CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Palpatine stood at the far side of the cavernous three-story Receiving Room, the light from the long banks of tall windows dimmed by photovoltaic glass, reducing the massive hall to darkness and shadows. This was not a room for daylight—like all of the Emperor's chambers it thrived in darkness. The tall stretch of multi-story walls were inset by two columned walkways which further sheltered the shadows, stucco plaster pigmented a rich, radiant claret red, the arched and vaulted ceilings above rendered in relief-carved tracery of glowing golds. Its commanding, stately grandeur engulfed all who entered, and it was not without consideration that Palpatine had chosen it.

The substantial carved doors slid aside and Mara Jade whispered into the hall, her footfalls inaudible though her sense in the Force sounded a heavy tone of profound unease.

His back still to her, gazing out through the muted windows, Palpatine's thin lips pulled to a pitiless smile at the game ahead. He waited until she was close, neither turning nor acknowledging her reverential bow, but leaving her to stand in uneasy attendance...

When he finally spoke he turned his head just slightly, his face still hidden within the heavy cowl of his raven cloak, his gravelly voice cool but neutral. "I am...confused. Chancellor Amedda tells me that my Jedi has left for Mosiin...yet you are still here."

The tension was palpable in Jade's voice. "The Heir...forbade me to attend."

"Forbade you? You act under my decree, lest you forget, Emperor's Hand. I commanded you to attend him. He is now without a bodyguard...or a watcher."

Jade hesitated long seconds, and he knew she was gathering her nerve where normally she would have spoken without pause. "I apologize, master...but he wouldn't allow me to board—my rank isn't equal to his..."

"Why?"

She wavered, unsure. "...Master?"

"Why would he not allow you to board the shuttle—what had you done?"

"We...argued. He told me I was to stay here to consider m..."

"About what?"



Mara paused, uncertain; had Palpatine already spoken to Luke? Oh, she could so easily destroy everything without whispering a word about his defiance.

No; Luke had surely played this game too often with the Emperor. If he'd already been quizzed and been forced to give an account, then Luke would have made damn sure Mara knew every point. She'd seen him do it with scrupulous attention to detail so often over the most minor matters in the past—and that must be a fraction of the truth, if he had hidden his meetings with his father for so long. No, this was something else...

The Emperor turned his head a little more, his tone a shade more indulgent. "A...personal quarrel, perhaps?"

The breath went from Mara's lungs in a silent rush.



Sensing his opening, Palpatine turned, the slightest of smiles on bloodless lips. "Or did you think that I was unaware?"

He set forward, one arm out beside him to usher Jade along as he walked the length of the massive, imposing room. "I'm disappointed, my child; I thought you knew me better than that."

Head in a spin, she allowed herself to be guided forward, no words coming to her lips, no thoughts to her mind, such was her alarm.

He shepherded her from the soulless magnificence of the cavernous space to a small waiting room beneath towering columns, its proportions of a more comforting scale, fitting to his line of attack, decided now. From what little they had spoken—from the lack of readable information through the Force when he had asked her directly about the argument—he knew she was hiding something. He could force her to tell him as he had originally intended, could terrorize and intimidate her or simply break the barriers she had placed and take the information by dint of relative strength...but this was so much better.

He owned his Wolf—and nobody else. Skywalker had learned his lessons and trusted very few, so the opportunities to clarify this fact were far between these days, but occasionally it was still possible to expose for Skywalker the limits of supposed fidelity in those about him, to underline that fact.

Mara Jade was his player; she would ultimately do whatever the Emperor demanded of her... He had held her too long for Skywalker to even think he might be able to change that. He had allowed his Jedi this indiscretion with Jade, but it was on the Emperor's terms, not Skywalker's—and it was time to remind him of that.

He looked to Jade, the finest veneer of a smile over cold coercion. "Everything that transpires here is according to my will. My intent. You know that. You are with my Jedi by my consent...and you will remain so by my good grace."

He paused, then reached out one pale hand to lift her chin. "But don't fret, child; I have every faith in you—you would never disappoint."

Jade looked to her master, emerald-green eyes anxious and apprehensive, and he smiled into that panicked face, arranging an expression of gracious indulgence about his own features, knowing that she would realize it only skin-deep. She knew her master well; there was no need for open threats—they were implicit here.

