Mara sat hunched down in a small droid maintenance corridor overlooking the aft bay, which was always closed to all personnel besides the 701st stormtroopers, The Heir’s own regiment. The Untouchables, they were being called now, and with good reason; no one had access to the areas of the ship which they were stationed in, neither docking bays nor accommodations nor supplies nor recreation bays. They were a completely separate entity within the Destroyer. It had been done gradually of course, in subtle stages—Skywalker was too good at this kind of play to stumble in its execution any more. The 701st were practically always split up, and they moved often, barracks maintained at several locations in the fleet and planet-side, but Palace Intel had still slowly come to realise that they had little idea of numbers or identities any more. They had all the official figures of course, and they all added up... It just didn't feel right to Mara.

So she was on a little recon. She'd managed to trace the shipwide droid maintenance ducts to a point where she was close enough to an internal wall of the 701st’s aft bay, and had spent a less than ideal afternoon a month or so ago on hands and knees in the cramped space, drilling two tiny holes to set two surveillance lenses, accessing the inside of the bay, close to the high ceiling.

To avoid being picked up in random anti-surveillance scans, the lenses were shielded and live-wire-only, requiring Mara to actually be with the system when it was active, and to power it down when she left, but the payoff was that this made it difficult to detect even on close scans. But it also meant that she was spending yet another night sitting in a cramped, stuffy, unheated maintenance duct and watching a small screen showing a huge, neatly arrayed docking bay practically devoid of life. Apparently even if she had nothing better to do with her night, the 701st did.

Reece was on duty with Skywalker tonight, the pair going through reams of reports from Abregado-rae's official agencies, as part of the Peerless’ tour of duty. They'd made planetary orbit three days earlier and Luke was just...hanging around, it seemed to Mara—procrastinating. Looking at accounts which were obviously forged—he knew that as well as she did. At the tip of the Shapani Bypass, Abregado-rae had long been the unofficial center for all smuggling operations entering the Colonies, the planetary wealth probably doubling due to bribes and deals. But none of this was new, and Luke was generally a great advocate of ‘better the devil you know,’ which made his close scrutiny now all the more puzzling.

The obvious answer of course was that he was delaying his return to Coruscant. They were almost two months into the prolonged tour of duty, and were now completing their wide loop and heading back towards Coruscant, only a few more scheduled stops to go. And though neither had said so, they both knew that when they reached Coruscant and the Palace, their nightly meetings were suspended and their affair put on hold, so in truth Mara wasn't inclined to complain about the length of stay, or looking too hard for its reason.

They had...settled was altogether the wrong word, but Mara had felt a slow change over the last few months as she and Luke had been together, safely away from prying eyes on Coruscant. Their affair remained nothing if not explosive, but then that was part of the draw for Mara.

He had changed so much in the last four years. All the big, sweeping changes were so easy to mark, but it was the subtle ones which had crept upon him so gradually that she couldn't mark an individual moment or name a date, that Mara considered now. For so long, it seemed that when she’d looked at him she’d seen the barest glint of Palpatine's precious wolf in his eyes… Now she often felt as if she were looking into the eyes of the wolf, searching for some trace of the man beneath.

Did it bother her?

No. She'd spent her life walking amongst wolves, so much so that it felt natural to her now, the spark which lit the flame. The man who had come here had been fascinating and impassioned and honorable, and maybe if things had been different...

But they weren't and it didn't matter. Because now she had a wolf, and the thrill in being close to that stormy, feral, volatile edge would always bring her back one more time. Occasionally she still saw the pilot who had been brought here, and the moments were all the more valued for their rareness...but much as she’d been drawn in by the man with the sky blue eyes long before the wolf ever turned those ice-cool, mismatched eyes on her, she also loved the exhilaration of running with that wolf...and she knew it.

She gazed blankly at the image of the empty bay, mind wandering...

She remembered distinctly when she had defended the Emperor once during their last stay on Coruscant, their relationship already irrevocably changed but still very much an unknown quantity. Beladon D'Arca had turned to Luke as they had made their way through the expansive stretch of the Attendants Hall following Court. Palpatine had stopped to enter into conversation with someone, forcing everyone in his entourage to wait until he set forward again.

Standing a half-pace behind Luke, Mara had watched him backstep as D'Arca approached, but with nowhere to retreat, he’d been forced into conversation, the influential head of the Royal House D’Arca congratulating Luke on his upcoming command, the Invincible, adding that he had great respect for those the Emperor valued and asking whether he may press The Heir to attend an upcoming event at his estate on Coruscant.

When Luke had issued a polite decline, citing Fleet obligations, D'Arca had nodded appreciatively, stating that he of course understood—many of his family held positions of great responsibility within the Fleet. He did, however, insist that The Heir should consider an invitation to take advantage of his family's extensive hunting lodges on their estates on Borleias, Commenor or Teyr open-ended; surely, he espoused, a thin smile to his dry lips, the Emperor's Wolf would appreciate the opportunity to indulge in a hunt?

Watching Luke's shoulders tighten from behind as he straightened slowly, Mara had momentarily worried that he may actually knock the man to the ground there and then. But the procession moved abruptly on, saving her—and probably D'Arca—from having to deal with that event, though just to be sure she had stepped level to his opposite side as Luke set forward, murmuring hushed counsel as he had quietly cursed his Master for giving him the epithet at all.

It was then that she’d made the mistake of claiming in whispered tones that it fitted him… And he'd rounded on her, eyes ablaze though his face remained a neutral mask, his voice low and taut in the crowded hall. "If I'm a wolf then it's because I live in their company."

"I didn't say otherwise," Mara had defended mildly as they walked slowly forward, her eyes front, experiencing the same dangerous thrill she always felt at being in his company when he was like this—daring herself to step closer still.
"Then you're a fool to be here,” he’d growled, stance subtly aggressive. “Never trust a wolf."

She'd hesitated, glancing momentarily to Luke, unable to stop herself from tensing slightly in reaction to his body language, aware of how close to the edge she was walking in continuing this conversation, of how quickly that volatile temperament could now shift.

"I trust you," Mara had countered, emphasizing the difference, knowing instinctively how to calm her wolf.

He’d stared ahead in silence for long moments...and though the wild fury bled from his eyes, they remained scornful and fierce.

"No, you don't," he’d murmured at last, the menace contained now—restrained. "Not really. You tell yourself you can trust, you think you're safe because for some reason you believe you can control it...but I can't, so I'm damn sure that you can't. You're not nearly as safe as you think."

It was an incredible admission, not least because he so clearly believed it.

"You're saying that you're capable of hurting me?" Mara had asked, glancing to him, shaking her head decisively. "I don't believe you."

He turned away, dismissive now, the moment and his temper completely mastered again as he stepped ahead of her—but not before he issued one last caution: "I'm saying if you reach your hand out to a wolf, you shouldn't be surprised when it bites."



Mara hunkered down in the cramped corridor now, considering his words. It had been a warning, she knew, and it had been genuine.

Did she trust him?

She wanted to say yes...but if so, then what was she doing here tonight?

And then again, bearing her present actions in mind...should he trust her?

Her consideration was abruptly halted as the docking bay below her dropped its shields momentarily to allow a large shuttle to enter. Mara shimmied upright in the enclosed space, frowning; there was nothing due to come in on the Bridge logs—and even if there were, this was hardly a recognized port of entry.

The Skipray, an Intel 420, fast and tough and loved by local enforcement and smugglers alike, settled to a smooth stop in the center of the bay, a small group of 701st Stormtroopers coming to a halt before it.

Mara watched two men in civilian clothes walk down the ramp, cursing the fact that she hadn't chosen a lens that could zoom—who'd have thought she'd see anyone but troopers?

The younger man, slim and slight with bottle-blue hair, halted at the ship's ramp while they conversed a moment, then the second, obviously in charge, tall and athletic with dark hair and a thick, heavy moustache, set forward with the troops, though his body-language inferred that he was anything but intimidated.

They disappeared from the lens's wide field of view and Mara scrabbled up, abandoning her screen where it lay, intending to go and try to pick them up in the corridor two levels down near the bay.

When she got down to the point where the restricted corridors joined more public ones, there was no one to be seen. Mara briefly considered contacting Security to check where they had gone, but hesitated; either they had come in under the sensors somehow, or they were allowed in by someone in Security, in which case alerting them to the fact that she knew someone was aboard wasn't exactly a bright idea—clearly this wasn't intended to be common knowledge. And if the anonymous visitor had been smuggled onboard, they would probably be moving him around the ship the same way.

She frowned, walking slowly down the empty corridor. Either way, considering the docking bay that he had used, she had a pretty good idea where their mystery guest had gone...









"I seem to be a freighter or two short," Talon Karrde announced, neither irritated nor absolving. "I counted them. Twice."

The Heir smiled easily, in good humor tonight, and Karrde wondered again at his true age; at times, when he was tired and serious and volatile, he seemed very close to Karrde's own age, but in casual moments like this when he was at ease, genuinely smiling, the smuggler could swear he was only in his twenties—early twenties at that.

Like everyone else with any kind of vested interest, Karrde had expended serious amounts of currency trying to unearth some concrete evidence as to who The Heir really was...and like everyone else, he'd come up blank.

The man himself flashed that genial smile which pulled at the deep scar running through his lips as he spoke in a perfectly modulated Coruscanti accent—too perfect, to Karrde's mind.

"You had too many anyway. Think of the maintenance I've saved you."

"Yes, and all that revenue which I will now have to turn down was becoming rather a drag."

"I'll sort something out for you," The Heir allowed casually, walking back from the console table with two glasses of brandy in his hand and offering one to Karrde. "I'll leave them at Bilbringi and make sure you have their operating codes. Which would you like, Brigs or Xebecs?"

"I'll have Xebecs," Karrde said, satisfied with the exchange. Although the ships would have no upgrades and need their military past disguised, they would be newer, more reliable and considerably bigger than the freighters he'd lost. It was a fair exchange, generous in fact, and the man who offered it did so without conditions, he knew that. "Will they come with papers of ownership?"

"No, but then I doubt you had those for the ones I lost. They won't show up on any Imperial registry as missing." The Heir paused just slightly. "And I think someone once told me you knew a man who could forge documents and call signs...but I could be wrong."

Karrde raised his thick eyebrows at the good-natured dig, but didn't answer, the matter settled as far as he was concerned.

His own transport, the heavily modified freighter Wild Karrde, remained in orbit about the nearby planet of Dentaal, a popular smugglers’ safe-spot on the edge of the Tapani Sector, where they could quietly and safely watch the Peerless, the Dominant and the Zephyr in the process of making Abregado-rae's Ruling Council very uncomfortable at the moment. A fact that seemed to put The Heir in particularly good spirits.

But then, it always seemed to Karrde that the man's mood lifted in direct proportion to the amount of time he had been away from Coruscant. He wondered briefly whether he should point this out but decided against it; observations of his personal life were never welcome, whatever his mood, and anyway the conversation had moved on, The Heir's demeanour tightening somewhat as he turned to more important business.

"I need to know if you have access to a bio-chemist—a reliable one."

"What kind?" Karrde asked easily, curious now.

"A DNA decoder. Someone capable of disassembling the constituents of a tailor-made drug and synthesising at the very least an antidote and preferably an immunization."

Karrde frowned—that kind of specialist was hardly routine. The type who could mix up recreational drugs or break them down to be shipped in their constituent parts so they wouldn't be recognized was commonplace, but decoding complex tailor-made drugs was three steps beyond anyone he could think of offhand.

"I'll see what I can track, but we don't use one ourselves. What you're talking about would necessitate an extensive lab and considerable specialist equipment. The..." He almost said it; almost said, ‘The Empire keeps tabs on that kind of thing,' but caught himself in time.

"I can provide any equipment they need, plus funds to set the right individual up on a Rim System planet," The Heir assured, clearly well aware of what he was asking. "But they have to be completely reliable and discreet. If you don’t trust them implicitly, if they’ve made even one slip, I’m not interested."

"What would they be required to do?"

"Break down a sample of a drug I’ll supply. I don't have the sample yet and I have no exact date as to when it will arrive, but as soon as it does, I can turn it over. If you find someone, I’ll keep them financed."

"Species?" Karrde prompted; that kind of specialization would probably narrow the field considerably.

The Heir paused just slightly. "Human, as far as I know."

Not himself then, Karrde reasoned. He couldn't resist pressing just slightly. "Ensuring good will, or making a deal?"

He didn’t expect anything other than the vaguest answer—and he wasn’t disappointed.

"I haven’t decided yet."

"Would this be for a certain well-placed house named D'Arca?"

The Heir’s eyes came sharply up, and Karrde knew instantly that he’d just let slip a rumor that had caught his attention.

"Why would you say that?"

Karrde shrugged. "Apparently they've been going out of their way recently to make it known that they hold a great deal of respect for the new Heir. Beladon D'Arca seems to have made it his mission to be known to be backing you."

"Really?"

"You didn't know?" The D'Arcas were a high-ranking, powerful family, well placed in both the Royal Houses and the military, and therefore definitely the type that The Heir generally seemed to make it his business to know about.

"Yes, I’ve heard it several times recently from different sources, all saying pretty much the same thing. I'm just curious as to why."

"Perhaps he's placing an each-way bet," Karrde suggested easily. It certainly wasn’t above the likes of the politically biased D'Arca to be backing both Palpatine and his Heir.

"But why stick his neck out and make that public?" The Heir murmured, unconvinced. "Why risk his present position?"

Karrde shrugged to hide his surprise; this was the first time that The Heir had ever really entered into a discussion with him—actually asked his opinion. "One must speculate to accumulate. It's not enough for a family like that to be influential, they need to ensure that they maintain that power base long-term…and if possible, improve it."

The Heir seemed to consider that. "If you hear anything else, try to find what the link is between the D’Arcas and myself—the one that they're pushing publically at least."

"Do you want me to put someone on it?"

"No, not unless something interesting comes up. Just keep your ear to the ground."

Karrde nodded, taking a sip from the glass; so whatever game the D'Arcas were playing, The Heir wasn't personally involved—as yet. If Karrde believed him that was, which he felt he did in this instance. That had been a rare burst of genuine curiosity he'd just seen. It could, of course, have been an act; Karrde was, after all, an information broker, and The Heir knew that he wasn’t Karrde’s only client. But he also hoped that The Heir knew he wasn't foolish or unprofessional enough to actually pass on anything said between himself and his most valued, influential client to a third party.

He glanced down at the glass in his hand, the taste of the Corellian brandy bringing his thoughts back to the moment; it was intensely smoky, too rich and tannin-laced for his liking. "I really must remember to bring you some Ruusan brandy next time I come."

The Heir leaned back in his seat as it adjusted to conform to his relaxed pose, unoffended despite his next words. "I'm insulted; you spurn my hospitality."

"Not at all. Just your brandy." Karrde left a long pause before speaking again, keeping his voice light, not looking to The Heir. "Speaking of hospitality, I hear you gave a shipful of Bothans their freedom?"

The younger man glanced away, that dry, disinterested façade dropping instantly into place. "I'm a magnanimous man, didn't you know?"

"Actually I did. But you seem to go to such lengths to hide it normally."

The Heir only smiled tightly, eyes calculating now, casual informality gone. "I'm not trying to alienate the Bothan people; I was closing down a spy ring, nothing more. The fact that the group were all Bothans was incidental. I released the Attin'Cho and its crew to clarify that, publicly."

He looked meaningfully to Karrde at the last, and the smuggler chief knew that this information was offered with the intention that it be widely disseminated.

