against their hold... then Mara Jade called out his name again, telling him to stop, that it was okay, that he was safe…

Slowly, reality filtered in and he collapsed back in dazed silence, Mara releasing his arms, the pain from the sudden burst of movement rolling over him in waves, leaving him nauseous and weak, breath ragged, the blood draining from his head in a disorienting blur.

Silence hung heavy and expectant, the fog of personas within the Force settling slowly out into Palpatine, Vader, Mara and Hallin, and though he knew all eyes were on him he felt too weak, too drained to even pull words into a thought, let alone speak them out loud.

His Master’s voice grated out, completely unmoved, his close presence looming, blurred both in Luke’s vision and in the Force. “There was a bomb. You were injured. Can you remember this?”

Luke closed his eyes, made the slightest movement of acknowledgement with his head, even this lighting fireworks down his spine and across his chest. “Where?” It was barely a whisper and it cut down his throat like a blade, but he knew Palpatine would hear it and understand.

“You are on Coruscant. You were badly injured - the assassination attempt was almost successful.”

There was the slightest hint of amusement in his Master’s voice, mixed in with his outrage at having something which belonged to him damaged. No pity, no empathy; the only concern that his possession would be taken away. But then Luke expected no more. A word slowly percolated through the haze, making him frown. “Assassination?”

“They wanted you, my friend; you were the target.” Palpatine's tone did not invite debate. “The bombs were not time-triggered, someone waited to activate them remotely. Waited for their target to arrive. They were too small and too few and badly placed to do any lasting damage to a Super Star Destroyer - they had a very different target.”

“How many?” Luke whispered, making Palpatine frown. “How many…died?” he was faltering now, even this small exertion draining him.

Palpatine looked askance, clearly unsure why his Jedi would care, but Mara spoke up, her eyes on the Emperor. “Forty-seven dead; mostly troopers from the 701st. Another sixty-odd wounded. The count would have been much higher, but we were already on alert and the bays had begun to evacuate.”

Luke sighed, disturbed; incensed, as the facts sank in. Forty-seven dead. Sixty wounded. For what? To get to one man.

His Master’s voice cut through this thoughts. “We will find out who did this.”

“I want them.” he whispered, putting all of his remaining strength into the breathless words so that his Master would remember, “Alive- I want them alive.”

His Master set his head on one side, voice half-curiosity, half-challenge, “For what?”

Words were beyond him now, no energy left to even whisper, but he reached out through the Force to Palpatine, passing through that link all of his growing outrage and anger. His desire to deal with this personally - to look his attackers in the eye before he killed them, so that they would know that it was he who did this. Himself, face to face- not hiding behind the anonymity of impersonal weapons which killed and maimed indiscriminately, but he and his enemy, face to face. Retribution.

Palpatine smiled indulgently- this he understood. “I will give them to you, my friend.” His quiet cackle pulled pale lips to a thin line as he watched his wounded, aggrieved Wolf’s eyelids flutter closed, exhaustion and injury quickly overtaking that burst of dark emotion. “I will give you your revenge.”

“There’s probably something you should know, now that he seems to be more aware.” Hallin said ominously as Mara stood by the high medical bed, studying Luke’s sleeping face. She’d remained when everyone else had left, attentive as ever, and considering what he now suspected about she and Luke, Hallin felt it only fair that Mara should know.

She turned immediately, and Nathan rushed to reassure, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing terrible- just something that we may have to deal with in the coming weeks… and beyond.”

“What kind of something?” Mara asked warily.

“Typically with this kind of condition resulting from deep coma following traumatic brain injury or hypovolemia, the patient may exhibit a range of resultant secondary effects collectively called postconcussion syndrome…”

“Basic please?” Mara prompted tersely, hearing Hallin drop into his professional medic mode. The medic paused a few seconds, searching for the right words.

“You may find him a little… different. Unpredictable perhaps. People recovering from comas following head injuries – brain trauma – will often exhibit new character traits, though they’re generally temporary. They often complain of racing thoughts, they’re unable to sleep, you may notice that they’ve lost some social function... interpersonal and social judgement may be impaired so they may act inappropriately or out of character. They may exhibit a tendency towards violent episodes, become more mercurial with inconsistent, often contradictory mood swings.”

“Fantastic.” Mara deadpanned, a thousand scenarios involving Luke and Palpatine coming horrendously to mind. “But this is temporary?”

“Probably.”

“Probably isn’t yes.”

Hallin shrugged, unable to answer, “There may be some permanent changes, it’s too early to say. There may be few or practically none of these symptoms; he may suffer no more than temporary memory loss and headaches. If he does evidence further symptoms, recovery of cognitive deficits is greatest in the first six months, but it may be total or minimal.”

“Don’t feel you have to commit to anything substantial, Hallin.” Mara said sardonically.

“Postconcussion syndrome is notoriously unpredictable.” Hallin defended, “The mind is a complex organ and personal consciousness and cognitive ability is subjective at best. There’s no data as to how it may effect a Force-sensitive. If it reassures you any, his coma was mid-level and relatively short, and the speed with which he received treatment for hypervolaemia and hypoxia was favourable, plus there’s been no indication of post-traumatic epilepsy golloeing surgery, therefore all indications point to a positive prognosis. In the meantime you should know that his short-term memory will be affected. It’s not obvious yet because he’s not entirely coherent, but he presently has no ability to lay down new memories. It’s perfectly normal- nothing to worry about. Remember he’s still recovering, his brain simply doesn’t have the resources to both repair injuries and create new synapses at present.”

Mara frowned; “But he still remembers everything?”

“Chances are he’s lost nothing from his past save perhaps the last few minutes or hours leading up to the explosion- he’s just not going to recall from waking session to waking session for a short while. It’s perfectly normal. Remember that the actual blow to the head isn’t the problem; it’s the resultant swelling, internal haemorrhaging and hypoxia – oxygen deficiency – which means that the brain suffers cross-the-board damage. It basically closed down for a while and in doing so may have lost certain parameters. He’ll improve every day now but for the time being, a good amount of your talks with him will be spent going over the same few facts.”

And they were, the same few facts over and over. It became something of a rote, Mara learning to recite all relevant points in a rush of information when he woke, Hallin far more patient; more willing to indulge.

She hadn’t really noticed before how committed he was to Luke – how protective – but then Luke had never really needed it before, Mara supposed. She’d always scorned Hallin, believing him little more than an opportunistic hanger-on, but everything she’d seen in the last few weeks had put that into question; he’d helped Mara when he hadn’t needed to, had remained always in the medicentre, attentive and dedicated. Everything about his actions, his casual, cordial manner and open, informal demeanour around Skywalker- and more importantly, Skywalker’s comparable, comfortable reaction- all suggested a long-standing connection. As much as she hated to admit she’d had him wrong, it seemed the medic sincerely cared about Skywalker. They had after all, arrived in the Palace together and now had three years of shared chaos and confusion as they’d found their way; that was a lot of history – the kind of thing which built a genuine friendship.

And all she could think in the face of that realisation was one thing; at what point, she wondered, would Palpatine decide to use it against Luke?

Luke’s eyes fluttered open and came to rest on Mara, his sight still blurry, but her shock of long gold-flecked auburn hair was unmistakable.

“Hey Red.” He croaked, the words grating his raw throat.

“Hey black and blue.” She beamed at the brief, crooked smile he flashed before he flinched as it pulled at the deep scar which sliced through both lips. She’d been about to launch into her usual burst of information, but he surprised her by coming back with a cognisant reply, more aware than usual.

“Suppose you think that’s funny.” he whispered gamely, eyes already beginning to close again.

The smile fell from Mara’s face as, suddenly very serious, she admitted, “No- not in the slightest.”

She reached out to push his hair from his face, but instead, on impulse, gently touched the deep wound on his lips, the continuation of the disturbing gash carved from above his eye down to his chin, left untreated by Hallin save for the long line of neat sutures closing it.