He had already seen their argument on the landing platform of course; had taken the trouble to have the images sent to him following a report by one of the Palace Guards. It was a tiny fragment, Skywalker shrewd enough to quickly pull Jade to a point behind the shuttle where they were hidden from the lens, their words inaudible above multiple engines.

Normally Palpatine would have ignored it; dismissed it out of hand as two fiery temperaments squaring off, as they had so often in the past...but today, so soon after the unsettling disturbance in the Force so clearly centered here in the Palace, everything was of interest.

Everything demanded further scrutiny.

This was not what it seemed—that much had been clear the moment she entered the Stateroom, written in her wary eyes and her sealed thoughts. There was only one person who could have taught her to bar her thoughts, and though he had the power and precision to scatter and veil such things himself, no one else could muster such capabilities—not against Palpatine. So though Jade could close her mind, she couldn't hide the fact as meticulously as Skywalker could…and a shield revealed so much in its mere presence.

Yes, something had changed...and now everything else was shifting about it...

What exactly had changed the Force would not reveal, defying any scrutiny. But in Palpatine's experience events often became more difficult to see or predict according to their proximity to a trained Force-sensitive...

There were only three of those left in existence. If Palpatine were changing the Fates by his own actions then he would surely know...which left two others, both of whom had done something unexpected today, Vader in trying to delay his intended return to the Palace and Skywalker in leaving Jade behind when he set out to Mosiin.

Of the two, Palpatine knew who was capable of inflicting the most damage; like Jade, he held Vader completely...which left just one.

Skywalker himself would be a closed book even if he were here, but Jade... Well, Palpatine had always told the boy that she was his weakness.

So he smiled at the woman now, dressing his question to hide its intent and play to her insecurity. "We do not speak enough of your new role, my dear. Perhaps we should remedy that."

"I..." She stumbled over her reply, wordless before the one person who could reduce her to such, lost as to how to react.

Not that it mattered; the Emperor spoke on regardless. "You of course appreciate how important such a role is—how strategically significant. You were among the very first I considered. Only those in whom I held absolute faith could be contemplated for such a role."

Among the first—she was sharp enough to hear the threat.

He bared ruined teeth in an empty smile. "And I know that you would never withhold information from me—cause me to question that faith. Make me re-evaluate your privileged position."

She lifted her eyes to him, and he smiled indulgently, as if explaining the obvious. "You are consort to The Heir, child—a position of great...responsibility. This is the first time that I have ever asked you to prove your suitability—your loyalty. Don't make me doubt you now."

Again that grin, like a garral stalking prey, all cold eyes and sharp teeth. "You, my dear, understand the potential offered in such a station—and the terms inherent. I give him everything—more than any, ever...he has simply to take it. To reach out his hand and take it. And I expect you to aid him in that, in explaining to him the opportunity he has... And in illustrating to him the futility—and the danger—of defiance."

She shook her head fervently. "He's not..."

"Think very carefully before you answer, child," he interrupted, clipped voice silencing her instantly. "As I said, yours is a privileged position."

She hesitated momentarily. "He's not at fault."

Her first slip; he wasn't at fault—not he'd done nothing wrong. Palpatine smiled benignly, head to one side. "I believe you."

She fell to subdued silence, still reluctant to betray him directly, and Palpatine considered, caught up in the game now... Perhaps he could offer her a pretext, a way to tell the truth but pass the burden.

"I...worry for him, child. I am concerned that he is...at risk from outside influences—that another has found a vulnerability and seeks to lead him astray. I hoped your closeness would give you the opportunity to identify such lapses before they became contentious."

She glanced down too quickly, eyes anywhere but at her master's, and Palpatine smiled into that guilt-ridden evasion. Before anyone else she was unassailable, indomitable, unshakably cool under fire. Before Palpatine and a lifetime of grooming, each manipulation carefully constructed one upon the other, she was tractable and compliant—though her fear was for another rather than herself, that much was clear. Which was what made it so wonderfully easy to exploit.

"I am not blind, child; I know the games he plays—in fact I expect no less from him, you know that. On the contrary, it is his strength of spirit which I value. But there are times when that resolve is...misdirected. And then I rely on the counsel of those whom I have placed about him for clarification."