"I'm sure they'll be relieved to know," Karrde acknowledged. He didn't mind passing this on to a few choice people; smooth flying for his client meant smooth flying for Karrde—and that was after all, what he had dedicated his life toward.

"I have one other job for you," The Heir said easily, bringing Karrde's attention to the moment. "I'll need a new com code; I know you like a little notice to start working one up."

Karrde frowned, surprised. "You think they've cracked the existing one? Ghent's usually better than..."

"No, they haven't, but I don't intend to give them the time to try. Habits are dangerous, you know that."

Karrde put the empty glass on the table before him, voice straining as he reached forward. "Then you should definitely stop drinking Corellian brandy."










The comm set into the unit beside Luke's bed sounded very quietly, jolting both Mara and Luke awake. It sounded twice then it cut off, falling silent again. Mara remained still, feeling Luke stir where her arm was draped about him.

When it sounded again he rose quickly from the bed and walked through to the main room without answering it, pulling a gown about himself as the door slid shut behind him, leaving Mara to frown in the darkness. She glanced over at the chrono, just visible in the dim starlight which dusted the surfaces in its muted glow—it was still almost two hours before reveille.

Through the closed door she heard him slide open a drawer and fumble within for a few moments before he answered the comm, presumably from the comlink set into his desk in the main room.

"Yes?"

Silence followed, in which Mara realized that the drawer opening must have been for him to retrieve an earpiece to take the call privately. Obviously the on-off-on tone was a signal to do so; the question was, from whom? She frowned in the still silence, holding her breath, listening to the decidedly one-sided conversation.

"Yes... Yes. When? Hm. No, bring it here...yes."

Silence fell again, and Mara held still, listening for some sound to indicate that he was returning...

The loud bang as he slammed the earpiece forcibly onto the desk made her jump despite herself, then he muttered something under his breath in a language she didn't know—Bocce maybe? It didn't matter, she knew a curse when she heard one.

He didn't return, remaining in the dark of the main room.

Eventually the door entry sounded. The murmured voices at the entrance to his quarters were too quiet to pick out, the conversation too brief to decipher the second party, then the door closed and a few moments later he returned to the bedroom, sliding back into bed and lying on his back with a long, low sigh.

"Problems?" Mara asked, as casually as she could muster.

Considering his normal reticence she didn't expect an answer, though she suspected that often he was guarded just out of habit, with nothing particular to hide.

"Nothing unexpected," he stated mechanically, gaze to the ceiling.

She rested her arm across his chest and felt his muscles tense. When she looked up minutes later, he was still staring into the darkness, a million light-years away.

He shifted around for the next forty-five minutes before finally rising, probably more resigned to the customary fact that he wasn't able to sleep than because he wished to get up, Mara figured, learning his habits now. He disappeared into the main room without a word.

She waited for a while, but when he didn't return and she heard no further noise, Mara eventually rose and dressed, padding quietly about the room. She needed to be up and away a good hour before reveille anyway, whilst the guards were still sluggish and before the shift change put more people into the corridors.

When she finally slid the door open, fastening her gunbelt as she did so, he was still sitting in the dark in the heavy, hide-covered chair before the viewpane, gazing out into space, elbows resting on the arms, fingers steepled before his mouth.

He remained still and mute when she approached, so Mara leaned down, hand resting against his chest just to touch his bare skin, kissing him lightly on the forehead when he still didn't move his hands or lift his face to her.

"I have to go," she murmured simply and he nodded, preoccupied.

Mara set across the still-darkened room, curious as to what had instigated his distance... She was three paces away, passing the polished expanse of his work-desk, when the glint of starlight on metal caught her eye.

Thrown onto the desk were the two surveillance lenses she’d installed into the 701st's docking bay, their shattered transmitters and Mara's viewer beside them. She'd left them on—damnit, when she'd chased after the unknown visitor in the 701st's hold, she'd left them active—and so traceable! Mara faltered to a stop.

"Oh, don't forget those," Luke said casually without turning. "I'm sure you'll want to use them again."

His voice, completely even and without the slightest emotional tell, left Mara cold, uncertain of what he would do.

"I wasn't watching you," she said at last, though even she heard the petty distinction.

"You were watching mine, which amounts to the same thing," Luke stated, his cool reserve unnerving.

"I was charged with providing numbers of the 701st, that's all," Mara defended. She'd never been caught out before, not like this—by Luke.

"You could have simply asked," he said evenly, still turned away from her, the atmosphere charged.

"Could I?" Mara tensed, aware from his manner of how close she was to that unpredictable, raw edge—daring herself to step closer still. "Fine, then here's a question—an Intel 420 Skipray arrived in that bay last night. A man stayed just over an hour then left… Who was he?"



Luke stared at Mara, momentarily lost for words as she tipped her head expectantly. Because this was not the direction he had expected this to go. He'd been livid—incensed that she'd set surveillance on his troops then had the gall to come here and lie beside him!

And now, suddenly, he was on the defensive—and he knew it.

Considering how and when they'd found her equipment, he knew she'd ask eventually, just not now. The surveillance sweep had been initiated because Karrde's ship was in the hangar bay, detecting the devices by accident simply because she'd happened to leave them active—presumably when she'd tried to get a better look at the unknown visitor. If she'd deactivated them before setting off, they would still be there, undetected and operational…and she would still be here, sleeping guilefully beside him.

And now she had the audacity to ask a question which she knew he had no intention of answering. Nor did he want to make a big issue out of refusing to answer, which would only draw more attention to the fact, particularly when he'd just told her to ask him such things—if for no other reason than to control the answers she passed on.

The only path left to him was to try to take her off-topic and hide his avoidance behind a bigger statement. He shook his head, having no real problem summoning up some sense of offense. "You're unreal, you know that? You spent hours last night spying on me, watching my every move so that you can go and report it all to Palpatine, and then what? You send your report, you walk over here and just climb into bed with me without missing a beat."

She stared at him, eyes ablaze, wounded and outraged in the same moment.

Knowing her as he did, it was so easy now to push her over the edge. "What's wrong, Mara, didn't get enough information? Or is this just another regular surveillance job for you—long hours but at least you're not on your feet all day."

"You son of a Nek!" Mara’s hand pulled back to deliver a blow, but rather than the open-handed slap that most women would give, hers was a tight fist, all the strength of her shoulder behind her arm as she roundhoused the strike forward.

Luke stepped up and in, right hand out to block the blow and yank her arm forwards and down, dragging her to him, using his own bodyweight to stop her as she barrelled into him.

His own outrage welled up in him, both at his own words—a provocation yes, but tinged in truth—and at Mara's reaction: indignation that she had no right to adopt, to his mind. Darkness answered, as it always did, dropping his voice to a threatening whisper as he leaned in, holding her by the top of her arm, mouth so close to her ear that her hair fluttered as he hissed, "Come on, Mara, you're faster than that...you're gonna need to be, if you want to walk out of here."



Mara yanked her arm back, increasingly aware of the heated anger rising from Luke’s cool detachment. She’d backed up two steps before she’d even realized it—but she stopped; made herself hold her ground as his head tilted in warning, pale eyes almost hidden by twists of dark hair.

She raised her chin, more defensive by the moment—and for Mara, that meant she went on the offensive. “Please—if I’d asked, you would have lied. That's what you do—which is why this is what I do, why Palpatine put me here. You know that.”

Luke loosed a feral grin at her justification. “Palpatine didn’t put you here, Mara—or did he?”

Mara swung wildly, intending to catch him a backwards blow across the face, but he was fast enough to twist away untouched, swatting her hand clear. “That’s the last one you get for free…or do you think you're the exception? Do you think you've bought your immunity? Those aren't the rules, Mara, you know that. If it's still okay for you to spy on me then I think I'm within my rights to retaliate, don't you? Business as usual, that's what you just said—and you know what I do when I catch people who do this. Palpatine places his spies and I stop them…remove them."

Mara turned to leave, aware that this time some line had been crossed and this had slipped from argument to antagonism, to genuine, unpredictable danger. But as she backstepped, but Luke sidestepped with her, slamming his hand against the wall to the side of Mara's head, blocking her exit.

Mara's fiery temper flared and she grabbed lightening-fast at his hand, twisting it into a pressure grip, bending his wrist against the natural movement... He reached out, grabbing her arm and twisting his own hand free in one smooth move.

She launched out with the heel of her free hand toward his face and he brought her arm which he still held across to bat down against the inside of her other elbow, stopping her blow before it made contact without releasing her. Moves she'd taught him, strike and counter-strike, flawlessly timed.

It was a fast, controlled fight at very close quarters, Mara pressed against the wall with no room to maneuver, Luke using speed and strength against her greater experience, each move and counter carried out in absolute silence, the only noise that of skin contacting skin. The flurry of movement only stopped when he finally got a good enough hold on her arm to pin it to the wall at head-height, wrist out—

And Mara drew the holdout blaster from her hip and leveled it at his midriff.

He froze, tilting his head just slightly to look down.

When he looked slowly back up to her, Mara arched her eyebrows pointedly. "Back off."

Luke remained where he was, still holding her other arm pinned. "You're going to shoot me now?" he asked levelly.

Mara held her resolve, chin lifting. "Back off," she repeated, very serious.

"Do you really think you can hurt me with a gun any more, Mara?"

She felt a momentary flare of panicked doubt pressing in on her, blanketing her thoughts, and struggled free of it, realizing that it wasn't her own, that he was placing it there. Setting her head to one side, Mara raised her eyebrows as she pushed the muzzle against his bare skin, outraged and furious and deadly serious.

"Why, you think you can dodge? ‘Cos I think this may be a little too close, even for you."

"I don't need to. I've already drained the power out."

Mara hesitated just a fraction of a second. "You're bluffing."

"I never bluff, Red, you know that."

She narrowed her eyes further, trying to see through that set, neutral expression and past the hard warning in those mismatched eyes... "You bluff occasionally..."

He didn't bother to answer, just stared down at her.

Finally she cracked just a fraction. "When?"

"Last night." He tilted his head just slightly. "I don't mind sleeping with a poisonous viper but I'm not about to let it bite."

Incensed, Mara had pulled the trigger before she even knew what she was doing—

The compact blaster let out an exhausted cough, insufficient gas in the chamber to ignite.

Neither of them moved for long seconds, blue eyes locked on green as the silence stretched to shatter-point...

Finally Luke let out a low sigh, part amusement, part exasperation, his arm muscles bunching as he pushed away from the wall to release her, the moment of raw anger dispersed by the outrageous act; Luke Skywalker stepping free from the influence of Palpatine's Wolf. "We are two of the most screwed up people I've ever met."

Mara too grinned, the burst of edgy adrenaline making her giddy now. "Fortunately we found each other. Anybody else and I think we'd have killed them by now."

He turned, his easy accusation undemanding. "I can't believe you pulled the trigger."

"You called me a viper!" Mara defended lightly.

He turned and walked away toward the refresher as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Mara followed, dropping her blaster on the bed as she passed, choosing not to notice the tremble in her hand.

"Do you always empty my blaster?" She knew this wasn't the case—she'd have noticed.

"No," he replied, raising his voice over the sound of the water. "I didn't last night either."

Frowning, Mara backstepped into the bedroom to pick up her blaster and turn it over to check the power; it was almost full.

She leaned on the refresher doorframe, the fine, warm mist from the water shower cloying. "How did you do that?"

"Made it misfire. With the Force."

She nodded, impressed. "Neat trick. I've never heard..." Mara paused, realizing. "I knew you were bluffing!"

He shrugged, his back to her now, the water streaming off his body. "It doesn't work every time. If there's already enough gas in the chamber to ignite..."

Mara stared, amazed and disturbed that he'd let her pull the trigger when he could so easily have stopped her. Why the hell hadn't he stopped her? She shook her head slowly. "You and your stupid Fate, Skywalker."

What was going on in his head that had made him prepared to take that kind of gamble again and again? A thought occurred, taking her mind away from that disturbing question; she was suddenly, chillingly aware that she could have shot Luke Skywalker in the belly at close range...

That was how furious he could make her. Was this what normal people did in the passion of the moment, or was Skywalker right and they were both just way too screwed up?

Then again, even she tended not to actually shoot people for calling her names, and Skywalker sure as hell wasn't in the habit of letting people take potshots at him with impunity...

Was this...love—or at least as near as they could get in their twisted, warped little world? Because she knew exploitation and she knew manipulation, and it didn't feel like this. She continued to stare at his back, at once elated and energized...and deeply disquieted.

"In or out?" he said evenly, without turning.

"What?" Mara asked, roused from her reverie.

"In or out—it's cold and I'm naked here."

Mara grinned, stepping forward into the steam-filled room. "Well in, naturally."











Luke stood quietly before the wide viewpanes to the rear of his Ready-room aboard the Peerless, considering, eyes on the massed glow of the Koornacht Cluster. The Peerless and the Dauntless were making a close pass through the Farlax Sector and their military shipyards on the final leg of their return journey to Coruscant. He’d stretched the Tour of Duty to just over two months and had been considering announcing spot-checks of the shipyards, more from the desire to delay his return to Coruscant than any greater purpose.

But the news he’d just received had changed everything, requiring an editing of his own plans in response. Nathan Hallin was already with him and he was awaiting Reece’s arrival, having found a distraction for Mara, needing her gone so that he could discuss this new development immediately—if he were to act upon it, it should be now.

He sighed out his frustration at being forced into these charades. Games within games, plans within plans. Perhaps his father was right; perhaps he’d learned too well the lessons his Master taught—because he couldn’t quite recognize who were friends and who were foes anymore, even here... Couldn’t quite recall why that mattered. More and more he worried at the ease with which he could step back, viewing everyone he knew as just pawns to be played, games within games within games...

Nathan’s voice interrupted his bleak thoughts. “Perhaps I’ve found a new vocation.”

“What?” Luke turned to see the slight, dark-haired medic sitting comfortably in his chair, pulled up to his desk.

“What do you think—would I make a good starship Captain?” Nathan asked, voice flippant, always looking to lighten the tone.

Luke turned away again, replying only distractedly. “No. And you’re not sitting at the Captain’s desk—I’m Admiral of the Fleet.”

“No?” Nathan turned, mock-offense coloring his words. “Please, don’t pull any punches on my account; say what you think.”

Luke turned back absently. “Your ship is at Coruscant and you’re asked to attend to a disturbance in the Bajic Sector; do you take the Corellian Run, Corellian Trade Spine, the Hydian Way or the Rimma Trade Route?”

“That’s navigation, I’d have a Navigation Officer for that,” Nathan countered smartly.

“What percentage of shield failure would result in tiling of shields becoming ineffective?”

“That’s shields; I’d have a...Shield Officer or something for that,” he replied gamely.

“In pitch battle, you’re in command of five Destroyers; your second-in-command tells you that three enemy craft are forming up in the Secondary Zone to execute the Ackbar Slash maneuver—what are your orders, Sir?”

“Um...”

“Congratulations—you’ve just lost your Destroyer along with nine thousand Officers and twenty-seven thousand enlisted men. Probably at least one other ship as well.”

Nathan leaned back, casually rearranging the assortment of readers and automemos on Luke’s wide, polished desk. “See? Easy. I’m a natural.”

Luke turned away again, aware of what Nathan was doing. “Sadly I know of several Destroyer Captains with just your skill level.”

Far more than Wez Reece, Luke considered Nathan Hallin a friend rather than a co-conspirator—someone who had gotten caught up in this because of his choice of acquaintances and who remained ensnarled because he was unwilling to give those same people up, rather than for some greater or more self-serving cause.