“Is this sore?” she asked, finger hovering above his lip.

“No,” he said quietly, “Its split isn’t it?” It was the understatement of the year… and quite suddenly Mara realised that he hadn’t seen his reflection yet. Unable to touch his own face, he had no idea of the severity of his wounds there. Probably no-one had even mentioned them in the face of far greater injuries.

Moved in that moment in a way she couldn’t decide, but very sure, she leaned over… and gently kissed him.

His lips were warm and soft, the heavy scar pressing rough against her lips as he leaned toward her, head turning just slightly. For long moments they remained like this, willingly lost in the moment, an unconditional expression of relief, of deliverance.

It felt so completely right to Mara; left her wondering why his heartrate hadn’t missed a beat on the monitor, because hers had surely skipped, still thumping against her ribs, a warm glow spreading to the pit of her stomach. When she finally pulled back he studied her for long seconds, both suspicious and at ease - and surprisingly self-possessed.

When he spoke, still no more than a hoarse whisper, there was doubtful, unassuming humour in his broken voice. “So.. is this something we generally do?”

She smiled, green eyes teasing, “You don’t remember?”

He was already beginning to drift, exhaustion overtaking him so quickly still. “See that’s just unfair.” he murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

She shook her head at that, watching him drift asleep, knowing full well that when he woke again, this moment would be forgotten; lost to him the moment he slept.

“Yes.” She whispered regretfully, “… yes it is.”

Luke opened his eyes slowly, the world swimming before him, his vision still dark and hazy down his right side, forcing him to turn his head slightly to bring his Master into focus, even this small movement cutting deep across his collarbone, forcing him to freeze, unable to even breathe for long seconds. Time still condensed into short bursts of awareness, no real sense of any specific length between them, leaving him with the unsettling sense that people simply appeared and disappeared about him in the single blink of an eye.

His Master spoke, unheeding of Luke's disorientation. “I have news, my friend. My agent within the Rebellion’s main base has sent the proof I have been waiting for - confirmation that your attack originated there.”

Palpatine paused just slightly, almost unwilling to finally impart this damining information. It had been a long time coming and he had worked hard to achieve it, to force the Rebellion’s hand whilst not betraying his own. “The assassination order came from the Rebel Alliance, dictated by their ‘honourable’ leaders, so full of their own pious, self-righteous morals - until it’s no longer convenient. They are your aggressors, my friend; those you fought beside, those you never once harassed or denounced. How quick they are to condemn you now... but didn’t I always warn you of their treachery?”

He fell to silence, sharp yellow eyes locked on his Jedi’s, searching for some reaction, for the explosion of fury which would have welled up inside of himself had he been given this news - for the continuation of his outrage just a few days earlier when the true motive behind the attack had come to light.
Strangely, the boy only slumped, his head turning away, expression completely void of any emotion. Palpatine reached out subtly with the Force, but all he sensed was a momentary impression of a weight pressing in on the boy, deep and profound; disappointment not anger, loss rather than outrage. But acceptance; the final severance of old ties, even those which lay buried. Something Palpatine himself could never have induced - such a profound parting of the ways had to be incited by those his Jedi trusted.
He was almost immediately pushed back, barriers raised and true emotions hidden, but he’d glimpsed the truth, and that was enough. Enough to bring the veiled ghost of a gratified smile to the old man’s lips.

The grief washed over Luke in waves, yet he felt strangely quiet as he turned away, shutting down the emotions which he knew his Master was searching out, pulling back inside himself and listening to the sound of his own ragged breathing, hearing his heart beat slowly. If he could have stopped them, stilled them both beneath the weight of this tearing loss, then he would have done so without hesitation. Simply closed his eyes and slipped away...

Memories and moments came whirling to mind - those which had sustained him for so long; recollections of trust and fellowship which had held him grounded in the eye of this endless storm.

Had Leia been there, when they’d made this decision? Had Mon? The woman who’d shook his hand and told him that she was proud of his commitment- that they needed more like him. Had Rieekan, the man who’d promised him that there would always be a safe haven for him within the Alliance on the same day he’d become top of the Empire’s Most Wanted list? Had Madine and Ackbar? Had Han?
After a long time, Luke became aware that his Master was still speaking, still pontificating on some detail or indictment. He wanted to tell him to stop - that the battle had been won, that he understood this final betrayal, that he accepted its implications and consequences.

But all he could do was to lie there and watch those thin, bloodless lips move in self-righteous accusation and listen to the profound silence which existed between the beats of a wounded heart.

He woke again late at night, a familiar presence in the room scratching at the back of his mind. Vader stood back in the shadows, though he could hardly be missed, the hiss of his respirator loud in the silence despite the fact that what had once seemed harsh and jarring was now so familiar as to be… reassuring.

Luke knew, recalled through the haze of broken awareness that had punctuated long days whose number he had no count, remembered his father’s presence in the room, his sense of anxiety - concern even. He didn’t trust his father of course, aware that his concern could be nothing more than self-serving, but now, at low ebb, he hadn’t the energy or the inclination to maintain their usual distance.

Perhaps Vader sensed this, because his words brought Luke’s head around in their rare empathy. “Don’t dwell too long on this. It was inevitable- greater forces were at play.”

He knew that his father wanted to say more, that he wanted to say all that the Emperor had said. That he wanted to say ‘I warned you. I told you. I knew and you wouldn’t listen’. If he could have, Luke would have wiped at his eyes, but his arms were still useless, and all he could do was to shake his head, sending a shock of pain across his chest and shoulders. Eventually he let out a bitter little laugh, finding his voice in his anger at himself.

“Go ahead and say it.” He invited, the monotone invitation little more than a rasping whisper, his throat still too injured to do more.

Vader remained silent; there was nothing to say which he had not already said. He knew his son well enough by now to know that self-righteous reminders would gain him nothing, and in the absence of knowing what he should say, he was learning to remain silent. They were quiet for a long time, Vader recognising that his son was falling deeper into the cynical, melancholy state that sometimes crippled him now, but having no idea of how to stop it. Finally he offered, “You were not at fault. They did not understand you - they could not.”

“And you do?” There was the slightest of challenges edging Luke's voice, quiet as it was.

“No.” Vader said without sarcasm, “Not at all.”

Luke couldn’t hold out against that, and laughed mirthlessly, the action grating against his burning throat. He looked away, then back thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh.”

“I laugh.” His father said, surprising Luke with the dry addition. “Just not out loud.”

“At what?” Luke challenged, but there was humour in his rasping voice.

Vader remained silent, suddenly uncomfortable and Luke looked away, sensing this. Both were aware that they were charting new territory here, and neither was willing to step too far from the safety of a path already littered about with deep-rooted grievances and accusations.

Luke gazed at the ceiling for a long time, Vader studying his son. The severe injury which had punctured his throat and the scar which gouged a deep path down the right side of his face remained painfully obvious, as did the darkened bloom of deep red within his still-glassy right eye, though the lens had re-attached and the medics said he would not lose his sight.
His son glanced at him momentarily and despite everything those blue eyes seemed so similar to Vader’s own. It was a long time since he had cared to look at his own reflection, but Vader hadn’t failed to realize how much the boy looked like him - the same eyes, the same hair, the same jawline. Lean and sinewy as Anakin had been in his youth, but compact and trim, very much like his mother. A mix of them both, of himself and…

What would she think, to see her son like this? Consideration of her grief allowed Vader to acknowledge a little of his own; to realise that the weight which had settled cold and hard, like a stone in his stomach from the moment he knew what had happened was… fear. Not for his plans or his intentions or his loss of potential gains. Not because of what the boy could achieve or the goals he could fulfil… but that he may lose his son. Just that.

Realization that he did not wish to lose the one thing in his life which held value to him. In the absence of his ability to say any of this out loud, he merely observed, “You are recovering- which is good.”