The slightest of frowns crossed her smooth brow, uncertainty played out in her face as Palpatine continued his subtly insistent coercion. "I know that you wish only to protect him—that is why I allow you close to him."

She glanced up at that, fresh insecurity worrying her thoughts, and he softened his voice to gracious persuasion.

"This need go no further, Mara. I have no intention of punishing him for something if I do not believe he is at fault. It is enough to know. By knowing, I may disperse this problem before it requires stronger action. To tell me now can only help him..."

"...He trusts me..."

"And he is correct to do so, because you will do what is right for him," Palpatine underlined, knowing how close to the edge she was, savoring the game, already looking forward to the moment when he could reveal to Skywalker that his greatest weakness had betrayed him with no more encouragement than a few honeyed words.

"It will be our secret, Mara; nobody else need know—what you say here will never go beyond these walls. You will be helping him, as you will be helping me. You will be fulfilling your obligations to both—that is surely what you want?" He paused, taking the chance, pushing the probability. "I already know that there is something wrong. I don't wish to take him to the cells; don't make me do that."



Mara glanced up at this, aware of the gravity of that threat, remembering Luke's words; that he absolutely wouldn't be taken again. And Palpatine already knew—he already knew something was wrong. Would it be so terrible to tell him the facts? Surely she would be helping Luke, dispersing the situation before it reached critical.

Luke wouldn't back down again; she'd seen that in his eyes, heard it in his tone. He was no longer the tentative innocent at odds with his own conscience. This could so easily escalate...

Palpatine leaned closer, knowing from long familiarity exactly what she needed to hear, encouraging her hopes and voicing her fears in persuasive, compelling tones. "I don't believe he is at fault...but until I know otherwise, there is no other way to deal with this problem, you know that. I don't wish to hurt him but it would become that battle of wills as it always does...one which he can only lose. Don't make me put him through that again."

Mara shook her head, no longer even trying to conceal her anxiety. "He won't yield."



Of course he will yield; Palpatine consciously kept his features from hardening, kept the cold amusement from his voice at the knowledge that he would simply break the boy apart a piece at a time until he did. But he nodded just once, tone grave, tinged with reluctant concern. "I know. But you know what I will do—what I will have to do. Once we are on that path, I cannot back down."

He hesitated; just one more push. "You have the power to stop all that now, Mara, before it's begun. You have the power to save him."

"It's not his fault..."

The Emperor nodded benignly, the touch of impatient steel beneath his quiet words unnoticed by Mara. "If there is something you think I should know then you should tell me now..."

She held to hesitant silence, at the very brink...

Perhaps it was time to replace her after all; Skywalker's hold was becoming too great.

"The Force whispers..." He trailed to silence, intending to allow her own fears to fill the pause but, sensing her apprehension spike and realizing that Skywalker must have mentioned the disturbance, he arranged a contemplative tone to his voice and about his ravaged features. "I sense...a shift, a change—and I do not wish it to be between myself and my Jedi. I have invested five onerous years in establishing our collaboration—in ensuring that his commitment is here. Left to his own devices he would have deserted us long ago... Returned to his precious rebellion—or simply disappeared. My methods seem harsh but it is I who have held him here; my will, nothing else. Remember that."

He stepped forward, grating voice lowered to a wheedling tone. "You must trust my judgment, child..."

"I do, master—I always have."

"I fear that without intervention this situation may escalate beyond any retrieval—I fear we may both lose him..."

Panic lit her eyes...and he knew that he had her—

"...Vader," she said, voice a breathless whisper.

"Vader?"

"He's been speaking with Vader; meeting with him. Vader's manipulating him, trying to use Luke to accomplish what he can't; pushing him to disobey..." She absolutely believed the words she spoke. "Luke just...wanted to speak to his father. He didn't intend any greater defiance."

"No...he wouldn't..." Palpatine shook his head, tone darkening; wouldn't dare.

After all he had done, surely the boy knew there were some laws never to be disobeyed—and why would he choose to? He hated his father. Palpatine had invested long hours of scheming to guarantee that, to be sure that from the very first time he first faced his father as a Sith, the boy would want only to kill him.

And he had; Skywalker had almost killed Vader when they dueled—in fact Palpatine had thought he would, had been sure that the boy had entered into that duel with his own agenda regardless of Palpatine's command. That had been the test; the ultimate confirmation of Palpatine's control over the boy even in the most dire of circumstances; the ability to make him pull back in the heat of battle.