Given that, Luke should probably feel guilty about lying to him; certainly he told Nathan the truth far more than Reece—but he still kept his options open…was that wrong?

He was saved from following that thought by a quiet knock on the door as Reece entered.




“Commander?” Entering The Heir’s ready-room, Wez Reece glanced momentarily around, realizing at the combination of Nathan’s attendance and Commander Jade’s absence that whatever had happened, it was serious.

The Heir didn’t prevaricate. “The Rebels have a plan underway to assassinate the Emperor.”

Reece blinked, shocked for only a moment before his mind began to calculate. “Viable?”

The Heir set his head to one side in a near-shrug, allowing the possibility that it might be.

“Do we have details?”

“Apparently they have the Command Override Codes to the Invincible.”

Sitting with his usual lack of regard for proper protocol behind The Heir’s own desk, Nathan straightened in his chair. “How?”

“Bothans—it was part of the original operation when they infiltrated the shipyards for the Dynamic EMP blueprints—though at this point that’s irrelevant.”
“What are they planning?”

“They were planning to use the codes to override Bridge commands and take the Invincible on an unviable entry course with Coruscant’s atmosphere during her inaugural flight, when the Emperor will be onboard—break her up under the stress.”

Nathan jolted. “Wait a minute, aren’t you at that inauguration?” He paused, glancing back to Wez in alarm. “Aren’t I?”

The Heir shook his head. “They can’t do that now; there are too many other Ships-of-the-Line in attendance—two Super Star Destroyers and about a dozen Star Destroyers. If they’d had the Dynamic EMPs, they were intending to use them to disable all the other ships. As it is, there are at least two ships with sufficient mass to hold the Invincible back from entering the atmosphere, using tractor beams—and both have a percentage of hardened systems now that we know the Rebellion gained plans of the DEMP—it’s just not a workable plan anymore.”

“They’ll scale it down.” Reece reasoned. “They can still take control of the ship with the codes, if they think we don’t know.”

“They intend to seal off the Bridge and blow out the viewpanes—explosive decompression,” The Heir said, voice casual.

Reece considered, running the numbers. “Which means you need to be off the Bridge when it happens.”

“I intend to be,” The Heir said simply, turning to Nathan. “And you’ll be aboard the Peerless, along with Reece. Only Mara and I will attend.”

Nathan didn’t try to hide his surprise. “You’re taking Mara?”

“If I take no one Palpatine will be suspicious, and if I take Reece then Palpatine could easily pull the whole plot from his mind if either of us makes the slightest slip. Mara doesn’t know; she’s the logical person to take.”

And it was, Reece knew; flawlessly logical. After a brief silence, he asked the question, impassive as ever: “Will she…remain on the Bridge?”

The Heir turned away to look out the viewpane, the silence hanging heavy, though whether that was confirmation, uncertainty or simply a decision not to elucidate, Reece couldn’t tell. He remained reserved as ever about his relationship with the fiery redhead, so much so that even this would be considered an intrusion and rebuffed.

Wez glanced once to Nathan, who lifted an eyebrow pointedly, though neither pushed. Despite Nathan’s endless conjecture, Wez’s only concern in the matter was professional—in terms of its impact on The Heir’s safety. It was, for the moment, irrelevant, or at least not the time to be broaching the subject, so Wez moved on without further consideration. “Could the Emperor open the blast doors if they were locked down?”

“Yes,” The Heir said at last. “If he knew what they were going to do then he no doubt would. If he didn’t...he may allow them to feel momentarily in control, more out of curiosity than anything else—you know how confident he is. Once he realizes, to open two of the three sets of blast-rated Bridge doors would take maybe thirty seconds each. That may be all the time they need.”

“Will the Rebels know that?”

“Probably not…which is why I’m considering telling them.”

Shocked silence froze Wez in place for long seconds as he stared mutely at Skywalker, who held his gaze, face emotionless as he studied Wez.

It was Nathan who recovered sufficiently to speak. “You’re going to help them?”

“I’m considering it,” Skywalker said, eyes remaining on Wez. “...Opinions?”

“If it’s unsuccessful and one of them is caught alive...” Nathan trailed off, the consequences obvious.

“I wasn’t intending to com them and say, ‘Excuse me, this is The Heir; I understand you’re about to get rid of a big problem for me so I thought I could offer a few pointers,’” Skywalker stated dryly, turning to Nathan. “For one thing I doubt they’d believe anything I told them, and for another, they may well begin to ask how I know what they’re doing in the first place.”

“If you intend to put information back to them through a third party then why are you worried?” Nathan asked.

“Because I don’t want it to be too much of a resounding success. I want it to work, but I need to balance that with how confident it would leave them if it did.”

“Because?” Nathan prompted.

“Future intentions,” Skywalker said at last, turning back to Wez, who had remained still and silent. After long seconds of consideration, he finally continued. “I need them to think that I’m willing to negotiate with them if I came to power—force them to make a deal with me rather than continue with their hit and fade attacks. I’m not willing to spend years chasing shadows around the Rim Systems... And they’re not going to want to come to the table if they’re not hungry.”

“You’re going to negotiate with them!” Reece was unable to hide the resentment in his voice, a rarity for him.

“No, I’m going to make them think I’ll negotiate with them,” Skywalker corrected pointedly. “And I’m wondering whether giving them anonymous aid now and having that accidentally revealed at a later date will enhance my credibility—bring them to the table.”

Wez let out the breath he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding, his shoulders loosening. Still, it was long seconds before he was able to bring his mind back to the task. “You’d never get them to negotiate,” he said at last. “They’re too wary of you.”

“Mon would have been too wary; Leia Organa might just be amenable.”

Which was why he’d been so insistent on removing Mon Mothma when he had the chance! Suddenly threads began to pull together for Wez, isolated incidents falling into a greater plan.

And for Nathan too, apparently. “That’s why you let the smuggler go onboard the Fury!”

“Partly,” Skywalker conceded. “He’s close to Organa—she listens to his opinion.”

Reece considered this fascinating glimpse of far-reaching plans. The Heir wasn't in the habit of handing out this kind of information without reason—if he was doing so now, it was for assessment. “I doubt anybody else will be quite as open to his opinion.”

“They don’t need to be, just Organa; I’ll approach her first. When she trusts me I’ll get her to bring the Chiefs of Staff to a rendezvous—let her think that it was her idea, let her name the rendezvous and any security she requires… And I may bring along a few extra people of my own; just a Destroyer or two. It won’t eradicate them completely, but if we can remove enough of their leaders at once it may well throw them into enough turmoil that we can weaken them considerably in the ensuing months—as part of a larger plan.”

“Interesting,” Reece allowed at last, looking for flaws; it was a loose plan but then this far in advance it would be foolish to believe one could have much more, and even then, he was sure Skywalker would elaborate only when he felt it necessary. But it had possibilities if the groundwork was laid very well in advance, as The Heir seemed to be doing with his usual attention to detail.

Certainly having some kind of hold over the leader of the Rebellion, as The Heir clearly believed he did, was no bad thing.

“So do I help them?” The Heir repeated, bringing the conversation back to its point.

Reece brought his mind back to the present problem. “Taking into account what you’ve said, I can see your dilemma...but I still think it’s too much of a risk to get involved at this early stage; there are too many variables and I think you know it.”

The Heir nodded his assent. “I’m not dismissing it completely though; now that information can be accessed, I’ll keep a close eye on developments.”

“I’m sure it will change closer to the date,” Reece agreed. “They say no battle plan survives...” he trailed off, seeing the sudden change in The Heir’s eyes as he turned back to Hallin.

“The Bothans.”

Nathan frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Bothans—you asked how they got the codes.”

Nathan’s frown increased. “You said it was irrelevant.”

“I was wrong,” The Heir said quickly, conceit never a consideration. “If the Bothan spy cell who handed over the DEMPs, and the cell who got this information out were both working under Ollin’yaa’s command, then he surely knew.”

“And the Emperor has Ollin’yaa,” Nathan finished, of the Bothan Spy Master that The Heir himself had caught at the same time as Mon Mothma, handing both over to the Emperor.

“Which means he may already know,” The Heir stated. All three men paused to consider this.

“We need to find out,” Reece said at last, voicing everyone’s worry. “If Palpatine already knows, then the best line of action would be for you to inform him of your knowledge, without delay.”

“Except that he’ll want to know how I found out,” The Heir replied. “And I’m not admitting to Argot.”

“He already knows you have an informant in the Rebellion headquarters,” Nathan reasoned.

The Heir ran his fingers back through his unruly hair in consideration, clasping his hands at the nape of his neck. “We need to get the Rebellion to check the codes they have—if they’ve been disabled or nullified then I’ll take this to the Emperor. For now, I think the best course is to sit back and watch. Now that Argot is in the loop, I’ll be kept informed.”

Reece frowned. “It seems strange that Argot only got this information now.”

“Only Madine knew.” Luke smiled ironically. “They think they have a spy in their midst. Their Intel Chief, Massa, has been charged with keeping a close eye on Solo.” He glanced over to Nathan as the medic straightened in realization. “And yes; that is the other reason I keep letting him go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Luke was halfway down the main corridor, having cleared a second set of locked blast doors, when the rest opened in sequence before him, confirming his suspicion—Palpatine had another Override Code.

He reached out into the Force to confirm where the Rebels were, knowing that even though there would be a plethora of anxious minds onboard ship, the Call to Quarters hadn’t yet been sounded, so the only ones who would be genuinely nervous should be the Rebels.

If they’d followed the plan, they would be in Lower Ops by now or…

His easy, measured run faltered and he slowed almost to a stop, feeling a heavy pressure push in against his chest at the realization of who was there.

Swearing a curse under his breath, Luke set forward again at full-tilt, mind racing.

Everything—everything had changed again.





By the time that Mara rounded the crook in the corridor, Luke had reached the turbolifts, cursing that they were still locked down. Already turning away to set off for the stairwell, he rounded on her, eyes hard, jaw clenched. “Stay with the Emperor.”

Mara slowed just slightly, knowing his anger wasn’t really aimed at her, torn between safeguarding two men who were both supremely capable of protecting themselves. Then she set forward again and Luke turned on her, hand out, shouting in a sharp, clipped tone which invited no dissent, “STAY WITH THE EMPEROR!!”

She stopped dead, taken aback by the intensity and agitation in his words; by the stark fury in his stormy blue eyes, the palest thread of fiery, sulfurous yellow glowing just momentarily at their rim—

He’d already turned away, the locked-down door to the emergency stairwell wrenched off its mountings as he threw out his hand, the scraping din of its fall as it clattered away down the metal stair reverberating in the hollow space.

Mara watched the empty stairwell for long seconds, wavering, uncertain whether to follow…then she turned and set back to the Bridge and her master, the blaring claxon which finally sounded the alarm making her jump as she ran.





By the time Luke reached Lower Ops the Rebels were gone; hardly surprising considering the Call to Quarters had been raised, the alarm warning them, though they probably already knew that they’d been discovered when they’d been locked out of the system.

But they hadn’t gotten far, and he was closing fast. Luke could still sense her presence, strangely familiar even after all this time, enabling him to pinpoint them as they retreated, continually closing. He glanced up as he ran, wondering if he could disable the ever-present surveillance cameras without suspicion, furious, incensed at the Rebels for allowing her to come; at her for probably insisting.

Still livid, he slowed to a walk as he pulled his lightsaber free.




Leia ran at full tilt around the corner, her group about her, intensely aware that time was running out…

She shouldn’t have come—Han was right; her being here was a liability for the Alliance. If she was caught alive, it would be another Rebel leader for the Imperial propaganda machine to parade in public and…

Something ran like ice up her spine and caught in her throat, locking her breath…

The heavy blastproof doors they had been running for ground shut with a booming smack, the group split in two by the action. Trapped, Leia reached the locked doors, suddenly frantic, a dread lit deep within her—

A distinct, inimitable sound brought her about…

Time turned to treacle, several of the remaining soldiers lifting their weapons in fractured slow-motion as they stepped forward and fanned out uncertainly at the low, throaty thrum of a lightsaber grating through the air.

Leia turned, the sound of her own breathing loud in her ears…to see a lone dark-dressed figure step out into the sealed corridor.

For a moment—for a split second as the ruby lightsaber lit the blind turn at the far end of the corridor with a scarlet glow—she had expected to see Vader…

But the figure who strode forward, dark hair half-hiding wild eyes, body tensed, primed to fight, was somehow far more chilling—

The first shot rang out, making Leia flinch, and he didn’t lift the blade, didn’t even try to use it to deflect the bolt. Instead he brought up his left hand, palm out…and batted the laser bolt away to explode harmlessly into the wall in a wash of acrid light. Just as Vader had done on Bespin.

Others opened fire now and momentarily Leia felt some kind of hope as the sheer number of shots held him back, then he yelled out his rage and lunged forward, plowing into the task force, cutting a path through them as if it were nothing, the whole unit against one man.

But still they fell, the speed of that bright crimson blade forming a seemingly solid wall of light against the blaster shots, deflected bolts lighting the walls and ceiling in bright splashes of dispersed energy, lights flicking and failing in the ricochets, reducing the bright corridor to dim shadows, the security lens exploding in a brief blaze of scorching sparks. The blazing white of muzzle flashes glared, catching brief, staccato images as the group began to break ranks, backing up with nowhere to go.

Leia turned, frantically trying to unlock the doors behind her, the charred mechanism smelling of scorched circuitry. Han had taught her how to hotwire doors and she lifted her blaster to the panel and shot the plate free, burning her fingers on the hot metal and cursing it when it wouldn’t move. Finally she dragged it aside to pull out the wires within and saw that it was useless; that everything was blown. She kept her eyes on the lock though, squinting in the glaring flashes; ordered herself to concentrate—not to look back, not to listen—to do her job, to open the door—

And suddenly there was silence…

She turned to a darkened hallway heavy with smoke that burned her eyes as it swirled in thick roils, the metallic smell of blood catching in the back of her throat as it mixed with charred flesh and burned cordite. The bodies of those she’d known were scattered about her, twisted awkwardly, deathly still. Blum, the last soldier standing, had stepped in front of her to protect her.

Visibility was just a few feet, lights knocked out, panels on the walls sparking staccato in the dim haze, making her flinch—

But in the center of the choking gloom, bright and loud in the darkness and wrapped about by the twisting, roiling smoke, that scarlet blade still glowed ominously…

The dense smoke curled away at some unseen movement, shrinking back in perfect eddies as if unwilling to be near this shadow-wraith…and the Sith lifted his head slowly, blood-red blade dropping low behind him, tip to the floor.

He looked at her, his chest still heaving from the exertion of the fight, wild mismatched eyes locking hers—and Leia did the one thing she’d never done before in her entire life…

She froze, rooted to the spot, unable to move beneath that razor gaze—

The single moment stretched to eternity, reality hazing to a distant, distorted blur. All that existed were brown eyes locked on mismatched blue—

And something—something cut through every thought in Leia’s mind: a mental whisper with the power of a punch exploding inside her head, as much a feeling as a thought, overwhelming, overpowering, making her flinch beneath its intensity—


--RUN!!--


It was like an electric shock coursing through her, like a charge fizzing round, firing every muscle—

Leia stumbled backward as the locked door grated open behind her, backstepping wildly, almost falling through the doorway as she gripped at Blum’s sleeve, dragging him with her.

Without hesitation, without once raising her blaster, Leia turned and fled, the heavy blast door springing closed behind her with a reverberating clang, cutting him off.

She passed at full tilt the remainder of the unit who had originally cleared the blast door and had then stopped, looking for another way to reach her and the rest of the trapped team. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, shouting to them to follow.