Luke didn’t bother to reply, knowing that his father had spoken simply to end the silence, an unstated prompt to Luke to do the same. Instead he remained lost in his own thoughts, torn by truth and regrets.

“They were my family.” He whispered at last, the loss and disillusionment undisguised in his voice, “I trusted them absolutely - they trusted me.” He fell into silent consideration for long seconds, and when he spoke again, his quiet voice was wistful and subdued, lost in the past. “I served as a bodyguard occasionally to Mon Mothma, if she was travelling in dangerous situations - and to Leia Organa - did you know that? Mon said that there were a dozen or so people she trusted enough to appoint to that position when she first asked me. I told her I was honoured. And Madine - Crix Madine only ever used the same ten pilots for Special Ops. The same team- never changed it. Said they were the ones he knew he could count on to get the job done. Leia…” He paused for a moment at speaking her name, then continued, the affection obvious, “Leia Organa told me she would always trust me. Always, no matter what. I once found a bottle of Alderaanian mead on a tapcafe on Ansion and took it back for her. Cost me a month’s wages and I would have paid twice that to see her face when I gave it to her. We sat on the flight deck and drank it from plastic cups. She told me that she couldn’t remember what it was like before I was there - that she couldn’t imagine it without me.” He trailed off into silent reverie, lost in the memories.

“They did what they had to, to control you. To keep you there.” Vader tried to keep the accusation from his voice.

“No,” Luke murmured without looking up, “I belonged.”

“You belong here.” his father stated, as sure as ever. “Your life is here.”

Luke shook his head, “There’s nothing for me here.”

“That is by your own making.” Vader rumbled, bringing his son’s head about in open question.

Was this the breaking point, the deciding factor that the boy needed? He’d edged around his life here for so long, remaining resolutely uninvolved- perhaps now the choice had been made for him. Vader made a brief mental note to look a little more closely into the events which had led up to the assassination attempt, but didn’t dwell on it now, aware of his son’s eyes on him.

“This is your life.” he repeated, “If you do not like it, then it is within your power to change it. Do so.”

His son looked away, expression neutral, but Vader sensed his mind racing. He pushed forward, aware that the boy was listening as never before.

“Look at your life, your position. The opportunities available to you. Take them - make them your own. You stand in Palpatine’s shadow out of choice. You allow him control.” Luke glanced up momentarily at that, a flash of uncertainty lighting his scarred face. But Vader felt no such doubt, no lack of confidence in the boy. “You’ve learned all that you can from him… before he was an advantage – now he is simply an obstruction.”

Luke remained silent, blood-streaked eyes skipping over the room, lost in thought, “He’s too powerful.” he rasped at last, no longer noticing the pain in his throat.

“Because you allow it. Because you will not use the power he has taught you to access. If you drew on that, if you tapped that potential…” Vader paused, knowing that if he pushed too hard the boy would automatically push back- he always had. But he could sense his son wavering now; on the very brink of commitment. “Take control.” He urged, bass voice no more than a whisper.

His son remained silent for long seconds, then his eyes turned to his father, sharp and searching despite their appalling injury. “And if I did - where would that leave you?”

“Where I am now.” Vader avoided, but the boy was not fooled, shaking his head in wary amusement.

“I know you better than that.”

Vader didn’t relent; this was the first time ever that the boy had discussed this openly, the first time he had examined the details. The first time he had considered the consequences. The first time he had considered Vader a part of it - as an ally, not an enemy.

“That is something which can be dealt with when the need arises.” Vader avoided smoothly.

“Not good enough.” Luke maintained, “I need clarification; without it, I can’t move.”

He stopped suddenly, as if he’d said too much and Vader knew the boy believed his exhaustion had made him slip even though he couldn't see exactly how. For long seconds he held silent, uncertain what Luke meant, searching for the error.

Knowing his father would fathom it eventually, Luke volunteered it, hoping to maintain some kind of control - or maybe he was just tired, and compounding error with error. “I’ve told you before, my objectives are not yours.”

Realisation, when it came to Vader, was a revelation in every sense of the word - why Luke had hesitated this long, why he had shied back from confrontation, allowed Palpatine control…
If he removed the Emperor, Luke believed it would put him in direct contention with his father - and despite everything he said out loud, he didn’t want that.

Was this what constrained him? Was his reluctance to be forced into conflict with his father so great that he had been willing to withstand Palpatine’s restrictions and coercions and punishments for so long, rather than confront the power struggle that would be left by the Emperor's removal? Vader felt a burst of gratification at that - that he would have such control over the boy, that…

He instantly shied from his own reaction, horrified. He should be proud that he could inspire such feelings in his son; such kinship. Realisation that he had almost lost his son had clarified for Vader just how much the boy had come to mean to him and yet now, when his son had finally admitted some connection, Vader saw only an opportunity for control; a way to use that bond to his own advantage.

It was hardly surprising that the boy was so reluctant to acknowledge it, even now. Luke was right; he did know Vader too well. His discomfort, both at his own reaction and his son’s knowledge that it would be so, held Vader to an uneasy silence.

His son looked away, voice quiet, “So you see, the decision isn’t mine at all…”

Vader looked up at that, “Apparently, I am not the only one capable of manipulations.”

The barest hint of a smile lifted the corners of Luke’s split lips, “Maybe you were right... I’ve learnt what I can from Palpatine- from any Master.”

The words were carefully chosen, Vader knew; they were both acknowledgement of his persuasion and an offer of what would be made possible - if Vader relinquished any perceived right to authority. He narrowed his eyes, amused, though it didn’t sound in his voice, “Then you will consider what I have said?” The words were neither agreement nor a refusal of the boy's terms.

“Will you do likewise?” his son pushed.

“There is nothing to consider.” Vader said, still unwilling to renounce.

“Then I must say the same.” Luke replied, unwilling as ever to back down.

Vader held silent for a long time, but Luke didn't break his gaze. He was so close - so close to pushing the boy forward. How could he back away now? “You are a stubborn man.” he accused without malice.

“I can’t imagine where it comes from.” his son replied, head dropping back against the pillow, eyes closing momentarily.

The door slid open, Hallin looking up from an automemo, a medical scanner in his hand, “Oh. I can come back…”

“No, come in Nathan. We were done.” In truth, Luke was pleased for the interruption. He’d already made two mistakes because he was tired, and his father knew it- he would push for a third, and Luke didn’t wish to oblige.

“We will speak again.” Vader said obliquely, wishing to clarify that this discussion remained open, before turning and leaving without pause.

Luke collapsed back as his father left the darkened room, leaving Hallin to stare after him, uncertain. “About what?”

Much as he trusted the medic, three years in the Palace meant that Luke wasn’t in the habit of giving out unnecessary information, even to him. Exposed allies couldn’t let slip under duress information that they didn’t know - he’d learned that from his Master too. “Nothing new.” Luke said simply, offering no more. Lies had to be remembered and often ended up being compounded and his memory was still poor. And anyway, he felt no need to explain himself, even to Hallin.

“He’s been here a great deal, while you were still unconscious.” Hallin said neutrally, holding the scanner to Luke’s chest, the readings appearing on his automemo.

Luke sighed, exhaustion beginning to drag him down again now that the burst of adrenaline-laced concentration needed to deal with his father was spent. “He’s just protecting his investment.”

“You still don’t trust him?”

“No.” Luke rasped, tired to the bone now. “But that’s always been factored in, so it changes nothing.”

He considered again his father’s words. Despite working to his own agenda, Vader was right about one thing; Luke had tip-toed around the corners of his life for too long, caught between past and present loyalties. He should probably thank the Alliance for spelling out to him that it was time to move forward. Thank the Emperor for…
It suddenly occurred to Luke to wonder whether this had all been another of his Master’s manipulations, designed to finally clarify in the most explicit way possible where everyone’s loyalties lay - and in doing so, to lock down Luke’s own. If it was, then it had been a big gamble… but then, perhaps he had not expected so direct-a reaction.