By the time they reached the escape ship, stormtroopers were close on their tail, their exit path held clear by Han’s group. But in truth Leia hadn’t even registered them, or the blaster bolts which had fired wildly down the pristine corridors of the new Star Destroyer as Han gestured eagerly and Chewie warmed up the engines of the stolen shuttle.

They barreled onboard and blasted off as the ship’s ramp was still sealing, setting a twisting course as they ran for hyperspace, the darkness about them lit to daylight by the ranging shots of too many Destroyers closing in, Han throwing the shuttle into complex maneuvers, cursing the whole way.

Leia stood distant and removed, statue-still, everything somehow hazy and indistinct, reality relegated to vague washes of color and movement.

When the stars turned to streaks of light she was still standing in the cockpit, hand gripped knuckle-white about her unfired blaster, heart pounding like a hammer against her ribs, every beat hitching in her short breaths. Not at the ambush, nor the close shave…

But at that moment, running over and over in her head, when his presence had cut through her thoughts like a blade, filling her with terror, instilling absolute dread, one single word overriding every rational thought…

Run!

She lifted her free hand, looking to it now—it was still trembling…







Luke walked calmly back from the devastated stretch of corridor towards the Bridge, stormtroopers beginning to converge on his position though he didn’t slow, forcing the Unit Commander to turn about as he spoke.

“Sir, the Rebels had already released the lockdown on a shuttle in…”

“They’re gone,” Luke said calmly. Still deeply immersed in the Force, he could sense relief flood the trooper’s thoughts; that he’d expected an explosion on delivering that news. “Stand down. Lock all sections and bays down and take all active trooper units to start a slow sweep of every floor, starting from the Bridge. I want every single person onboard checked against security logs—from the Palace; don’t use those onboard. And get a tech team into the ops room where they were, check they’ve not left any surprises in the system.” He turned to a second stormtrooper, hand out. “Comlink?”

The trooper handed over his comlink without hesitation; it was well known that the Commander never carried one of his own and even if he did, no one was about to question him right now.

Admiral Joss answered Luke’s com. “Sir?”

“Status?”

“The Bridge is secured, Commander. We have no further reports of incursions and all inward corridors are sealed and guarded. The Dauntless, the Victory and the Vanguard are moving to flanking positions. The Executor is also closing.”

“The Rebel ship?” Luke held his breath, though he already knew.

“Sir, the ship made it to lightspeed—we were far enough from Coruscant that they could initiate drives almost immediately.”

Luke didn’t react, didn’t let out the breath; there were too many eyes close by, not all of which could be trusted. “Trajectory?”

“Calculating, Sir. But the variables…” Joss paused momentarily, then, “Sir, The Emperor commands your presence.”

“On my way.”

By the time Luke reached the Bridge, security was off the scale, Royal Guard everywhere, the dignitaries having withdrawn into a small group like the sheep they were.

Palpatine was standing quite apart from the hectic rush of the busy bridge, gazing out of the viewscreen at the Destroyers converging on their position, forming a defensive wall about them.

He turned immediately as Luke approached, gesturing for him to rise when he’d only just made to kneel, genuine approval in his voice. “Rise—rise, my friend.”

“The insurgents are gone, Master. The ship is being secured but I think they were an isolated threat.”

“Who were they?” Palpatine’s yellow-flecked eyes glowed, his pallid skin ashen in the strong light of the Destroyer's bridge.

“Rebels,” Luke replied simply. If his Master knew the attack was imminent, then Luke had no reason to think that he wouldn’t know who had planned it.

Now the Emperor’s indulgent tone confirmed that he’d chosen the right course; Palpatine had known, and Luke’s decision to move decisively against them had not been missed. “How do you know?”

He still couldn’t resist this test, Luke knew, so obvious as to be insulting.

“Leia Organa was with them.” This too had been carefully considered. If Luke had sensed her then his Master must have done the same, so to claim ignorance would be a glaring error, while to willingly admit it would be a valued reassurance. Though of course he didn’t expect his Master to admit such out loud.

“You’re sure?”

“Security footage will confirm it but yes, I’m sure.”

Palpatine turned away, his face hidden in the folds of the heavy velvet hood he wore. The sting Luke had been expecting was finally delivered. “And you let her get away?”

“I didn’t ‘let her’ do anything. But yes, she escaped.” He allowed just enough frustration to sound in his voice to suggest his own annoyance at this.

“How did she get out?”

“How did she get in?” Luke said, buying valuable seconds for thought…

“Answer my question.”

“…They were trapped in the corridors close to Ops; I’d locked down the blast doors, trapping them.” He shook his head. “I need to check the logs…they managed to open the doors somehow.”

Palpatine glanced away again, satiated. “They held Override Codes—I will look very closely into how they had them.”

Luke knew he was being let off too easily; the only possible reason he could fathom was that Palpatine knew the truth about Leia’s abilities and was trying to gloss over the fact now. But Luke needed to be sure…so he pushed the argument against himself; the facts would be found out soon enough anyway and by pushing now, he might just be able to clarify Palpatine’s knowledge as well as transfer the blame for Leia’s impossible escape.

“Still, the doors shouldn’t have opened again—I didn’t close them using the mechanism.”

Palpatine glanced sharply to him. “You used the Force?”

“Yes. The blast doors which the Rebels locked closed throughout the ship had already been opened again. I didn’t have time to contact the bridge so I closed the one nearest to her location with the Force—locked her in. I thought I’d burned the system and stripped the gearing to do it. There should have been no way they could be opened.”

Palpatine glanced away with forced calm. “Perhaps you were mistaken.”

He knows about her abilities—he’s trying to hide them from me.

Luke pushed a little further, aware that he was indicting Leia by insinuating that she had some control of her latent abilities, but this time the risk was worth the price. She was already number one on the Empire’s ‘Most Wanted’ list and Luke needed to know whether it was because she was leader of the Rebellion or because Palpatine knew she was Force-sensitive. And anyway, having closed the blast door himself to convince Palpatine of his willingness to capture her, Luke had to explain away the fact that he had reopened it to get her out. “And…I thought I sensed…”

“You are injured,” Palpatine said across his words, causing Luke to look down in genuine surprise. At some point during the short firefight he must have been hit by shrapnel and not realized, adrenaline and focus suppressing it, because when he lifted his left hand, palm up, there was a long, deep gash running down its edge from below his wrist to his little finger, blood drying about the ring he wore there, streaked across his palm and between his fingers.

Palpatine reached out and took his hand, the unanticipated act completely breaking Luke’s train of thought. He resisted momentarily, pulling against the hold, but the Emperor stepped forward, drawing his hand closer as Luke tensed uneasily against the unexpected contact.

His Master put bone-thin fingers to the gash and opened it up momentarily, lifting it closer to study the wound. “It will need sutures—have it attended to.”

Luke stepped back, again trying to free his hand. Palpatine looked up at this and Luke froze beneath that deliberate, meaningful gaze, deeply uncomfortable—then the Emperor released his hold and Luke slipped his hand free, Palpatine’s blood-wet fingers sliding over it as he did so, long nails trailing against Luke’s skin like a shiver down his spine.

He backstepped quickly, gathering his composure with distance, then bowed briefly and turned to walk quickly away, seeking to put some space between himself and his Master—

“First—” Palpatine’s voice, loud enough for everyone on the Bridge to hear, turned Luke about. “I will name the starship I came here to launch.”

Everyone murmured, unsure, but Palpatine grinned, focus still on Luke at the far side of the Bridge as the room hushed to expectant silence, all eyes on the Emperor as he strode slowly to center-stage, commanding attention, gaze never leaving Luke’s.

When he finally turned away it was to look to the assembled dignitaries and officers, composed and confident, supremely self-possessed, making sure that this moment would be remembered. “I had thought to call it the Invincible…but that is just a name. This ship and its Commander—Heir to my Empire, Commander-in-Chief of my Fleet—deserve something more…unique. Something in consideration of the events which took place today. In appreciation of the allegiance, the loyalty of its Commander. The ship I launch today I will name for him, after him—”

He held Luke’s eyes across the bridge—not in coercion or intimidation for once, but in indulgent approval. And somehow that was more unsettling to Luke than anything that had gone before, freezing his chest to uneasy tightness as Palpatine spoke...

“I name this ship the Patriot. Long may it serve.”

There was a polite ripple of applause about the room, though Luke didn’t react, held to unsettled stillness, eyes on his Master. Finally he drew a breath; forced himself to move past the moment. He bowed with studied calm, then turned and walked from the bridge, deeply disquieted.










“Well you are flavor of the month,” Nathan Hallin said easily as he re-entered the individual bay in the Patriot's extensive medi-center, to spray sealant onto the wound where he had sutured Luke’s hand.

Luke looked up, glancing yet again to the door. “Why?”

“I heard about the Destroyer's new name—it’s all over the Fleet already. Apparently just any old name isn’t good enough for The Heir any more. And Palpatine himself came to check on you earlier. Someone told him you’d be out shortly and offered to bring him here but he didn’t seem inclined to wait.”


Luke looked once more to the door, but he knew his Master was long gone, so was breathing easy again. Less so about the new name or its context, aware of the double meaning; that he too had been redesignated today. He should be pleased that he had the Emperor’s trust… Why then did he feel so very uneasy?

He studied that thought; became uncomfortably aware for the first time of how easy it had been to rationalize his actions in support of his goal. How easy to validate them. How easy to kill.

“Care to tell us poor grunts what happened then?” Nathan said into Luke’s thoughts as he cleared his instruments into a sterile bowl.

Luke glanced about the medi-bay, bringing his mind back to the moment; he couldn’t see any surveillance but this was a new ship and he wasn’t inclined to trust it. “There was a brief disturbance; it was dealt with.”

He couldn’t say more; not here.

“Ah. Very enlightening, thank you,” Nathan deadpanned, turning back to his charge.

Luke had already been in the medi-center having his wound attended to by droids when he realized that Nathan had been summoned to the Patriot, and had commed the medic first to talk him down from his breathless panic, and secondly to tell him not to bother, a droid could easily perform the minor suturing needed.

Still, professional pride—and, after a few knowing questions from Luke, Nathan’s admission that he was already on a transport—had led the medic to insist, so Luke had ended up simply wrapping some gauze about the wound until Nathan arrived to suture it, maintaining that he would of course do a far better job and adding that anyway, he still took great delight in seeing The Heir wince occasionally.

“Well, I think we can safely say you’re free to go now. Sutures out in four or five days; you know the routine.”

Luke stepped from the medical gurney he’d been sitting on then glanced about, hand to his little finger. “Where’s my ring?”

Nathan looked up. “What?”

“My ring, the ring I always wear on my little finger—they asked me to take it off when I came in here—I put it there.” He gestured to the surface beside him, still glancing about. “There was a surgical dish right there.”

The genuine alarm in Luke’s voice made Nathan frown. “There was nothing there when I came in…at least I don’t think…” He turned about and stepped into the larger triage room beyond, Luke quickly following him.

Seeing two small metal dishes on a clear tray on the side, still containing bloody swabs, Luke walked quickly around Nathan, lifting the smaller one.

“It was in this—the droid asked me to take it off to clean the wound and I put it in here—I didn’t see anybody take this out.”

Luke’s voice was nothing short of panic now, so much that, though bemused at Luke’s overreaction, Nathan joined him in searching. “One of the medi-droids must have taken the trays out earlier—it must have removed the ring.”

“And done what with it? And the trays are still here…so are the swabs. Why would a droid…” Luke paused, his face—his whole demeanor—changing. “Palpatine.”

“What?”

“Palpatine was in here.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t…” Nathan trailed off as Luke turned on him, eyes wild.

“You said he was in the outer room—he would have seen it. He’d have only needed a second.”

Nathan frowned, clearly unnerved by Luke’s intensity over something so insignificant. “Was it important?”

“It was my…” Luke bit off his answer, remembering where he was. Not that it mattered; he would have to go and ask for the ring back anyway—and Palpatine clearly knew what it was, though Luke had no idea how. Had he known Luke’s mother? Could he have recognized it? Had he noticed it when he had studied Luke’s hand on the Bridge?

No—the renaming of the ship had been a genuine act, Luke was sure of it. Another thought occurred, freezing Luke’s chest at its implications—had he now ruined the trust he had finally so briefly held?

Because he knew—in every fiber of his being, Luke knew Palpatine had the ring.

He walked to the wall com and contacted the Bridge, mind buzzing. “Joss, is the Emperor still onboard?”

“No, Sir; he and his security escort returned to the Palace a while ago.”

Nathan stared in confusion as Luke rested his forehead against the wall above the comlink, hand resting on the transmit as he sighed, cursing his own inattentiveness. He never took the ring off—never. Why had he done it today—and having done so, why had he left it in plain view? Normally he would have simply transferred the ring to his other hand to keep it safe. It wasn’t like him to be so lax. But then he’d been unsettled, unease at the Emperor’s praise still playing on his mind when he’d arrived at the medi-center.

Sometimes… He sighed again, frustrated; sometimes he wondered if he sabotaged his own efforts simply as a knee-jerk response. It had been such an obvious oversight—he’d never let the ring from his sight before, so why now?

One step forward, two steps back; just as he was gaining some trust with the Emperor something happened. So common a pattern was this that he’d begun to suspect that he could only play the game for so long before it became too uncomfortable to bear and he seemed almost to undermine his own advance. Occasionally it was a conscious judgment to destroy his favor with the Emperor, a decision made by choice for logical reasons—at least to his mind. But just as often he would trip himself up or dig his heels in…or worse, he would trip himself up and then dig his heels in—just as he was about to do now.

What he should do was wait; give Palpatine some time to calm down, to view the ring in the larger context of the day’s events. In fact what he should do was let the ring go.

That was what he should do.

He sighed as he shook his head infinitesimally, jaw tensing, eyes closing in resignation, aware of Nathan’s frown as he spoke into the com. “Joss, get me a shuttle.”

“What are you doing?” Nathan asked, knowing alarm audible in his voice.

“Going to find Palpatine,” Luke said evenly without turning.

“You’re not actually going to ask him, are you? Luke, that’s tantamount to accusing the Emperor of stealing, you know that.” Nathan reached out to take Luke’s arm, sharp eyes searching. “It’s just a ring…why is it so important?”

“Because it’s the one damn thing I really own here. The one thing that’s mine.”

The one thing he owned belonging to his mother—the one link he had to an unsullied past, though he couldn’t say that out loud.

It was also the one thing that could link him to his father—and that he did need to deal with now, before it became an issue. Correct his mistake and placate his Master’s anger before Palpatine dwelled on it too long—before he thought too hard on its implications. Luke shrugged, tone impassive; that of someone accepting their fate. “He’s going to make me pay anyway—he’s not about to let something like this go. I may as well get it over with.”

He glanced up and despite his tone, when he looked to Nathan there was the fire of raw determination in his eyes. “And I want that ring back.”











Surprisingly, Luke was admitted immediately to the Emperor’s residence, led through the huge, echoing grandeur of the main hallway and under the three-story double staircase which hugged the curve of ebony and basalt-lined walls. Along columned walkways, the rows of Royal Guard stood to straight attention, a flash of bright scarlet in the cavernous shadows. It was always cold here, the high banks of faceted, copper-banded plexiglass always dialed down to near-darkness in his Master’s chambers, endless stretches of shaded reflections dimmed to dense opacity. Footsteps echoing in the cloying silence, Luke was escorted to an audience room by an unusually tense Amedda, who stopped at the door, bowing slightly, never meeting Luke’s eye.