“Thinking?” Hallin prompted into the silence,

“Wondering whether I see Palpatine’s hand in this.” Luke replied, still thoughtful.

“In what?” Hallin asked, eyes on his medical readouts.

“This.” Luke lifted his shattered arm just slightly, to indicate his injuries.

Hallin frowned, using the stylus from his automemo to touch the back of Luke’s left hand below the last tension bar, “Can you move your fingers yet?”

Luke drummed each of his fingers in quick succession on the bed, and Hallin didn’t even bother to look up. “Without using the Force to augment.” he added dryly, so completely familiar with the unscientific phenomena which he had once dismissed as completely impossible. Scientific proof and corroborative genetic verification was all very well, but one couldn’t argue with what was in front of one’s eyes.

Luke glanced down in silence at his hand for long seconds before his index finger twitched just slightly. Hallin stared, his face impassive.

“Should I be worried?” Luke prompted.

“I would imagine I’d be pretty worried if the Emperor was trying to assassinate me.” Hallin replied vaguely, misunderstanding.

“I don’t think it was that,” Luke assured, allowing the misdirection to pass, whether it was accidental or not, “I think he just wanted to prompt a response - to shake things up, polarize the situation. What their reaction was, would be the single variable- the one thing over which he had no control.”

Luke considered whether his Master actually knew about the carefully-selected information Luke had been passing to the Rebels for almost a year now under the guise of several different, unknown ‘Rebel sympathisers’… then dismissed it as paranoia. As much as he loved his schemes, Palpatine would have dealt with such a massive breach of trust in far more direct terms. It would have provoked another of his ‘lessons’ taught in such a way that Luke would never forget. No- if he knew that, then Luke would have been in the cell below the Palace by now.

“That would seem to make it a rather large gamble.” Hallin said, breaking Luke’s train of thought.

“Depends what was in the pot.” Luke replied, speaking in sabacc terms. “Sometimes a major gamble is worth it.”

Hallin glanced up, doubtful. Luke almost shrugged then caught himself, still very much aware of the tension bars which stretched shattered collar bones straight. “There’s a point in a sabacc hand where, if there’s enough in the pot and you’re already committed, based on the odds and the possible returns - and your knowledge of the players - it’s statistically worth your while to take a gamble.”

“We’re not talking about sabacc.” Hallin dismissed.

“Same theory.” Luke said, “It wasn’t even that much of a gamble; he knew the Rebellion would react if he forced their hand with a big enough gesture.”

Luke could sense Hallin’s doubt- but then, he didn’t know Palpatine as Luke did.
Long hours trapped in that cell beneath the Palace with only his Master’s goading manipulations had cost him dearly, but if there was one thing he could pull from those painful memories it was this- he knew Palpatine. Knew how that twisted, self-centred, self-serving mind worked. Yes, his Master knew him too, inside out, but as Palpatine was so fond of quoting, all knowledge came at a price, and Palpatine’s knowledge of Luke - of how to manipulate and use him - had come at the cost of Luke’s knowledge of Palpatine; of how he reacted, how he schemed. It wasn’t at all beyond Palpatine to do this - to believe that he could control it, direct it to attain his desired result. “Aside from the minor complication of almost killing me, it worked perfectly- he achieved everything he wanted.”

“Only if you let him.” Hallin said, eliciting an unexpected dry, rasping laugh from his patient.

“Why is everybody saying that to me today?” Luke mused, then added quickly, to forestall Hallin’s question. “I think I have to concede this particular game.”

“What will you do?” Hallin asked, knowing he’d get no specific answer; that Luke wasn’t in the habit of handing information out unless he thought it was necessary. In this, he was very much like the Emperor.

“Palpatine’s looking for a response- expecting one.” Luke said thoughtfully, “I’d hate to disappoint.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mara stopped at the door to Skywalker’s room in the medi-center, almost bumping into Hallin as he left. “How’s he doing today?”

“Well, he must be getting better because he’s driving me insane.” The slight medic said, smiling tightly.

“What’s he doing now?”

She knew Skywalker had basically nagged Hallin into fitting his new right hand before the medic wanted to, but she could understand that even if Hallin couldn’t; she too had found the sight of the chrome locking bar extending from the bone of the disfigured stump deeply unsettling - and it wasn’t even her bone it was set into. And anyway, he’d developed the disquieting habit of using the blunt tip to scratch at the healing scabs on his face. Plus, with Skywalker’s left arm still immobile, without his right hand he could do nothing, which Mara had to admit would have left her feeling pretty vulnerable in a place where vulnerability was a dangerous thing. Admittedly, he still had little control of the new hand, but that would come, and that much sooner for having been fitted already.

“Well now he’s got it into his head that he wants to leave the medi-center.” Hallin said, as if Luke were asking the outrageous.

“To go where?”

“Back to his own apartments. Which is out of the question and he knows it.”

Skywalker’s hoarse voice grated weakly from the doorway in reply, “He is still awake and can hear everything you’re saying.”

There was indulgent humour in his voice, but that unmovable, authoritative tone was beginning to creep back in, his stubborn streak returning with his gradual recovery. Hallin remained unimpressed- the advantage of long familiarity. “Well then The Heir knows that there is no absolutely no way that he can return to his apartments yet.”

Mara catwalked into the Master Bedroom of Skywalker’s apartments, trying not to wake him.

It was the third day he had been back, Hallin having caved completely, though he'd complained bitterly about the necessity of bringing all his medical equipment from the North Tower to the West Tower where the massive Perlemian Apartments sprawled over one complete level of the Tower, taking every opportunity on the rare moments that Skywalker was actually awake in the last two days to state that the reason for his exhaustion was that he wasn’t ready for this kind of stress yet.
So much so that Skywalker had finally asserted that the reason he’d wanted to return was that he could now legitimately throw Hallin out of his room if the medic nagged too much, which he was on the verge of doing right now.

But Skywalker was recovering, more alert when he was awake, his memory repairing, his blurred vision returning, the white of his injured eye clearing though the iris had sustained scarring, which had resulted in the disconcerting effect of discoloring a large area of the pale, sky blue iris, rendering it almost black. Even knowing this, Mara often found she would need several seconds when looking at him to lock down that uneasy feeling that something had changed - not the obvious scar which sliced a long, twisted path down the right side of his face and through his lips, but something more subtle, more fundamental.

Still, a return to his own quarters had seen a marked improvement, even to Mara’s eyes; he’d slept through the night again and well into the next morning, Mara keeping the photosensitive transparisteel of the tall bank of windows dialled down to halfway.
Now the balcony doors were pushed open, the warm summer breeze filtering in to tug at Mara's hair as she sat, her back to the room, finally getting a chance to settle and catch up on some Intel reports. Engrossed in her reading, she almost jumped from her chair when there was a loud thud behind her and a flash of surprise which blasted out so strongly through the Force that even she felt it. She twisted round to see Skywalker huddled awkwardly on the floor by the bed, more or less upright. Panicking, she swung up, keying the medial emergency comm on the table then dashing forward to him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” he reassured, though he didn’t get up, his pinned arm held close, cradled by the other.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Sitting on the floor apparently.” he deadpanned, voice still low and hoarse.

Mara reached him and suddenly stopped dead, arms outstretched, having no idea how to help him up. He was wearing what he had always worn to sleep in; a pair of tie-waisted sleeping trousers, his torso bare, and now suddenly, when she had to touch him, it seemed way too little.

Which was stupid because she’d seen him dressed like this hundreds of times when she’d come into his apartments first thing in the morning, or when he’d wandered around in this and a loose, open dressing gown before breakfast, now completely comfortable with the amount of people who seemed to find it necessary to wander his apartments at any hour of the day.