Luke walked forward, taking a deep breath, braced for anything—

The room was tall and gloomy with fine, intricately set glass mosaic about walls and ceiling in complex designs and heavy, dark colors, making it seem claustrophobic despite its size. At the far wall was a single, tall window inset with banded brass, its mute glow barely allowing the wan dusk light to enter.

The Emperor stood before it, a brooding figure with his back to the room, heavy robes absorbing what little light touched them.

Gathering his composure, knowing that hesitation or misgivings were not an option before his Master, Luke set forward, coming to a halt before him and stepping automatically down into a bow, one knee to the floor.

Palpatine didn’t turn; didn’t move for a long time.

“Where did you get it?” he challenged at last, voice deadly calm, still not turning.

No ploys then; no verbal games or subtle manipulations; he was way past that.

Luke kept his eyes down, more afraid than ever now—not of the Emperor; he’d stood before his Master’s wrath too many times now. If he turned on Luke it wouldn’t be easy, would be brutal and vindictive and pitiless…but he’d survive—he always did.

No—the one thought that was screaming through his head right now was that he would lose the ring, his one link with his mother. He wondered briefly how he would tell his father, who had kept the ring safe for so long, acutely aware of the risks inherent in lying now. Because Palpatine clearly recognized the ring—and Luke’s being here meant that not only did he too know its past…but also what it meant to him. That alone could be enough to drive Palpatine to destroy it. And it went beyond even that, because Luke’s possession of the ring implicated his father—a connection that could condemn them both—and Luke would still lose the ring.

Why was he risking so much for a ring; it was only a ring…

Just get up and walk away—leave it and walk away. That’s what he wants you to do—to say it’s worthless, a curio, nothing more. Leave it—apologize and you’ll walk away exonerated. Let it go.

He couldn’t stray too far from the truth; there was no other possible explanation for his owning the ring. But the details could be amended. “I asked Vader who my mother was. The following day the ring was delivered to my quarters.” He was committed now; he’d lied to his Master. He'd done so many times before but not like this: Palpatine reduced to cold fury, so much in the balance... Focus; concentrate! Don’t slip now.

The Emperor remained motionless for long seconds, the brittle stillness charging the air like the air before a storm. His head tilted just slightly though he didn't turn, as if simply seeing the boy would tip his anger over the edge. “What did he tell you?”

Did he believe? Or was he simply giving Luke the chance to further condemn himself, compounding lies with lies. Should he go on or stop now, whilst he could still back down? Too late, in truth; too late already—but he had to minimize his father’s part in this. He couldn’t deny or conceal it; the link between his father and the ring was categorical…but he could minimize it; disguise one truth behind another. Give Palpatine something to rail at and in doing so disperse the storm.

“Nothing. Save that she was dead; that I shouldn’t concern myself with matters which were long gone.” His heart was pounding, but Luke kept his eyes down, kept himself centered, mind buzzing.

Palpatine finally turned, face the thinnest veneer of calm. “Then why do you wear the ring?”

Luke looked up, forced himself to meet that hostile gaze, unable to keep the defensive cast from hardening his own eyes. “Because she was my mother.”

Again Palpatine fell silent and again Luke feared that he was being given enough rope to hang himself. He’d been unable to contact his father on his way here and regretted it now, seeing the look in his Master’s eyes. If Palpatine lashed out—if Luke was dragged to the cells beneath the Palace—then Vader would face his Master's wrath unprepared.

Finally Palpatine set his head to one side, voice disbelieving. “And yet when your father would tell you nothing—you simply accepted that?”

“No.” Luke glanced away, arranging a trace of frustration on his face, clenching his jaw momentarily. “I didn’t accept it. We argued. He told me it wasn’t my concern.” A retelling of the same facts on Luke’s part, carefully rearranged; a fine line between seeming reluctant to elaborate, which was the sure sign of a lie and being unwilling to provide any more than was absolutely necessary when complications would be difficult to keep track of. He’d played this game too many times—though not often with these stakes.

“The decision wasn’t his to make—shouldn’t be,” Luke added, wishing to seem still infuriated by his father’s reticence, to underline their apparent enmity. “Whatever rights he thinks he has, he gave up long ago.”



Palpatine stared for a long time at his errant Jedi, still knelt in genuflection before him. So long that the boy’s gaze finally faltered and he looked to the ground, knowing he was the one at fault here. And he was at fault; he was Palpatine’s, and Palpatine’s alone. There were no rivals, no other loyalties tolerated—he knew that. “Every time I have a reason to trust you…you give me one to doubt.”

The boy at least had the good grace to keep his head down and remain silent. Was he truly penitent or was this simply a masquerade; had he learned these games too well? Palpatine fell to sullen silence, studying the boy, aware that so much was hidden. How could it not be, that he remained always a blank slate before his Master’s searching senses?

“Stand up and look at me.”

Now he did sense the short, sharp twist of nerves as the boy stood, adrenalin burning in his chest. Sensed the resolve he called on to lift his head and look his Master in the eye. Watched his chest rise in short breaths, noted his realization of this as he forced calm, steady breathing. Nothing truly telling though, save that he was nervous—but then he was right to be so.

Palpatine took three quick steps toward his Jedi and held his gaze captive in a sharp, judgmental stare. “Are you lying to me?”

The boy held his glare and didn’t blink. “No, Master,” he murmured guilelessly with the slightest shake of his head.

The Emperor held that doleful stare, ochre eyes narrowing in scrutiny, and the boy’s gaze met his, neither belligerent nor conceding. They remained still for long moments, Palpatine reaching out with the Force, bringing all his astute experience to bear, the boy remaining still, wrapped about by a forced calm, whatever he had hidden too veiled to sense. Finally Palpatine twisted away, frustrated, the dark folds of his heavy robes rendering him a shadow in the falling dusk as he considered for long seconds…

When he turned back, in the palm of his pale, gaunt hand was the ring, still stained by a slick of dry blood.

He saw the boy’s eyes go to the ring and knew how much it meant—that this wasn’t about his realization that he had miss-stepped in owning the ring; it wasn’t even about protecting some perceived obligation to his father for giving it to him. He was here because he wanted the ring back.

Hide a lie within a truth; that was what Palpatine did—had he learned that too, at the feet of the Master?

He wanted the ring, why… Because of who it had belonged to? Because of some imagined bond with a woman he'd never known, whose only connection was to have carried him? A burst of resentment blazed through Palpatine at the thought; that the boy would value her for no greater reason than biological necessity. That the commitment which Palpatine had fought long years to gain, the devotion he deserved was being freely given to another based on nothing more than genetic coincidence, leaving him in the galling position of having to defend his standing as the boy’s only focus, from a woman who was already dead. Because even her memory was an unacceptable division of the boy’s attention.

The slightest of bitter, biting smiles turned the corners of Palpatine’s thin lips up, his expression hardening as he set forward, sense ablaze with grim intent. If the boy wanted the ring so very much then he could have it…but at a price. He would teach the lesson one more time that knowledge was power—and how one wielded it was everything.

His words were bitten out with spiteful rancor as he drew closer, face twisted in distain. “Your mother was a traitor—that is why no one here speaks of her. While she attended the Senate she was spreading lies and dissent, undermining its authority and attempting to widen the fractures in the failing Republic. She came to power based on her opposition to the Separatists, but as her power base grew she questioned the actions of the Republic Senate against them—she supported those who warred against the Old Republic you so venerate. She was deliberately and directly responsible for the removal of the last true Supreme Chancellor of the Old Republic Senate, Finis Valorum. She instigated the vote of No Confidence; her actions brought him down—did your father tell you that?”

The boy’s chin raised at this, fire in his eyes, and though he didn’t speak Palpatine knew he had scored a blow.

“She led the Delegation of Two Thousand, the act which effectively split the Senate in two; polarized it and weakened it beyond retrieval. Betrayed and undermined and fractured the Republic she claimed to serve…and your father forgave her. Repeatedly looked the other way whilst she destabilized the Senate…because he was weak. But he paid for his pitiful flaw; he was taught the harshest lesson.”

The boy’s calm façade began to crack now and he took a step back before the onslaught, unwilling to listen but unable to leave whilst his Master still held the ring—and Palpatine continued, lips pulled back in a malicious sneer as he stepped forward, holding the ring before him.

“Because she betrayed your father too… It was your mother who led Kenobi to your father, knowing that the Jedi sought to slay him, young as he was. I had sent him to safety, far from Coruscant—it was your mother who took your father’s killer to Mustafar. And then she left with Kenobi—left him there to die alone.”

“… No!” Luke reeled back, turning away in denial, letting out a breath as if he had been dealt a physical blow, hand to the wall for support, but Palpatine wouldn’t give him that comfort, stepping close, taking his arm to spin him about—

“Am I telling the truth?” Palpatine pushed. “Am I telling the truth?!”

“YES!” Luke twisted free with a gasp, disillusionment breaking his voice. “…yes…”

Palpatine let him go, seeing his shoulders sag, head low—and he smiled, triumph dripping from his words as he spoke. “Do you still want her ring?”

The boy remained silent for long seconds…then he lifted his head, mismatched eyes intensely blue, but as defiant and willful as ever.

“…Yes,” he grated, unsteady hand out before him.

Disgusted, Palpatine turned away and hurled the ring into the shadows.

Skywalker's hand stretched out—and the ring rattled in a curving arc across the dark glass tiles and skipped up into his palm. He paused, looking down at it as he curled his fingers about it…then he turned and left in silence.

Palpatine stood alone, a shadow within the shadows of the darkened room, still turned from the door…still grinning his victory.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Wez Reece re-read the final briefing for the formal reception to be given in honor of the Patriot’s launch, frowning at the unexpected changes before glancing to The Heir. “Your orders have changed slightly for this evening, Sir. Your mark, Kiria D’Arca—apparently you’re to lead the first dance with her tonight.”

Eyes on the distant cityscape, The Heir only turned from his reverie when Wez’s protracted silence made him realize that Wez was waiting expectantly for a reply. After his audience with the Emperor, he’d returned to his apartments and spent the afternoon trying hard to avoid everyone, yet frustratingly unable to contact the one person he now desperately needed to speak to: his father. Nor would he be able to speak to him tonight, Wez knew; the Executor had already left orbit at the Emperor’s command, in pursuit of those who had launched the attack, and so remained unobtainable whilst in lightspeed.

Finally The Heir had taken to hiding out in the small study behind his office, which was where Wez had found him by searching out the plain-clothes guards who always hovered outside whichever room he’d retreated to. Now he stood absently watching the sun set behind the opposite towers of the massive, imposing Palace, turning the ring he wore over and over in his hand, and very clearly, the day’s events over in his head.

This was now Wez’s third attempt to reinstate some kind of normality to the day and try to railroad The Heir into dressing for the official reception this evening, though he had remained indifferent. He glanced back from the window without turning as Wez pushed on, repeating his words. “Your mark, Kiria D’Arca—you’re to lead the first dance with her.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, after today’s fiasco, I’m seriously considering not attending at all rather than give Palpatine the opportunity for some public potshot at me.”

Wez paused for a few seconds, taking the time to get his argument straight in his head before he launched into his reasons, aware of the bigger picture in light of the day’s events. The Heir had skimmed over the facts of his meeting with Palpatine that afternoon, typically giving none of the specifics, admitting its existence probably only because Nathan already knew about it and because, of course, there would be fallout and damage control to consider.

Wez eyed the ring again now, wondering at its significance, and just what exactly had been said by the Emperor that had unsettled The Heir to this degree.

“Firstly, Sir, an invitation given by the Emperor is a command, not a request; you know that.” Wez kept his voice, as ever, the epitome of restrained calm. “Secondly, your father has spent months setting up the military contacts from the Rim Fleet for you to speak with tonight. You can’t not attend; it’s the only chance you’ll have to speak with many of them for the rest of the year; it’s an unrivalled opportunity.”

“And you really think that the only opportunity I have to meet with them should be when there’s a good chance of Palpatine launching into some kind of public reprisal?”

“Yes, Sir, I do. Even if he did, well then that only supports your position. As far as everyone there is concerned, you saved the Emperor’s life today. He made a public speech to that effect, changing the name of a Super Star Destroyer in recognition of the fact. He’s hardly going to counter all of that by making some open criticism tonight over something as insignificant as a ring, Sir. There is no public discord between the Emperor and The Heir, you know that. Given all that, even if he did speak out it would be the Emperor who would be considered capricious and not yourself.”

The Heir leaned back, jaw flexing as he looked out over the city with a long, doubtful sigh—but at least he was prepared to hear Wez out. He plowed on, hoping to provide a little perspective; a glance at the larger picture which The Heir seemed unable to step back and see today.

“I’d also advise you to consider Palace protocol; it’s bad form to refuse to turn up to a reception given in recognition of the launch of a Super Star Destroyer you’ve just been given command of.”

“Protocol.” Luke made the word a curse, but Wez pushed on.

“The people out there watching tonight are the foremost powers of both the Core and Rim Systems—they’re the ones you need to impress. And they want to be impressed; they’re willing to listen to you because they’re ready for change…real change. Not just a replacement for the Emperor—they’re looking for an alternative. Palpatine was a leader of his time; he forged an Empire from the chaos of the Clone Wars but that time is over now—the Empire’s ready to move on and they know it. They’re looking for someone who can be a diplomat, someone composed and practical and level-headed. Palpatine was a stabilizing force when the Empire needed it, but he’s spent years imposing and enforcing his view without exception; they still want that strength, that decisive focus, but now they’ll rally around someone who offers more. Someone rational and adaptable—someone more humane. They’re ready to move on and they’re looking to you. All you have to do is show them you understand—that you agree; that your values and goals are the same as theirs.”

“And I do all that by dancing with a woman I’ve never met?”

The Heir’s disparaging, long-suffering tone brought a rare smile to Reece’s face. “No, Sir—but it’s a start. You need to inspire confidence by example—by a method they recognize in a language they understand. The D’Arcas are a powerful family politically and militarily in both the Core and the Rim systems; they can help forward your plans considerably and regardless of the Emperor’s machinations, you need to pursue your own goals."

“The D’Arcas are loyal to the Emperor,” The Heir stated uncategorically, though Wez wasn’t yet ready to concede.

“You may well find that the D’Arcas are in fact loyal to the Empire, as I am.”

“I think it more likely that they’re simply loyal to their own goals,” The Heir said knowingly.

“Which doesn’t mean to say that they’re not valuable,” Wez argued. “They’re an old Royal House with a longstanding history and you need to show that you respect that. The Royal Houses are a powerful body, and right now they’re looking for reassurance that when you come to power, traditions and conventions will be acknowledged and upheld; there’ll be no more upheavals, stability will be maintained. You need to start acting like the Statesman they need you to be.”

“That’s an awful lot to squeeze into one dance,” The Heir said with dry humor, finally coming round a little. “Maybe we could just hand out cards?”

Wez raised his eyebrows slightly in sardonic reply, following The Heir as he set out from his study into the lofty hallway beyond, aware from his tone that he was willing to concede this fight even if he wasn’t ready to admit it out loud. It was one of the reasons why Wez had defected; unlike Palpatine, The Heir was willing to listen to reason. In fact, Reece genuinely believed him to be all of the things he’d just cited as requirements for the Empire’s next leader—and he’d made it his mission to make others realize that too.

He brought his attention back to The Heir now as he continued in a mock-conciliatory tone, “We could put gold edges on the cards if it makes you feel any better.”

“Gold edges are for invitations, Sir,” Wez said with feigned seriousness, aware that The Heir was making a playful gibe at his familiarity with this kind of convention. “Statements of intent are always sent on woven white ground with grey edging.”









The State Ballroom was truly immense, it and its grand entrance, the Mirrored Gallery, occupying a complete floor of the East Tower, soaring over five stories high. Above its intricately inset polished marquetry floors, hundreds of rock-crystal globes illuminated a reeded and coffered ceiling, their cut and etched surfaces bouncing refracted light over gilded detail. Lofty windows set with faceted panes ranged across the entire run of one wall, affording grand views of the other towers, though the photovoltaic glass was already darkened against the low-lying sun of the early evening, the low amber light making the richly carved wooden relief on hundreds of separate panels lining the remaining walls glow softly, each panel carved from a particular planet’s most valued hardwoods, depicting an elaborate dado-to-ceiling representation of that for which the individual planet was famed.

The sumptuous décor and furnishings were purposely ostentatious, the room a monumental, lavishly extravagant statement of Imperial power and wealth. The State Ballroom—a mirror-image of its sister the Dominion Ballroom in the North Tower but almost three times its size—had been chosen with great deliberation. There were twenty-seven different civic ballrooms in the Palace towers, discounting those in individual apartments, each carefully designed to project a different facet of the Empire’s influence. This hall, with its exceptional craftsmanship and countless treasures, art new and ancient from throughout the Empire adorning it, was an imposing expression of confidence and continuity, solidarity and perpetuity. It was an impressive testament to the incomparable wealth of the Empire—and the willingness of Palpatine to spend it without hesitation.



Mara entered quietly, avoiding the Master of Ceremonies who was announcing those who entered at the tall double doors, and stepping quickly down the wide expanse of carved red marble steps, the train of her dark, chocolate brown dress pooling behind her as she set forward to lose herself in the throng, glancing about the multitude of people, looking for only one.

She had expected to be on duty tonight serving as Luke’s bodyguard, as she so often did at such functions, but Palpatine had ordered that Reece and not she should attend, with no further explanation.

At first she’d felt snubbed, uncertain what was going on but certain that something was. Then she’d taken it as a challenge, confident of her ability to gain entry—it wasn’t as if she’d been specifically ordered not to attend, she simply hadn’t been given an official invitation…which really didn’t even slow her down.

She’d taken the time to make an effort tonight too, but subtly, discreetly. She used to do this so much when on assignments; turn heads with her casual grace…sometimes the best place to hide was in full view.

The gown she wore was rich, matte chocolate vinesilk, cut on the bias so that it skimmed every contour, the front shaped low in a fluid crumple of fabric which always hinted that it may just fall loose without ever being so gauche as to do so. Her jewelry was heavy amber and citrine set in rose gold, a fine, fretwork headdress set with the same stones pinning her hair back from her face to tumble loosely down her back, rich russet red against dark chocolate. The heavy stones in her earrings tapped gently against her neck as she glanced about, the citrines reflecting warm glints against flawless porcelain skin, her delicate blush all the color needed to set forest green eyes flashing.

She still turned heads when she walked through the crowd.




Luke was stood unobtrusively off to one side of the vast hall, but he turned immediately when he sensed her presence, watching her walk quickly down the steps, eyes scanning the room.

His first thought was that she looked beautiful; she always looked that to him—always had—but tonight she was stunning; exquisite. His second consideration, as she vanished into the crowd, was surprise that she was here at all. He’d gone along with Palpatine’s subtle exclusion of Mara tonight, firstly because it was a convenient opportunity to hide his own intentions behind Palpatine’s manipulations, but secondly because he was curious as to what exactly his Master was doing. So he’d accepted without complaint the Emperor’s clearly calculated designation of Reece as his bodyguard for the evening, effectively ensuring that Mara would have no reason for being here—though apparently she’d not taken the hint quite so willingly.

The automemo excluding Mara had been delivered form Palpatine’s personal offices three days ago and had been brought to Luke’s attention by Wez Reece, eliciting only the mildest curiosity from Luke as Wez had handed it over.

“You have a mark at the reception following the launch of the Invincible, Sir.”

Luke had taken the proffered automemo with only vague interest, glancing down at the screen. It wasn’t uncommon for the Emperor to do this, using state functions to place his Jedi close to someone from whom he needed information in one form or another. Easier able to stay out of the spotlight and less intimidating than his Master, Luke could often accomplish Palpatine’s intent more subtly, so to have a covert assignment was par for the course.

Still, Luke had frowned at the image of his mark. “This is…D’Arca?”

“Kiria D’Arca,” Wez had nodded. “Eldest daughter of Beladon and heir to the D’Arca family titles. Her father is Master of Ceremonies at the Invincible’s launch.”

“What does he want me to do?”

Reece raised his eyebrows. “Talk to her.”

“For?”

“That’s all that’s listed in the brief,” Reece said. “The Emperor requires you to…‘Establish a dialogue.’”

“Establish a dialogue—now what’s he up to?” Luke murmured, ever wary. “Why do I feel I’m being stage-managed?”

“Because you are,” Reece said dryly. “Though there may be reasons other than the obvious, and even if that’s the case, it’s not such a bad idea. The D’Arcas are a powerful family who hold sway among both the military and the Royal Houses. You could do worse than court them a little, with or without the Emperor’s blessing.”

“And who will you be courting to further the cause?” Luke asked pointedly.

“That isn’t my forte, Sir,” Reece said levelly, eliciting a short laugh from Luke.

“Believe me, it isn’t mine—and don’t say this is a good opportunity to learn.”

Wez held Luke’s eye for a moment then turned away. “It’s at least bought us something: I’m ordered to stand as your bodyguard, which means that Mara Jade won’t be in attendance.”

Which was a useful thing indeed, considering Luke’s self-imposed mission for the evening, planned with his father. He turned away, all business again.

“Send an acknowledgment and get more information on D’Arca. We’ll work it into the timetable but we need one of our own people to mark her; run interference and separate us when I have the opportunity to make a contact with someone useful. I’ll speak to her just once or twice—I’ve more important things to do.” Luke handed back the autoreader, aware that yet another level of play would now have to be factored into the evening. “And get me something on D’Arca; anything to satisfy that I’ve taken an interest with minimum effort. I don’t have the time to be wasting it on this.”

The Emperor’s unsubtle assignations aside, Luke had his own agenda for that night and the best place to hide it was in plain view. If he couldn’t ignore the Emperor’s order regarding D’Arca then he could at least exploit it, and while Luke was well-used to operating around Mara’s constant presence, an excuse to remove Palpatine’s eyes and ears was surely worthwhile.

Dismissing his momentary pang of guilt, Luke had firmly fixed his eyes on the greater goal; they’d never lied to each other about their positions or their situations. He had a job to do on the night, and he couldn’t do it with Mara in close attendance.

Yet here she was, and she was clearly looking for someone. Did she know about his intentions tonight? Or perhaps she’d found out about the Emperor’s orders regarding D’Arca? Either way, if she was here looking for him then they had an interesting night ahead.

Luke turned away, hiding himself in the crowd, mind focused on the task at hand.

The launch of the Invincible—or rather the Patriot—had gathered an unprecedented number of influential people in one place, both military and political; many potential allies, if approached properly. Those who may be open to such negotiations had already been identified, and Luke had the task of working his way round the carefully chosen selection of Destroyer Admirals and Captains, representatives of both the Core and, more importantly, the Rim Fleet, whose carefully chosen ships had accompanied Vader’s back to Coruscant for the launch.

Although Luke now had large numbers of supporters in the Core Fleet, Palpatine had always taken great care that Luke had little or no prospect of accessing the Rim Fleet, so that to date, he had the support of only a few Captains who had been transferred from the Core to the Rim fleet, effectively meaning that the very most support that either of Palpatine’s Sith advocates could muster would be their supporters in only half the fleet. It was a clever notion on his Master’s part, well-conceived…but it had one weakness. It assumed that the underlying tension which Palpatine had put so much effort into inciting between father and son would ensure that they remained always in opposition—that Luke and his father would never work together.

And, carefully lulled into that continued belief by father and son, it assumed too much. Because Vader had picked with great care the Rim Fleet representatives who would attend tonight, effectively making it an unprecedented opportunity for his son to increase his standing and support there.

Not just within the Fleet either; there were dignitaries, politicians and officials from all over the Empire attending tonight—people of standing and power. To be here at all one must have certain credentials—which coincidentally made them just the kind of specialist entrepreneurs Luke was looking for. Those willing to claw their way to the top were often willing to invest in the future and every shrewd dealer knew that one should invest early; by the time such investments paid off, there was no time for latecomers. The earlier one invested, the greater the rewards.

So tonight he was selling, and the product was himself—not Luke Skywalker, of course, but The Heir. Power, potential, a place in the future—for those prepared to take the risk.

Already he had invested a good amount of time speaking with those whom he needed to, scattering oblique offers of endorsement and future support, forming the beginnings of working relationships, affiliations and alliances within the Empire’s expansive military and political machines. Mostly suggestions of such at the moment, a testing of the waters—it was too early for anything more yet—but the groundwork was laid...and the general attitude was receptive. Which was good, because Luke needed to have people in power who would support him—enable him to maintain stability through change. He had also developed his own little habit of searching out those who would be willing to work with him from the presently subordinate. Those in the mid-ranking levels of politics, the Royal Houses and the military, who were less closely scrutinized, and so easier to move around within the system. Officials and military personnel whom he felt could be relied on would be quietly manipulated into new positions within the fleet and the Palace hierarchy. The astute would realize why; some had already made subtle suggestions that there were deals to be made. The rest would find out in time. Some may never know—occasionally an enemy in the right position could do far more to further one’s cause than any ally.

Power was something which came at a price, as his Master was so fond of saying. Some accepted this and others didn’t. Those who played the game would prosper—he would see to that. Those who did not…they were of interest only in as far as that they were now fair game.

Wheels within wheels.

This was what he did now. This was what his Master had trained him for—in his own way and for his own reasons, but lessons learned were applied across the board.

And Luke felt no trace of guilt at drawing the willing or the powerful into his own strategies; these were intelligent, ambitious men who well knew the rules of the game, and if they chose to gamble, it was at their own risk. They would have no qualms about using him in the same way if they could.

His eye was drawn by a movement from the crowd as Mara glided by, closer this time, still searching. Luke turned away slightly, catching the sliver of her attention within the Force and subtly deflecting it, the action muted enough that he hoped Palpatine did not notice, or if he did it was only to take it at face value; as a rejection of her interest, given D’Arca’s presence.

He glanced now to the far dais where the Emperor sat on his gilded Sunburst Throne divorced from his subjects by distance and disposition alike, making a rare ‘public’ appearance; he would stay a short while, then retire.

Luke was more wary of his disappearance than his presence; at least whilst he was here, he couldn’t be watching his precious Jedi too closely. Though he had others doing just that; Luke had sensed four watchers scattered among the crowd already. It seemed a pointless act on face value, since Palpatine knew that Luke would sense them, but they served to slow him down in his avoidance, Luke supposed, just as Mara did on a daily basis. And there were doubtless more, hidden in one way or another.

Eyes still on the Emperor, reluctant to go any closer but knowing that eventually he would have to, and that his Master would make the moment as difficult as possible, as he always did, Luke took the time to reflect on the day’s events—

Admittedly the ring had placed into question all the hard work he had put into reassuring Palpatine of his loyalty, but he thought his Master had accepted the misdirection he’d provided—that he had wanted the ring, nothing more—a surface truth used to hide a deeper one, his search for some link with his mother shielding a deeper connection with his father. He’d tried again to contact Vader on secure channels tonight, but again had been unsuccessful, though to his knowledge Palpatine hadn’t cared to verify the ‘facts’ Luke had provided.

Yes, he had lost favor in going to retrieve the ring but now it was done, quickly addressed and dealt with, Palpatine’s anger satiated. To have left the ring in his Master’s possession would have been an open wound to fester on both their parts. He reflected briefly on Palpatine’s unsettling accusations of his mother, much as he’d ordered himself not to—not yet, when so much hinged on tonight. Still, they hovered at the edge of his thoughts without showing on his face.

Had they been true? Yes—as Palpatine saw them.

That was the trouble with the truth; it could so easily be subjective. Another lesson learned at his Master’s hand; one of his favorite games was to tell the truth scattered with just a few omissions and personal opinions. It was still the truth as he saw it—just not the actual facts.

What Luke needed for the facts was a name—something no one seemed willing to give him. But even Palpatine’s jealous diatribe had been of value; his father had told him his mother’s given name and now he had what seemed like a profession; she had been a Senator—or at the very least involved in the Senate—right up to the time that the Republic had collapsed. And she had been involved in the resignation of Chancellor Valorum…and the Delegation of Two Thousand, whatever that was; records from pre-Empire days were scant, particularly those relating to the Senate. Those that were available were, by the very fact of being made available, unreliable.

Still, that was surely enough to begin a search, though even that was a dangerous thing. And given Luke’s own carefully manipulated history, in all likelihood any useful reference to her would have been removed long ago—another of his Master’s favorite impediments.

His mind naturally moved on from this to other considered actions today, carefully placing uneasy thoughts of his own muddy past aside for a time when he’d have the opportunity to study them.

His conduct onboard the Patriot had at least ensured that his greater plan remained intact; Leia Organa was still free—though what had possessed her to come on such a high-risk mission to the heart of the Empire in the first place he had no idea. It had been an impulsive gamble to risk helping her at the time; a gut-instinct which had overruled all else, but the fact that he had gone to her aid may be of some value, setting questions in her mind, making her believe him still sympathetic to her cause in some way. Making her more willing to think that she just might be able to trust him, if only for a short time—which could only be to his advantage.

A brief smile came to his lips, curling the scar there at the memory of what had happened last time he had answered that gut feeling and gone rushing to Leia Organa’s aid.

He’d like to claim that today was indeed a result of long-term plans, but in fact it had been the self-same flip in his stomach that it had been on the Death Star… Luke chose to look no further at that tangle of feelings, concentrating instead on the results—and damage control.

There was no point in trying to explain to his father; no point in trying to offer any persuasion. He always knew best, and rolled over any unwillingness on Luke’s part as forcefully as Palpatine ever did. Was it out of myopic ambition…or genuine, paternal concern? Luke remembered how many friends had lied to their parents when growing up on Tatooine, in an attempt to assert or maintain their own autonomy—but none had done so believing that if the lie was discovered, then their own parent may well betray them to a ruthlessly implacable higher authority. That remained, as always, the limit of Luke’s relationship with his father: that it had been he who had handed Luke over to Palpatine, knowing what the Sith would do.

And despite everything, knowing his father as he did, Luke still believed that under the same circumstances, his father would do the same thing.

Under that threat, how could Luke risk what little he had left—and how could his father blame him for doing so? They would probably never come to fruition, but it was these long-range plans which kept Luke moving, kept him sane. Though if either Vader or his Master figured them out then they deserved the upper hand, because Luke seldom could; sometimes they changed from day to day—from minute to minute, according to his disposition.

When he’d seen Leia…in that second, all his plans had fallen away, secondary to his need simply to help her. Why he was always driven to protect her he didn’t know. Yes, he needed her exactly where she was to fulfill his plans, but the truth was that in the moment that he’d realized she was aboard the Patriot, they hadn’t even been a consideration. All he knew was that he needed to help her… And in that moment when she turned to run, if she’d taken his hand…

But she hadn’t; he’d seen nothing but fear in her eyes; no acknowledgement at all of the man she’d once said she couldn’t imagine life without. And who could blame her? That man was long gone, swallowed up by this life and its constant demands.