And when he trained in the Practice Halls six floors down, the huge ebony-floored room boasting a long, floor-to-ceiling glass wall which made it incredibly hot in summer despite the climate controls, he would generally strip off the tank vest he wore in an effort to cool down. She’d never looked twice…well, that wasn’t actually true, but she’d never felt this awkward or embarrassed before.

“Are you gonna help me up, or are you just here to watch?” he prompted.

“What happened?” Mara finally managed, reaching out, uncertain.

“My leg went from under me when I put my weight on it, that’s all.”

“You dislocated your hip and your ankle.” Mara reminded, bringing his eyes sharply up, though his head didn’t move, neck still stiff and painful.

“Somebody could have told me that.”

“We did- repeatedly.” Mara said dryly, taking Skywalker’s right arm well above the surgery line and trying to lift.

He yelped as his broken collarbone took the strain. Mara let go instantly, crouching down. It occurred to her only now that, among greater pains and injuries, the dislocations may well have been ignored by Skywalker, and his memory from the first few weeks was still patchy. “I’m sure Hallin must have told you recently.”

“I listen to about a third of what Hallin says.” Luke said, leaning away when Mara tried to reach out to his pinned arm, “Not a chance.” he uttered dryly.

“A third?” Mara grinned, “That’s way more than me.”

She moved round his back and, after a moment’s hesitation, slipped her arms under his, hands about his chest, deeply aware of the warmth of his skin.

“Wait! Surgery scar.” he reminded as she closed her hands about the long, still-angry scar which ran down his chest from his broken collarbones to below his ribs.

Mara pulled her hands back to rest against his sides, trying not to press in, knowing how long broken ribs took to heal. Still, when she tightened her grip, he pulled in another sharp intake of breath. She paused, “What?”

“Those are broken.”

She slid her hands down over smooth skin, “How about here?”

“Ow.”

“Well…”

“I think we can just safely assume that everything hurts.” he croaked.

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have tried to get up.” Mara said, still crouched behind him.

“Thanks.” Skywalker deadpanned huskily, “I really needed to hear that. It’s very helpful.”

“If you just…” Mara felt the smile coming to her lips and tried unsuccessfully to silence the laugh, her ribs rocking at the attempt.

“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing.” Skywalker rasped, but Mara could hear the humour in his hoarse voice.

“Sorry- it’s not funny.” she agreed still trying to stifle the laugh, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the back of his shoulder in attempt to stop rocking.

“Ow.”

“What!?”

“You’re laughing on my broken shoulder.” he croaked.

For some reason, that was the final straw and Mara could hold back no longer though she tried valiantly, so that the laugh came out as a breathless snicker, her eyes beginning to water at the effort of keeping it in. Luke chose that moment to try to sit up against her weight, but Mara was laughing too much, all strength gone, and though she tried to push back, she simply toppled backwards beneath his greater weight, pulling Skywalker with her.

He froze a few seconds against the pain then leaned back to rest his head against her ribs for a moment, his gruff voice cracking, his own laughter breaking through, “Well you’re useless in a crisis, Red.”

“This isn’t a crisis, this is a fiasco.” she corrected blithely.

Hands still about his chest, she felt it rock in laughter then his muscles tensed, “Don’t make me laugh. I hurt enough as it is.”

Mara considered a moment as they both paused, breathless, trying to regain the strength to try again, “Is this a bad time to say you probably should have stayed in the medi-bay?”

“If you ever tell Hallin about this…”

The threat was wasted as Hallin came bursting into the room, having answered Mara’s emergency comm. He took one shocked look at the two of them on the floor, Mara’s arms wrapped around Luke, his head resting against her, the pair of them grinning inanely, and tried to back out, eyes to the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry - please excuse me. I didn’t…”

“Hallin!” Skywalker’s voice broke as he tried to shout, but it was loud enough, “Get back in here.”

His disembodied voice came politely from the other side of the door, “… now?”

“What now?” Luke glanced up from the suspiciously-brief morning’s despatches, which he was reading on an automemo whilst walking slowly on a treadmill in the small private gym in his apartments, annoyed more at his own lack of stamina than at the incoming intrusion. Even a few minutes’ exercise still triggered near-exhaustion, leaving him feeling incredibly vulnerable here in the Emperor’s Palace. Because the truth was that if he couldn’t protect himself from Palpatine, then no-one else had the ability to do it for him.

He was already beginning to push himself trying to regain his fitness. The heavy, cumbersome weight of the alloy cage around his arm and across his collarbone had been removed, leaving only single tension bars in their place, set slightly clear of his skin, and light, minimal, polymer forms. Still awkward and troublesome, but nowhere near as uncomfortable as the heavy cage of the external fixator. The moment the bars and casts were removed from his arm he intended to begin lightsaber drills again, but for now even this short walk had left him drained and trembling.

He was restless at being trapped in the Palace- he’d never liked being here, had always seen it as a gilded cage and a dangerous one at that, so close to his Master. And whilst he remained, there was no reliably undetectable way to contact agents he had spent the last year and a half placing in the field for just the kind of information he wanted right now.
He needed to know exactly what had happened in the lead-up and the aftermath of the assassination attempt. He particularly needed to know why Argot, his own spy in the Rebel camp, had been excluded; whether Argot's cover had been compromised. But until he was on his Destroyer and away from the capital he remained isolated from all incoming information save that which his Master chose to pass on. He didn’t believe Palpatine would lie to him - he was far too skilful at manipulating the truth to ever need to resort to lies - but Luke knew that the Emperor would certainly be controlling what information was reaching him, and how. Omissions were just as misleading as lies if carefully handled, and this morning’s discussion with Hallin had brought home to him one more time not just how far Palpatine was prepared to go in assuring his own goals, but how precarious Luke’s position here really was- how expendable.

The medic had been thoughtful since he’d arrived that morning, entering Luke’s private quarters with a politely-sketched bow, clearly searching for a way to lead into whatever he wished to say, though it had still taken Luke a surprising amount of coaxing to finally pull the truth out of him.

“I was… uncertain whether you would survive immediately following the explosion.” Hallin had allowed at last, alluding to the day of the assassination attempt, “You had extensive internal injuries and we were having difficulties stabilising you. When the Emperor commed, that was his first question- would you live?”

Luke shrugged, unoffended, “If I ever don’t I’d advise you not to go back to the Palace- it’d probably be a one-way journey.”

Hallin nodded gravely, made to speak, then fell silent. Luke remained quiet, waiting for his friend to find his words, which eventually he did. “If you died then I was ordered by Palpatine to recover certain samples immediately, then place your body in medical stasis.”

Luke nodded, unsurprised, “DNA, though I’m sure he already has samples; I need to deal with that at some point.”

“I think… he was looking for more. I was ordered to take pure DNA samples yes, but… I think he was looking to gain a new generation rather than an exact copy; what little is still medically available to me regarding cloning Force-sensitive individuals indicates it’s highly unpredictable, unstable even. I think he was looking to… create a child rather than a clone.”

Luke was silent for a long time, the gravity of this sinking in. Slowly he nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose, deathly tired of this constant scheming. He glanced up to Nathan, “Did you take the samples?”

“No- it was only in the event of your death.”

“Ever?” Luke asked sternly but openly, leaving Nathan uncomfortable beneath that intense stare; was he using his ‘Force’ to back up his perceptions? If so he had no need; Nathan would never lie to him.

“No, Commander. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t in existence, taken at other times by other medics - every time you’re released from the cells, you’re never returned straight to your quarters, and when you are returned, your wounds have already been treated. And remember the Emperor also asked me to gather DNA though we know that such samples already exist, stored at separate locations.”

“We have no-one reliable at any of them who could follow this up?”

“No; they’re very small facilities with few staff, and those who are there are extremely loyal to the Emperor. We’ve tried unsuccessfully before to infiltrate them. And those are the ones we know about - they could be stored at any number of locations under any designation.”