Sometimes though, he still heard Luke Skywalker whisper to the Emperor’s precious Wolf and sometimes…sometimes he still listened.

He focused his eyes, realizing too late his mistake as Mara walked toward him, having no way to reasonably avoid her now.




Mara Jade smiled as she walked toward Luke, aware that she’d caught him daydreaming—probably the only reason she’d finally cornered him at all. “You know, I may begin to get the feeling you’re avoiding me.”

Unable to ever get close without losing him in the crowd, Mara had taken to watching him from a safe distance for almost two hours now. And knowing him as she did, she’d noted the difference between casual conversations and the few whom he’d intently singled out for more. Those exchanges always short, probably lasting until Luke had achieved whatever goal he set himself, a few minutes of mindless pleasantries on either side, purposely including third parties now to conceal that goal from prying eyes, then he moved on.

It was like watching a con-man work a room…

Now she settled beside him rather than standing before him, which may appear too familiar to watching eyes in the crowded room of milling people. They stared out for a short while, listening to the orchestra, keeping their distance and maintaining that studied formality, as they always did in public.

Finally Mara looked at him, studying him far closer than her casual glance suggested, aware that there was a focused energy about him tonight, an intensity which spoke more of purpose than nervousness. He seemed at once distant and removed yet completely, intensely focused, as he often did on these occasions, and…very handsome.

He was dressed formally in a dark, flawlessly fitted suit, a touch of white showing at the high collar. The suit was an interesting choice, hinting at military styling without being so specific as to alienate any civilians present, its cut emphasizing his trim form—he’d always been slim, would have perhaps bordered on rangy without the muscle which heavy daily exercise had earned him. As it was, it made him lean and powerful; one more allusion that he was becoming a force to be reckoned with.

Impeccable as always, very straight, very calm, he exuded self-possessed confidence despite the plethora of high-ranking officials present, an effortless poise which seemed completely unassailable. If it was an act for the benefit of those around him then it was a flawless one, Mara reflected. Sometimes it was difficult to tell with Luke; at times he was absolutely The Heir, the Emperor’s Wolf, his Sith advocate, decisive and ruthless, relentlessly pursuing his goal… Yet at others he seemed absolutely the pilot who had been dragged here with no desire to stay, isolated and unreachable, still trying resolutely to cling to a past which could only hinder him here and he knew it.

The more she knew him privately, the more she recognized these disparate facets, no matter how well he hid it from Palpatine.

The more she understood why Hallin stayed close.

Luke’s mismatched eyes faltered momentarily, uncomfortable beneath Mara’s searching gaze, and she turned away, smiling, her voice quiet enough to be hidden beneath the music. “So what trouble are you up to tonight?”

He smiled slightly, composure returning, his voice tinged with amusement. “I never create trouble; I just wake up on a morning and there it is.”

“That’s because you take it to bed with you,” Mara countered easily, glancing back round.

“You can say that again.”

She looked away, stifling a smile, but he kept his eyes on her, making her turn back, curious.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” he said simply, making her instantly self-conscious, her cheeks heating. He still had the power to do that; take her completely off-guard.

“Now I know you’re up to something.”

He glanced away into the crowd, manner politely indifferent for the benefit of any outside observers. “Yes, I am—and you’re ruining my schedule.”

“Dance with me?” Mara asked, choosing to ignore his words even though she could sense the truth behind them.

He glanced back, momentarily surprised, then looked away. “I think I’ve upset Palpatine enough today, don’t you?”

She too turned away slightly, though her quiet voice was warm and teasing. “Why would dancing with me make it any worse—are you that bad of a dancer?”

He set his head to one side without looking to her. “Well I promised him the first dance—you know how testy he gets if someone steps in.”

Mara smiled at his irreverent comment, keeping her eyes on the crowd though her complete attention was on him, reminding her of the journey up to the Patriot that morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

“Interesting,” she said, nodding her head in mock consideration. “So who leads?”

He grinned, the unaffected air momentarily ruining his polished veneer. “Ah, that’d be telling.”

She shook her head, stifling a grin, unable as ever to conceive of anyone speaking in such detrimental terms of the Emperor, though somehow since it was Luke, she found she didn’t mind. “See, I thought you were gonna say you had to dance with Lady Kiria D’Arca.”

Luke allowed the slightest of grimaces to show, for her benefit alone. “I’m trying hard to avoid it.”

“You don’t seem to be trying too hard to avoid her.”

“I’m under orders,” Luke excused, amused. “And is that jealousy?”

“No, it’s professional interest.”

She’d watched the elegant, delicate Kiria D'Arca being introduced to Skywalker early in the evening and thought nothing of it—just another hopeful being given their two-minute window of opportunity with The Heir. Luke had smiled, they’d spoken, she had laughed charmingly, but his eyes and attention had begun to drift… He’d given her a minute more than most before he began trying to politely extricate himself. Mara had forgotten about it probably as quickly as Luke had.

He’d continued round the room, singling out his targets…and then, magically, D'Arca was there again. Then again…and Mara started paying attention. She knew D'Arca of course, from her attendance at Court, where the House D'Arca had long held the Emperor’s favor. Kiria was an obviously ambitious socialite, though she disguised it well, balancing it with a quick and witty mind and a spirited, game disposition. Petite and polished, with flawless, caramel skin and smoky almond eyes, D'Arca played to her own unarguable strengths with impressive skill…and Mara’s eyes had narrowed as she’d realized just how little she liked the thought of all those resources being turned on Luke.

Luke turned a fraction, voice still teasing. "That why you’re here?”

“Actually you omitted to mention the enchanting Lady D’Arca,” Mara said dryly.

“Oh, you think so too?”

Mara gritted her teeth at Luke's teasing attempt to get a rise out of her—though that didn't stop her replying. “She’s an over-ambitious debutante on the make.”

“And not in the slightest interested in me,” Luke finished, still smiling.

“Well then who was that oh-so-charming little laugh for, every time you spoke?”

“I think you’ll find that was for The Heir,” Luke dismissed. “Just think of it as…professional interest.”

“Yeah, life’s tough,” Mara deadpanned.

Luke smile genuinely. “Fortunately I have you to make it tougher—just in case I find a moment’s peace.”

“Hey, I’m not even trying yet.”

“Really? Then you must be a gifted natural.”

Mara frowned, her voice taking on an unexpectedly serious air. “Do I complicate things?”

“Yes, incredibly,” Luke said without hesitation.

“Seriously.”

“Seriously? Yes, incredibly,” He said again, refusing to be drawn into a serious discussion right now. When Mara continued to study him, he turned to her just slightly. “Fortunately you’re worth it.”

She turned away, satisfied, and they remained silent for a few moments, content just to be close to each other, Luke apparently willing to forget his undisclosed aims for a moment, Mara no longer caring what they were.

“Dance with me tonight—alone?” she said at last, without looking—and he knew what she asked.

Knew the risk they ran.

Mara remained still, not daring to turn, and Luke remained silent, gazing out into the crowds so long that she thought he’d chosen not to reply; that his silence was an answer in itself. He’d said a hundred times that the risks of meeting in the Palace were too great and he was right, of course.

“Tonight,” he whispered in quiet agreement, then walked quickly off into the crowd, the tips of his fingers trailing soft as his whisper across her hip as he moved off, leaving her to stare at his receding form, quickly lost in the crowd, her heart hammering and a flush in her cheeks.

Nathan Hallin burst into Luke’s bedroom as Mara started awake, scrabbling vainly to disappear beneath the sheets. Luke didn’t even move, but then he probably already knew he was coming.

“Up! Get up! Quickly!” Hallin didn’t even pause as he rushed about the room, picking up Mara’s clothes.

Since he clearly already knew she was in here, Mara finally stopped trying to hide beneath the sheets and instead watched the surreal scene unfold before her in the early morning light as the slender medic dashed about like a dynamo and Luke finally turned over from his stomach, gruff voice very pointedly unamused, his Rim accent holding sway.

“This had better be so good...”

“Chancellor Amedda’s on his way here. Now,” Hallin added as he glanced about to check that he’d missed nothing.

Which was enough to wake Luke up, but he still pushed calmly upright, the covers tangled about him as he let his legs drop over the side of the bed and dragged his hand through unruly hair. “And what, am I receiving him in my bedroom?”

Hallin stopped dead, Mara’s clothes still bundled in his arms. “Well I’m glad one of us thinks this is funny.”

“Wait—why is Amedda coming here?” Mara asked, of the Emperor’s Primary Aide.

“And how far away is he?” Luke added, voice still husky from sleep.

“He’s still several minutes away—we had...” Hallin paused; he didn’t look meaningfully at Mara but he may as well have done, “...prior warning.”

Mara heard Luke sigh very lightly and knew that he was thinking the same as she—that Hallin had already said and done too much. Not only had his actions clarified to Mara that his trusted position was such that he already knew about Luke and herself—and was evidently so trustworthy that he would now attempt to cover it up—but he’d just all but admitted that Luke also had an informer in the Cabinet or Council offices.

“It’s fine, Nathan.” The tone of Luke’s voice was more awake now—and clearly very eager to get Hallin out of the room before he made another gaffe. “Mara will stay in here; you’ll ask Wez to arrange for someone he trusts to go and get her uniform and she’ll leave later as if nothing happened. She’ll take her clothes back separately.”

Mara was still frowning, worried by the Chancellor’s coincidental arrival. “Does Amedda often come here?”

Luke half-turned. “No. Only formal business as the Emperor’s official representative.”

Mara turned back to Hallin, eyes sharp. “Did your ‘friend’ say why he was coming?”

Luke cut in before the medic even began to reply, obviously not wishing to allow a very twitchy Hallin under Mara’s close scrutiny. “If Palpatine knew you were here I think he’d be here himself by now and if he wasn’t sure, sending an official representative isn’t exactly subtle; neither of us are likely to get spooked into making a mistake.”

Mara shook her head, uneasy at the coincidence. “Still...”

Luke turned on her, and just for a second she could see the contention in his eyes—‘you wanted to risk this’—but he stopped himself long before he spoke, turning back to Hallin, voice even and measured. “Go and tell Reece to show Amedda to the White Drawing Room.”

“No, wait—show him to the Morning Room,” Mara corrected, knowing it afforded no line-of-sight to Luke’s private rooms.

Luke turned, eyes quizzical, and Mara’s mind whirred for a second or two, but she had no reasonable excuse for this, so admitted the truth: “There’s a concealed passage in the rear wall of the storeroom in your Music Room. If I can get to that, I can come out three stories down.”

“Into the staff quarters?” Luke was trying to keep his voice casual though Mara knew this would be of great interest to him.

She nodded, knowing that he would store that piece of information away for future use, but knowing also how useful it could be for them both from now on. “In a side corridor in the kitchens. If you can get me a clear route across the main hallway.”

Luke turned immediately to Hallin, mind back in the moment. “Who’s on duty?”

“Clem and Vassigo. Vassigo’s your close guard, but Clem’s in the main cupola,” Hallin recited from memory.

The cupola was in the main crossroads to Luke’s sprawling apartments, an easily monitored central point popular with the guards because it offered a clear view down the four wide hallways which reached to the far corners of the apartments, meaning it would bar Mara’s exit whichever way she chose.

“I could cut through your office,” Mara said of the common shortcut used to avoid the long, grand main hallway and massive central atrium. “Then...what—through the State Dining Room and—”

Luke was already shaking his head. “You’d still need to get through the Grand Hall and the Gallery, then cross the main corridor to get to the Music Room—plus you’d need to cross it again close to the main entrance and close to Amedda. Too many chances.” Instead he turned back to Hallin, considering.

“Clem will take a private comm whilst on duty. When Mara’s ready, you go to the staff wing and comm the guard room opposite—ask for Lieutenant Clem. Make sure the comm can’t be traced.”

Clem was one of the many more general bodyguards attached to all high-ranking individuals in the Palace, Mara knew, whose brief tended not to extend outside the Palace walls, though they were generally attached to a single individual or household. As always seemed the case with individuals of high status, an inordinate number of people seemed to find it necessary to be in Luke’s apartments at any given time—bodyguards, personal aides, secretaries and servants. She remembered how he’d resented it when he’d first arrived, viewing it as little more than a method of not-very-covert surveillance—which was at least partially true of all people of rank in the Imperial Palace. Now he seemed completely at ease with it. But then, he’d taken care over the last few years to surround himself with people he trusted—and those he didn’t trust, he clearly made it his business to know very well.

Which made Mara wonder momentarily which category she fell into...

Hallin was nodding as Luke spoke, but his eyes remained wide, seeming all the more so because of his slight frame and olive skin. It seemed to Mara that even if she and Luke weren’t the panicking kind, then Hallin was doing enough for all three of them.

“And Nathan—” Luke added, making the fretful man pause at the door, “try not to be around when Amedda arrives.”

Hallin delivered a withering look and dashed out, leaving Mara to realize that he hadn’t once met her eye or acknowledged her; only Luke.

Luke finally sighed into the silence, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “See, this is why we don’t meet in the Palace; for one thing Nathan would have a coronary within a week.”

Mara was still staring at the closed door. “…he just took all my clothes…”

Luke lunged up and headed for the door, pausing just as he reached it to dash back and grab a dressing gown which lay over a nightstand.

Mara smiled mischievously, setting her head to one side. “See, you make that whole panic routine look so much nicer… Maybe it’s the naked thing…”

He spared her a dry glower before setting off back to the door, pulling the robe about him as he went.






In the event, the visit was indeed to pass on an official communiqué from the Emperor; it was Flight Orders for the Patriot which, in a change from the intended shakedown flight, was to leave that morning for the Rim Systems—with a guest.

Palpatine would be on the maiden voyage of the Patriot, the Peerless and the Dauntless serving as escort.

That brought Mara back to reality with a bang, making her realize just how foolish they had been the previous night; not only had they been reckless in taking the risk themselves, but clearly Hallin also knew about it, and while Luke could teach Mara to hide her thoughts whilst near Palpatine, she was pretty damn sure that he couldn’t do the same with Hallin—who was now about to spend several weeks in close proximity aboard the Patriot.

If the Emperor had wanted to caution, dissuade or just plain scare them, he couldn’t have done a better job.

Palpatine sat in the bulky, curve-backed chair on the Command Deck of the Patriot, specially fitted on his order to accommodate him on this journey, completing ignoring the tense, respectful bow by the medic Hallin as he walked briskly from the bridge, abuzz with nerves.

And well may he be; he clearly knew about Jade and Skywalker—was awash with panic every time the two were together before Palpatine’s close scrutiny—yet he had elected not to tell Palpatine of their trysts.

Palpatine had chosen the medic very carefully when he had first gained possession of his Jedi, seeking one person whom the boy might reasonably trust, one of a similar age and mindset with whom he could perhaps even build a friendship—confide in. He’d had at that point no clear knowledge of his new Jedi’s mindset—if Jade were unsuitable to hold him, then perhaps Hallin would be more appropriate. Whichever, he’d needed something to exert control over the boy, something which could easily be taken away. Something that wouldn’t withstand interrogation, if it came to the point that Palpatine needed facts.

His Jedi knew all this now, of course—knew that the medic was living on borrowed time, that the thing which both protected and condemned him was Skywalker’s continued association. For all his burgeoning strengths, Skywalker allowed himself far too many weakness—and he knew it.

Standing to the front of the Bridge, as far away from Palpatine as he could reasonably be and well aware of his Master’s eyes on him, his Jedi was now with Admiral Joss and three officers, quietly conferring, Mara standing to loose attention at a tactful distance.