“I need to know if they have samples because if they do we need to deal with this now.” Luke paused, glancing meaningfully back to Hallin, “If you’re ever asked again, you’re to provide a false sample - and you’re to make sure that no-one else can collect a real one.” He hesitated, uncertain how to explain the next, but hoping that Hallin was familiar enough with the Force by now, “If I die… Master Yoda taught me a… practice - my body should simply disappear. But if it doesn’t... you need to destroy my body, completely. You understand? As soon as possible.”

Hallin hesitated a long time, eyes down, and Luke sensed his unease. When he finally looked to Luke and spoke it was doubtfully, “I’m not sure I …”

“Well then ask Wez to do it.” Luke cut in, surprised at the medic’s squeamish streak; knowing Wez would have no such qualms. “Or Admiral Joss if Wez isn’t there, anyone I’d trust. But be there- make sure it’s done.”

Hallin nodded resolutely, though Luke could sense his discomfort.

“This is important Nathan.” he emphasized, “… to me as much as anything. I won’t give him that opportunity.” He had watched as his father slowly realised that in his son, he was also seeing his replacement; his comprehension that Palpatine would cast Vader aside in an instant- would willingly initiate his death for just the chance of controlling the next generation. Even in his darkest hour, when he had hated his father with a vengeance for bringing him here, Luke had balked at how the Emperor could so easily dismiss and discard that which he had created - callously use one who had served him for so long.
Had experienced firsthand how once the Sith Master had fixed his avaricious sights on something he would ruthlessly exploit any means to ensure his own desires.

Despite his father’s twisted morals, Luke had sensed in recent talks some shade of genuine regret; remorse at his decision to bring his own son here, exposing him to Palpatine’s self-serving ambitions and pitiless wrath. To Luke, the thought that another generation may become caught up in this soul-destroying struggle was abhorrent. All in the service of his Master's greater goal, his precious Sith Dynasty - did he seriously believe Luke would give him that? That satisfaction, that control over another life?
But apparently, he didn’t need Luke’s consent - and why was he even surprised at that?

The morning had slipped by, lost in Luke's appalled disbelief that even Palpatine would stoop to such a thing, resentment crystallising into adamant resolve that it wouldn’t be so. Whatever it took, any means, any price, he wouldn’t be Palpatine’s puppet. He wouldn’t be used.

And if the only way to regain control of his life was to relinquish the past, then he could do that now. Without hesitation; without regret.

Was that what his Master had wanted? Surely he knew that anything said to Hallin would eventually come back to Luke? Was this too just a manipulation, one more coaxing coercion toward Darkness? If so then yes; he had won this game; Luke finally found himself willing to cut himself free of his past. But the victory would be a hollow one - if it took Luke’s last breath he’d ensure that.

Eventually Luke had headed for the gym in his apartments, much to Hallin’s obvious dismay, resorting to exercise in an effort to get his mind off the medic’s revelation, grateful for the distraction from guessing and double-guessing every play in his Master's part but frustrated by how little it took to reduce still-weak muscles to exhaustion.
When he sensed Wez Reece heading meaningfully down the corridor, his thoughts boiling with ominous uncertainty, Luke turned expectantly to the door, bringing Hallin’s gaze about too. Moments later Reece entered, nervous anticipation apparent in his face and his sense as he glanced momentarily at the medic then turned to Skywalker.

“I’ve just received word from Chancellor Cordo that the Emperor will dine here tonight.” Reece said, no further explanation for his tension necessary.

Luke ground his jaw at the mention of the Emperor, reigning back his anger, keeping his voice casual, “Did Cordo say why?” Unless he had a specific reason, Luke seldom used titles save for his Master and his father, and no-one was in a position to correct him.

“No, nothing. Only that the Emperor will dine here tonight.”

Luke stepped over to a chair, Hallin half-rising, clearly resisting the urge to step forward in case Luke fell, his fragility still obvious, though he tried hard to hide it.

“Nothing more?” Luke prompted as he reached out for the chair to steady himself before he sat down.

“Only that I was ordered to arrange the meal in your private dining room rather than the State Dining Room.” Reece said, turning uneasily away as Luke stared at him. Though his injured right eye had healed, the damage had rendered the once pale blue iris discoloured across almost half its area, now almost as dark as the pupil itself, the contrast unsettling. So much so that even Reece found it disconcerting at times; unnerving to look into The Heir’s strangely mismatched eyes.

“Really?” Luke considered a moment more, aware that Reece was avoiding eye contact though not sure why. Then allowed the slightest of smiles to turn up the edges of his scarred lips. “I think I need to speak to Darrick.” he said, of his Wardrobe master.

Reece glanced back, raising his eyebrows in question.

“I’m looking for a shirt.” Luke replied enigmatically, “A very specific shirt - I haven’t worn it in… three years, but Darrick will know which it is.”

Reece was fascinated now, “Any particular reason?”

The Heir’s uncanny gaze turned meaningfully to the door in a pointed indication that someone else was about to enter, though he didn’t speak or gesture, everyone aware of the fact that surveillance was still active in this part of Luke’s apartment. Mara Jade catwalked into the room, precluding any further discussion, though Luke was no longer so inexperienced as to abruptly stop speaking, bringing the conversation to a more natural conclusion.

“I would imagine my dinner guest’s trying to make a statement - I’d hate him to think that I’d missed it.” He turned just slightly, “Good morning, Red.”

Mara stayed in the Commander’s quarters for the rest of the day, aware of the tense brittleness about him today; the sense of insular brooding. It didn’t bother her particularly; as with Palpatine, that outward detachment simply masked a racing mind.

One of only three or four people whom he allowed this close, Mara was well aware of both the rareness and the duality of her position. She remained both Skywalker’s bodyguard-come-Aide and, in the final analysis, Palpatine’s eyes and ears close to Luke; his ‘watcher’, as her master liked to refer to his many spies. Reece, whom Skywalker seemed to trust as much as Mara, was his second observer; her ‘corroborator’- proof that Mara’s own facts were accurate… It never failed to fascinate her that Skywalker allowed them both so close, since he had to know what they both were.

Recruited by Saté Pestage, Reece was, as her master expressed it, possessed of a 'quiet mind', which apparrently bought him sufficient trust to remain. Why she was allowed the same, Mara didn't know. This duality in her status was becoming increasingly… uncomfortable with the passage of time, but Palpatine had made it patently clear that if he had any doubts whatsoever, he would simply remove her from Skywalker’s retinue entirely. It was this knowledge which kept Mara from looking too closely at her own skewed ethics, aware on some level that it would be a rocky road leading only to trouble.

She knew after all that Skywalker was well aware of her reason for being there, yet despite this he never seemed particularly inclined judge her. He never had - it was one of the things which had fascinated her; drew her to him. If anything, he seemed rather more concerned with why it was her than the fact that she was there at all, and if he had his suspicions then he wasn’t about to mention them out loud - one of the things which infuriated her about him. But then again, she was hardly in a position to judge him for keeping secrets, given her position.

Luke did just that - remained quiet and introvert - for the best part of the day, lost in thought. He still wore only his drawstring sleep-trousers and a long linen dressing-gown, left loose in the heat of the day. He hadn’t bothered to dress more than a few times yet and disliked fastening the dressing-gown which snagged on the long metal tension bars still protruding from the polymer forms on his immobilised left arm and the bare skin across his collar bones.

Now he sat at the table in his private drawing room, gazing blankly at the dust motes which drifted in the shaft of sunlight in the stuffy, airless room, unthinkingly turning a long, dark splinter of plassteel over and over in his hand - his version of practicing the fine motor-coordination which Hallin had advised for his newly-fitted prosthetic - obviously playing some plan or scenario over and over in his head, looking for flaws in logic or judgement.

Hallin had given Skywalker the rough, twisted shard of metal several days earlier, Luke turning it over in his hand, “What’s this?”

“I though you might like it.” Hallin had said cryptically of the splinter, finger-length and diameter and set in a curling twist, the metal chemically discoloured by heat.

“What is it?” Luke prompted.

“That’s the piece that nearly killed you.” the slender medic said casually. “I took it out of your neck in surgery - it’s the reason you couldn’t speak for a while. It had pierced your windpipe side to side. Somebody somewhere is watching over you because the curl of the metal made it twist around your jugular as it entered but I had to do an emergency tracheotomy on the hangar floor to enable you to breathe past it. You were choking on your own blood.”

Luke turned the wicked splinter of shrapnel over in his hand, “So naturally you kept it.”

“Actually I felt I did a pretty impressive reconstruction of your throat in the resultant surgery so I kept it to show you. Thought you might appreciate my talents a little more.” That dry, confident mix of pride and vanity laced as ever with just enough self-depreciation to make it engaging.

“Well it’s nice to know you had your priorities straight.” Luke croaked, amused.

“I also remember reading somewhere once that back in the days when solid projectiles were used in guns, there was a saying - that there was a bullet somewhere with your name on it. It’s not quite a bullet, but that one unquestionably had your name on it. I thought you might like to keep it - just to prevent it making its way back into the public domain to somehow make another attempt at fulfilling its purpose.” Hallin held Skywalker’s mismatched eyes for a fraction too long at that, then turned away, suddenly embarrassed at the sentimentality.

Luke smiled amiably, “That’s what I have you for Hallin.” he dismissed easily.

“If I’d have been two minutes later onboard the Peerless, it would have made no difference.” Hallin maintained, all business now, his voice holding that touch of self-righteous scorn which only a medic could ever get away with. “Remember that next time you’re off gallivanting in your precious I-TIE.”

“You’ll always arrive at the very last minute to patch me up- you just like the drama.”

“No, I like sitting on the terrace with a tall drink and nothing better to do than watch the galaxy turn.” Hallin corrected. “I do not like patching you up at regular intervals and nursing my shredded nerves whilst I wait for your next emergency.” He glanced meaningfully at the long twist of plassteel, “Next time you’re about to do something foolish, look at that piece of shrapnel and remember that fact.”

By late afternoon, Luke had wandered out onto the wide balcony overlooking the Monolith's roof gardens and the sprawling metropolis beyond - the first time he had stepped outside since his injuries - and was leaning against the ornately-carved terrazzo stone balustrade, gazing out to the city.

Mara wandered casually out behind him, scowling in the bright light, the sun lowering on the horizon as tall, closely-packed buildings cast stretching shadows over the metropolis. He still had nowhere near his strength back Mara knew, but he was getting better every day now. She’d even caught him making a few experimental right-handed test-swings of his lightsaber hilt. He was, she could tell, itching to get back into practice.

“You shouldn’t be out on the balcony.” she admonished at last, eyes scanning the distant high-rise towers. “It’s an open invitation for a sniper with a range-rifle to take a shot.”

He seemed more amused than anything, “Mara, I just survived a four-click explosion at point-blank range - how likely do you think it is that one laser shot is gonna take me down?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah, well that’s not nearly strange enough for my life.” He dismissed easily without turning round.

She glanced at him, unconvinced. He was hardly at peak fitness, though she wasn’t about to mention that aloud.

“I’m fine.” He said, well aware of what she was thinking, choosing not to mention that the breeze was making his dressing-gown, light as it was, snatch painfully at the long metal tension bars across his collar bones - he wouldn’t miss them when they were gone.

Mara stood watching him for a few seconds, his linen dressing-gown fluttering in the warm summer breeze, his long, dark blond hair blown into disarray…
He glanced sideways at her momentarily, making her aware that she had stared too long, so she quickly looked away, following his gaze before turning and lifting herself up to sit on the wide stone balustrade, so confident in her own sense of balance that she remained oblivious to the lethal drop behind her. If it bothered Skywalker at all, then he hid it well.

Mara glanced back toward him just for a moment, “If I had a credit for every time that I found you looking out over this damn city…”

He grinned, still staring out over the densely-packed urban sprawl of affluent, luxurious high-rise buildings, the wealthiest and most prestigious on Coruscant - a view of the Imperial Palace doubled the value of a property here; he couldn’t imagine why. “Then maybe you could pay me back half of the credit you owe me from playing sabacc.”

Mara smiled, flicking her golden-red hair from her face in the warm breeze, “I’m just waiting until it’s worth my while to offer you double or quits.”

His own smile faltered, a brief shadow of doubt flickering across his face, gone in an instant, “See, that’s exactly the game I’m contemplating right now too.” he murmured quietly.

Mara glanced sideways at him, knowing he was thinking about the Emperor’s imminent arrival. His eyes were locked onto the twisted piece of shrapnel that Hallin had given him as he turned it over and over in his hand.

“I’d think very carefully before I crossed him.” she advised, keeping her tone light so that Luke would know she meant nothing by it other than to offer advice.

“I’m not thinking of crossing him - not at all.” Luke corrected, closing his fist about the wicked shard of plassteel. “Just… upping the stakes.”

Mara frowned, “To what?”

Skywalker set his head on one side but offered her nothing more, lapsing into silent thought once again, eyes roving the distant city, the huge buildings bathed in a carmine glow as dusk fell. Mara sighed, looking down as she kicked her heels against the balustrade, legs swinging. “You know, sometimes you’re worse than Palpatine with your secrets and your scheming.”

He only grinned, unoffended, “I’d be a fool to tell you and you know it.” he murmured quietly, though there was neither malice nor accusation in his voice.

Still, Mara felt a pang of guilt which kept her eyes to the ground, irresolute morals and deep-seated loyalties holding her to an uneasy silence.

Luke walked through to his dressing room to dress for dinner and the shirt that he had requested was waiting, freshly laundered and pressed, on his dressing stand. Ever-organised, Darrick had known exactly the shirt that Luke required and brought it from storage.

It was absolute black- a colour he seldom wore. A close-fitted, stand-collared dress shirt of smooth, refined cortal linen with tiny, hand-woven vinesilk knots forming multiple small buttons down the centre front, the fine braided loops which fastened them incorporated into a subtle, intricately-topstitched pattern, black-on black. He left them open partway, the fitted style of the shirt pulling against the tension bars set into broken bones, so now the meticulously stitched high collar hung casually loose, the fine fabric cool against his skin, perfectly fitted, handmade to the highest quality.

This was the shirt that he had worn the very first night he had woken here - the first time that he had faced the Emperor. He’d felt deeply, uncomfortably out of place in it then, awkward and self-conscious surrounded by this casual, all-pervasive opulence. Now he thought nothing of it at all; like everything here, it existed simply to serve a purpose and clarify intent, subtle messages conveyed even in this.

The elaborate shirt was not to his taste, having been chosen by Palpatine probably before his arrival, but then that was the point. The Emperor had not dined in the private dining room of Luke’s quarters since those first twelve weeks, when he had visited every single night, Luke escorted by guards to the same room at the same time, the table laid nightly for a dinner which neither ever ate.

Now, in coming here and commanding dinner be served in that same room, Palpatine was looking to make a statement - a return to that moment; that opportunity.
This was, Luke knew, a carefully considered reminder of what had been, of how much had changed since then. More than that, it was the chance at that moment again - for Luke to remake that decision from a better informed, less naïve standpoint. His Master was offering a clean slate and Luke was willing to indulge him - that much, at least, had definitely changed.

But for every point that had changed over the last three years, another had remained the same. Because Luke still brought his own agendas to the table - he still had his own will and his own goals - he had simply learned how to conceal them; learned to play the game.

Which was exactly what he intended to do tonight.

Palpatine was looking for a response, a clarification of his precious Jedi’s viewpoint in consideration of what had happened. He had gone to great lengths to prompt, to induce this change - Luke now believed absolutely that Palpatine had instigated this though he wasn’t so foolish as to try looking for proof, which would only alert Palpatine to his realization. It was pointless, since intentional or not, the end result remained the same. In this particular manipulation, his Master had been successful.
Because it had completely clarified Luke’s position, isolated and unsupported as it was on all sides. Made it painfully obvious that Luke had no-one, no-one to rely on but himself.