They were all uneasy with the fact that the Patriot was making a lightspeed jump with co-ordinates only, no planetary name or navigation inventory. Not that Palpatine cared; his military would do as they were ordered, and the reason for this journey was something he had purposely kept hidden from his Jedi. He wanted a genuine reaction on arrival; no time to hide true opinions behind shields—Skywalker was becoming far too adept at that.

And he still wore the ring; Palpatine hadn’t failed to notice that. Though a few days had given him the perspective to see the fact for what it was: a minor dissent. The slightest of smiles twitched the corner of his lip in appreciation of the irony; here he had been, wary and watching for associations between the boy and his father, when in fact it had been his mother, the slip of a girl who had tried to turn Anakin’s head, who had proven to be the problem.

Still, she had failed then and she would fail now. She wouldn’t drive a wedge between Palpatine and the boy. He should thank her, he supposed; she had after all provided him not only with the man who had helped him create his Empire, but with the building-block to ensure that it thrived for generations to come. He had great plans for Padmé’s son, just as he’d once had for his father, and nothing as trivial as the boy’s obstinate will would derail him. Palpatine’s greater plan rolled on regardless, and the boy was still dragged with it; this journey was proof of that.

Sulfurous eyes turned coldly on Mara as he considered long-term schemes and stratagems, some of which required her presence…others of which did not. For now, he would tolerate their deceitful, impertinent little trysts because they served his purpose, immediate and long-term. But such indiscretions would not be flaunted within the Palace where Palpatine had other, larger games in play.

In the short term Jade bought him one more way to control Skywalker, however covertly. A valuable point, all things considered. She would never abscond and she would never betray him. Let the boy grow attached; Palpatine had already warned him repeatedly not to. That was the wonderful irony of it; despite all of Palpatine’s warnings that she would be a weakness—his demonstration of the fact—the boy had allowed her close anyway. So when Palpatine finally did use her to control him, then Skywalker had no one but himself to blame. Certainly that was the lesson Palpatine would be looking to underline.

And he would need new leverage soon; the old methods to contain and control were beginning to lose their efficacy. Still, one must be prepared to adapt—and Palpatine had always been flexible.

It would be a pity to think that he would never again be able to resort to the cell beneath the Palace as a means of controlling his fallen Jedi, but the boy was more Sith now than Jedi, and Palpatine doubted very much that it would hold him anymore. The barest shade of a private smile lifted bloodless lips into a shallow grin; yes, it would be a pity—he had always enjoyed their…exchanges on that particular battlefield, all civilized façades stripped away…

He settled back now, watching his Jedi closely as he stood at the front of the bridge, his iron determination not to turn or be intimidated beneath the Emperor’s gaze blasting out, as enjoyably willful as ever. Yes, it would be hard to confine him again—to subdue by force…but then perhaps he didn’t need it any more; the boy’s actions at the Patriot’s launch had surprised Palpatine in their decisiveness and their commitment.

That was why he was here now; he was ready for the next step.

His wolf was finally walking to heel…and if it still growled occasionally, well then, that was part of the pleasure in owning a wolf.

He narrowed yellow-flecked eyes, reflecting on his feral Jedi’s last visit to the cell, regretting the knowledge it would be just that. No matter how willing his wolf was to walk to heel, it would not tolerate further confinement; that had been crystal clear.

He remembered distinctly standing in the dark Ops room opposite the dedicated detention cell in the depths of the Palace monolith, watching the image within the nearby cell closely, waiting for Skywalker to wake from the drugs, very much aware that this would be a test of wills. Though the specialized detention cell had been heavily augmented to allow for his burgeoning powers, it was now at the limits of technology, and Skywalker knew his own abilities and his own mind like never before. Now was the acid test.

The reason that he was here—that he had disobeyed his Master once too often and pushed just a little too far—would not come to Skywalker’s mind yet; only his outrage at being caged.

And the always-harsh punishment for such disruptive behavior would also wait, often days, while Skywalker remained in confinement to consider the folly of his actions—and their inevitable consequences. Because when the punishment was finally meted out, it was without limits or mercy… As he had often said to the boy: a lesson taught ruthlessly and relentlessly seldom needed to be taught twice.

Palpatine had watched transfixed as the boy came around slowly, fighting the effect of the drugs which would remain in his system to some degree until an antidote was administered to counter their self-replicating attributes—another means to control his emerging Sith advocate.

Still, it hadn’t taken Skywalker long to realize where he was and drag himself unsteadily upright in response. He’d glanced to the door, but didn’t even bother trying to reach it. Instead he had shouted out, then turned directly to one of the security nodes; had it been a lens, Palpatine was certain the boy would have shattered it, but it was simply one in a series of staggered sensor relay nodes cast within the thick cell walls, which combined to create a single holographic image in the Ops room, so there was no specific place to aim his frustration at.

It hadn’t taken him long to find one. He had turned about, staggering against dizziness, shouting out again. When no one came, he’d crouched down on his haunches, head tucked in, eyes closed…

Palpatine had sensed the energy swarm as the boy called the Force to him, an all-encompassing inrush of raw power fed by fear and frustration and anger, and it had tugged the Sith Emperor’s bloodless lips into a tense, expectant smile.

For long seconds the boy had continued to pull power in, head down, immersed completely in the act until it whirled about him like a twister searching to ground…

Then his hands dropped to the floor as fists as he focused the power, throwing it out about him, incredible, elemental energy flawlessly focused—

The impact was felt in the Ops room as a dull thud, several alarms activating as runs of numbers and estimates scrolled up a nearby status screen, and Palpatine had flinched at the intense Force-directed blow, his eyes never leaving the holo.

In the cell, the floor beneath Skywalker had indented in a perfect dish, the two nearest walls compressing slightly in an inverted dome, the ceiling cracked and crazed where it had done the same. Combined, they described the curve of a perfect, invisible sphere about him as he crouched at its center, glancing about.

“There’s been a sixteen percent reduction in the overall integrity of the structure, Excellency.” The nervous Ops guard had watched the figures scroll up, his hand hovered over a series of marked keys, awaiting the command—but the Emperor only smiled.

“No—give him that,” Palpatine had said, pleased, but doubting that the boy would have the strength left to try the same trick again, especially in his present state.

With several refinements, the cell had been constructed very much the same as the one which Lord Vader had first used to control his wayward son when he had caught him at Bespin.

It was a complex structure of a cell within a cell, with feet-thick walls cast and cabled and held under vacuum. Designed to withstand several times vacuum, the overlapping, interlocking structure of the walls gained strength in opposition with each-other, so that if a Force-sensitive tried to destroy the cell walls by pushing outward, the combination of compressed vacuum and interlocking structure increased the inner wall’s strength, and if he pulled inwards, the interlocking outer structure and increasing vacuum pressure would only augment integrity further. In effect, the more one tried to breach the walls, the stronger they became. In the unheard-of event of the structural failure of the inner-cell walls, the resultant equalizing of vacuum would knock anyone within the room unconscious.

An ingenious, practical solution to the problem of holding a Jedi, used with great success following the Clone Wars, never once failing…

Skywalker had lowered his head and the inrush of power this time was sharp as a knife, heaved in on a massive, expansive scale, pulled tight as a bowstring, incredible capacity converging on a single spot, raw power held suspended, waiting for focus—

Palpatine had paused, breathless…

The release had been like a bomb detonating, the shockwave of sufficient density to rattle the reinforced door of the cell and jolt the eardrums of the guards lining the hall beyond, making them start nervously, blasters raising, eyes to the cell as the warning light above the door flashed.

“Integrity just went down another twenty-nine percent. Multiple fissures in the inner wall; three structural fractures to the outer assembly. The system is ramping vacuum to compensate.” The man was audibly shaken by this, turning to the Emperor.

Palpatine had remained still, head set to one side where he had braced against the outburst, eyes on the hologram of the cell as the dust which had scattered down from the ceiling cleared and the image-nodes recovered from the static burst of shock.

The walls were deeply inset now by the craters which still described a perfect sphere about Skywalker, long cracks crazing their surface, parts of the surface casing having broken free to show the heavier interlocking plasteel structure beneath.

He’d lifted his head to survey the damage and Palpatine had leaned in slightly, narrowing his eyes. The pressure change of the outburst in the confined space had been great enough this time to affect Skywalker, though he must have shielded himself. But his nose was bloody, a burst of scarlet red spattered against the plain white of the featureless clothes he was always dressed in for his confinement.

If he was aware of the fact then he ignored it, glancing about him only momentarily before he lowered his head again in concentration, the scale of his influence ramping up again, building like static, grating like blades over steel, still fed by that same iron resolve and unmeasured power—

“If he increases the strike by the same degree, Excellency, both outer and inner walls will suffer structural failure…” The Ops guard had turned tensely, hand still hovering over the same three toggle switches, knowing that he could render the volatile prisoner unconscious in seconds by activating them.

Palpatine had considered for long seconds, torn between the fascinated desire to see just what the boy was capable of if pushed to his limits, and his intention that the cell remain indestructible to his Jedi’s mind…

“Wait,” he’d said calmly at last. “I will speak to him.”

The man had nodded, biting down on the wish to tell the Emperor to hurry.

Skywalker was already hunched down again, tucking his head in and heaving in focus as the door slid open with the slightest hiss of equalizing air, pulling the dust up again in a flurry against the bright light from the corridor beyond, which made the boy squint as he turned.

“Stop it.” Palpatine had kept his voice indifferent and dismissive as he’d walked into the room, the door closing behind him with a hermetic hiss. He’d crossed casually without pausing or looking to the boy. “You damage nothing but yourself.”

Skywalker had lurched up, incensed, but the sudden action and strong drugs made his head spin and he staggered back a step, shouting out his frustration. Palpatine had paused at that, finally turning to face him, sulfurous yellow eyes staring out intently from the dark shadows of the heavy crimson cowl he wore, disapproval and demand hardening them. But the boy wouldn’t yield.

“You can’t hold me here! Not any more!”

Palpatine had said nothing, merely standing with his back to the ruined wall and watching patronizingly, as a father would watch a child’s tantrum.

“This won’t hold me! It can’t hold me and you know it!” Skywalker stumbled back another step, the venom in his voice fed by Palpatine’s composed distain.

“You’re right,” Palpatine had allowed. “But then we both know that this cage is more than walls and bars.”

His advocate fell silent, his train of thought broken, though Palpatine knew from his wild eyes and his tense stance that he didn’t yet have control of his Wolf.

“This is a far stronger cage, and you build it about yourself.” The Emperor had shaken his head as he spoke, gesturing to the sealed door. “There is the door—open it.”

Skywalker had wheeled about, still unsteady on his feet but no less determined. He lifted his hand…

“But know that if you do, it will cost the lives of everyone you know here—everyone. Right now. The order is already in place; I need only activate it with a word.”

The boy had faltered fractionally beneath the threat, knowing it was real—and even though his back was to the Emperor, Palpatine had grinned, knowing that he had him, his voice mocking.

“See? Already the price is too high.” He’d shaken his head, disdainful and derisive. “You’re contemptibly weak. Pitifully easy to manipulate.”

“You don’t have nearly as much control as you think.”

There was fire in his voice as the boy turned, eyes and sense boiling with barely controlled fury, and Palpatine knew it was the truth. This would not be the easy victory it had been before; there were fewer chains of self-restraint which held his Wolf in check now, and barely enough control yet to bind him—but there was sufficient, if he managed it with care.

“Then walk out of the door”

“And then what, Master? What have you left to hang over my head if they were dead?”

“I have other means,” Palpatine had assured. “I would not relinquish my Wolf so easily.”

The boy remained silent, chest still heaving from his exertion, sense wildly volatile, but Palpatine had stood his ground, unmoved. “You think you can escape—that you can run. You think you can hide from me? Don’t be naïve. The galaxy isn’t big enough anymore. You’ll never again be beyond my reach because I know exactly what you are willing to pay for your freedom…and I know what cost you would consider too high. That is your weakness; you can be bought like anybody else—not with money or power, but with the lives of others. Beings you don’t even know. That is how weak you are.”

Palpatine stepped in close. “I have no such weakness. I would track you down a step at a time and I would leave death and destruction in my wake, because I know that you would react—that you cannot help but do otherwise. Every being that you’ve spoken to, dealt with, touched. Every planet, every system—everyone. At what point would the death toll be too high? At what point would your resolve snap?”

The boy had wheeled about, realizing the Emperor’s triumph and incensed by it. “And if I were dead?”

The Emperor had narrowed cold yellow eyes, gaze hardening at his Jedi’s words. It was a genuine ultimatum, the threat implicit—and it was to be stamped out decisively. “That would not stay my hand in the slightest, Jedi; I would still take my revenge.

“I would take it from the hide of every creature you had ever known. I would make it my mission to see them scream so pitifully that you would hear them from the pit of hell and know that it was you who had brought this upon them—your actions which condemned them; you who turned my wrath upon them. And their kin and their species and their planet. My revenge would span systems… It would be a long time indeed before my anger was satiated, I promise you that.”

The boy held silent before the vehemence of this relentless, heartfelt tirade, jaw clenching, eyes filled with impotent fury at the unreserved threat he had brought down on everyone he had ever known. He had little of his old life left—Palpatine had long since ripped it to tatters in an effort to control him—but what still remained was precious to him, even when the memory and the reality were galaxies apart. And Palpatine knew it.

“You’re weak,” the Sith had accused again, as Skywalker turned his gaze down, struggling to hold focus beneath the drag of the drugs now that his adrenaline was waning. “I’ve told you before—if you hold a weakness then those about you will always use it against you.”

Skywalker said nothing but remained silent, his eyes burning with indignation as he looked back up to his tormentor.

“Say it,” Palpatine had invited tritely, the slightest of sardonic smiles on his bloodless lips, knowing that the boy would speak. That this interaction, no matter what the circumstances, had been deliberately established the first day Vader had brought him here, long before his Jedi had first been confined to this cell.

“Compassion isn’t a…”

“Compassion is the most pathetic vulnerability—it was always the weakness of the Jedi.” Palpatine’s words had the cut of a blade, laced with disgust. “Ask any of them—but of course you cannot.”

Skywalker’s sense had wavered just slightly and that was enough for Palpatine to lash out, knowing he’d won.

“Do you think it was compassion that gave you the strength to face down your father—do you think it was compassion that gifted you the power to bring him low? Do you think that those whom you humble yourself to protect would show the same compassion to you—have they ever? They used you and the fault is yours because you allowed yourself to be used—to be manipulated. There is no room for such atrocious, glaring flaws here. When you cure yourself of it, every door will be open to you but until then someone will always control you—you will always be in a prison of your own making.”

Palpatine’s voice had calmed at the last, so that by the end of his tirade, it was more frustration than anger which drove it. He’d stepped in close to the boy, yellow-flecked eyes searching palest blue... “Do you want to be controlled your whole life? Do you want to be no more than your father?”

Skywalker’s chin had lifted at that though he didn't speak, so Palpatine had delivered his final caveat.

“A true Sith has no weakness. Cure yourself of this failing or I will do it for you…in the most conclusive way possible.”

He’d held the boy’s eyes for several moments longer, the threat clear, then turned and walked to the exit of the cell, the heavy doors hissing open as he reached them, guards lining the corridor beyond, weapons trained.

“I will return tomorrow and we will talk further.”

He’d walked from the cell before the boy had time to react to the realization that he was to remain confined. The inner door slid shut behind him, the outer one closing with the hiss of a hermetic seal.

The power which had slammed against it a second later was considerable, but only a fraction of that which his Jedi was capable of; little more than a burst of frustration at the comprehension of his ever-contracting options.