This one fact was about to become the driving force behind all his actions and objectives. He’d left himself vulnerable for too long, torn between conflicting principles and loyalties- Palpatine had been right to point that out to him. Well now he had a new allegiance - the one he should have adopted long ago.

Himself. His plans. His goals.

Yes, Palpatine had sought a reaction, and Luke intended to oblige. For his own ends.

CHAPTER NINE

Luke waited patiently to be invited into the massive, ebony-panelled dining room, standing before the tall bank of windows in the drawing room beyond, watching the day settle from the sky, city lights casting an orange glow into inky blackness.

When the heavy double-doors were opened and he entered, it was to find his Master standing before the imposing bulk of the massive stone fireplace, exactly as he had that first night, a fire set within it despite the warmth of the evening. The bank of high glass doors onto the balcony were all open to counter the heat of the flames, something which would never have been allowed when he had first been brought here - would in fact have been impossible, the doors having been replaced only when the rooms’ occupant was no longer a flight risk. At the time a series of inches-thick, tensile-wire-embedded transparisteel military-grade viewports, cabled into massive girders about the windows, had been hidden within the body of reinforced walls. A prison to hold a Jedi, as his Master had said at the time. Luke had still breached them, a single Force-induced blow taking out both the windows and most of the surrounding wall, so well had they been anchored. But he’d done it.

Had it been the Light Side or Darkness which afforded him that strength? He didn’t remember anymore, couldn’t recall at what point he’d begun to falter, though he remembered with pin-sharp clarity the moment of his downfall. His ‘revelation’, as his Master often referred to it, though Luke wasn’t sure why - they both knew what it was.

The Emperor turned slowly, his long cloak rustling against the polished marble of the floor, the harsh, flickering light of the fire playing across his wizened, haggard features. The first time he had seen them, Luke had been appalled at their severity - now, they were more familiar to him than his own. He seldom looked in a mirror any more; didn’t care for what he saw.

Luke stepped painfully down into a kneeling bow, injuries still hindering him, and the Emperor immediately gestured for him to stand, voice laden with carefully-measured sentiment. “Rise- rise, my friend.”

Palpatine walked to the table and sat, smiling in empty indulgence, watching as his Jedi followed, sitting only when his Master had, aware of how much had changed in the boy since they were last at this table.

Servants entered and whisked in silent efficiency about them, uncovering dishes and filling tall, etched-glass goblets. Skywalker waited respectfully until the Emperor had taken the first mouthful before eating himself, the action neither pointed nor reluctant but quite composed; at ease with the protocol. Palpatine did not eat further, but then nor did his advocate - neither man had come here to eat. Instead he settled back, watching his feral Jedi, remembering…

He had not given a single step of his arduous conversion, had fought Palpatine every meeting, every word, every moment. Nothing had been surrendered - every victory had been dragged blow by blow from that stubborn, recalcitrant, gloriously obstinate will.

It had been a long path from capture to control to commitment. Not like his father; Anakin’s desire to be with and to protect his wide-eyed, naïve little Senator had in the final analysis been, if not actually positive then at least well-meaning, all be it easily twisted. But Palpatine had needed more to hold Anakin- had needed stronger, darker emotions - and thanks to Obi-Wan’s spectacular betrayal he had found them, cementing Vader’s resolve in a way that Palpatine could never have engineered, igniting negative emotions which held a power and a resonance to scar far deeper than even Mustafar’s burning flames.

Obedience; deferral to Palpatine’s will was one thing, and it would have held Vader for a while, as it had his son... but in mind and body, not in soul.

Betrayal and assault - a personal attack by those he had trusted - that bought Skywalker's soul, just as it had his father’s.

Oh, it was an incomparable, glorious thing to see the boy like this - to see him willingly discard those last tattered shreds of weakness with which the last of the Jedi had tried to tie him to pointless, restrictive restraints. He was beyond them all now - except his Master. Because Palpatine knew what made him tick- he had, after all, set it all in motion. Had taken the Jedi and made the Sith. Before today, there had always been something; some ghost of a memory of the past which the boy had clung to, believing it pure and untainted, holding it up as some perfect ideal.

And they had destroyed it... not Palpatine, but them. The very people the boy had admired and revered had sullied and corrupted it.

His Dark Jedi glanced up, the movement still uneasy, and those strange, sharp, wonderfully mismatched his eyes caught Palpatine’s own. He was still injured and bitter and angry, and he wanted someone to blame…

And Palpatine would give him someone - would make it personal.

“I have a name for you, my friend.” the Emperor said at last with casual nonchalance, “Two in fact. Mon Mothma signed the warrant commanding your assassination herself, and the Imperial traitor Crix Madine countersigned and executed it- it was he who originally brought the idea to the attention of the Rebellion’s Chief of Staff.”

Skywalker’s eyes narrowed in consideration, the cool, contained outrage at hearing those names blasting out through the Force like a wavefront, Palpatine basking in its power.

“They alone?” His Jedi placed his fork to the side of the plate, the meal forgotten, uncanny eyes narrowing. “There are no other names - no-one else was involved?”

“No-one else. I have read the communiqués between the task force and Madine’s office, all encrypted. No-one else knew but Madine and Mothma.”

Would he want the names of those who planted the bombs too? That would be unfortunate - firstly because Palpatine wanted to keep his Jedi’s focus, his anger, completely concentrated. And secondly, however unlikely, it may come to light that Palpatine had known about the two Rebel infiltration units who had been working on the Peerless, and allowed them continued access.

They were long dead now of course - dead men told no tales and in truth, Palpatine had not expected the assassination attempt to be a fraction as close to successful as it was - someone had to take the brunt of his own wrath.
But it was far better for Palpatine to remain completely removed from this. There were to be no ambiguities. Skywalker had taken this final step forward and as far as he was aware, he had done so of his own free will, his own decision, without any influence from his Master. And Palpatine intended for it to stay that way.

“How do you know you have them all- Madine could have been sending the same messages to several Chiefs of Staff?”

He could so easily have implicated other, closer allies, Palpatine knew... but all in good time. “No. My agent is in a position to monitor all incoming and outgoing comms. The only communications mentioning the task force went between Madine and Mon Mothma.”

“He’s sure of that?”

“Very sure. Leemarit has total access. He’s completely trusted- has been for many years.”

Skywalker was silent, nodding slowly as he considered the facts, fists balled one inside the other before his scarred face as he leaned on the spotless linen tablecloth, the white of the polymer form and the steel of the bars which held his shattered arm together just visible at his unfastened cuff.

“Well now isn’t that interesting…” he murmured at last, almost to himself.

Suddenly aware of his Master’s scrutiny, Skywalker looked up, guarded and wary, and Palpatine smiled a contented grin into those wonderful unmatched ice-blue eyes.

“How far you’ve come, my friend.” Palpatine murmured at last, benevolent and contented, “It was a difficult path you walked, but it has only made you stronger. From ignorance to enlightenment - from day to night…..” He set his head to one side, ochre eyes fixed on the subject of his musings, and the boy gazed back unfazed.
Would he do as Palpatine hoped? Would he take that final step - cut that cord; hunt down those he had once venerated.

Because the truth was that even now, after three long years, Palpatine was never quite sure, that knife-edge volatility as wild and feral as ever. Would he ever truly tame it - in truth, did he even want to? “Will you howl in the Darkness…my Wild Wolf?”

Luke tilted his head indulgently, for the first time genuinely accepting of Palpatine’s epithet, willing to give his Master whatever he wished - as long as those wishes coincided with his own intent.

He half-smiled, unaware of the ruthless menace in his own scarred features in that moment. “Give me the hunt and I’ll make sure I’m heard.

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