"...The duel—he tried to kill Vader—"

Mara's eyes turned down, words almost lost in shallow breaths. "But he couldn't."

"He couldn't..." And finally Palpatine understood; saw with crystal clarity all that had transpired... That the boy had intended to disobey—to kill Vader anyway...but in the moment, he couldn't.

And if, in the event, he couldn't do it...then the choice had been his, not Palpatine's.

But he'd allowed Palpatine to believe that he had controlled him—used Palpatine's confidence to his own advantage.

As, apparently, had his father.

The tie that Palpatine had thought irrevocably broken was evidently still intact. They hadn't moved against him, so the boy was still wary of his father, the bond tattered and torn—but there nonetheless.

And that was too much to tolerate.

Everything that Palpatine had built since had been dependent on that one fact: on his ability to control the boy in the heat of unreserved rage or cold, calculating fury. Control was everything—and Palpatine had been certain that he had held it unconditionally...but he'd been deceived. Intentionally deceived time and again by the boy. Which meant that he had lied...lied to Palpatine's face. Deliberately and repeatedly, in order to conceal his treachery and maintain his deception.

Outrage burned through Palpatine at the boy's brazen treachery. Indignation that he had believed he could disguise such a damning deceit, fury at the extent and duration that he had done so.

"Insolent, intractable, scheming creature..." There could only be one punishment for this—for putting another before his Master. He had always told his Jedi that if he did not resolve his own weaknesses, then it would be done for him.

Mara hesitated. "You said..."

Palpatine tensed as he turned on her and she flinched back instantly... He paused—

Yes, he had intended to lash out at her—but then this link would be lost.

"That was your argument on the landing platform today," he observed, grating voice hard and calculating now, bitter fury already cooling to reserved, hostile vehemence.

"I told him to stop," she said, voice earnest—pleading almost.

So he had known within hours of Jade finding out. A valuable arrangement then, one that should perhaps be maintained—for now. Her replacement was not yet entirely established, and Palpatine had not gained all that he wanted from their association yet.

He turned cold eyes to her, voice dismissive. "You may go, Jade."

She hesitated, terrified at the change that had overcome her master but needing to know, driven by something greater than fear. "You won't..."

"I said you are dismissed."

There was a power to the command which bore no refusal, and she turned and walked mechanically from the room, her eyes glassy.

In the event, Mara had very little to do. Everything was apparently already in place, and it was Reece in the Palace and Admiral Joss onboard the Patriot who moved everything forward with the kind of planning and precision which had clearly been months if not years in the making.

She was in fact, politely but firmly excluded; sidelined—advised that she would be of most value staying with The Heir and keeping Reece updated on his condition—and even that tentative, since by the time they arrived by back corridors and covert passageways at Hallin's dedicated medi-center, a group of ten plain-clothes men, all obviously military but none of whom Mara recognized, were waiting outside the surgery by Reece's command, appointed as The Heir's new bodyguards.

So it came as no surprise to Mara when Reece was already waiting in the recovery room by the time Luke left surgery; thoughts only on Luke, she hadn't contacted Reece yet, but there were clearly several others who had.

Members of the 701st, easily recognized by the dark blue pauldrons on the shoulders of their white armor, were scattered about the area now, concealed just inside the medi-center doors out of sight of casual passers-by, the ten plain-clothes bodyguards in the corridor beyond doing their best to look inconspicuous.

How many more were in the Palace, Mara wondered, already smuggled down from the Patriot in orbit? How many more were alerted, ready to move at a moment's notice; how many had already responded to coded messages?

She stepped quickly forward as Luke was moved from the gurney onto a high-dependency bed, eyes and thoughts only on him. Deathly pale, covered with cuts and bruises, still connected up to life-support following surgery, he looked terrifyingly fragile.

"Well?" Reece asked tightly as Hallin activated the scanning monitors over the bed.

"Well, he's just had five hours of surgery," the medic said distractedly, eyes locked on the readouts. "There is, not surprisingly, very little information available on how to treat lightsaber wounds."

"Surely they're similar to any laser wounds," Mara prompted, making Hallin glance up at her momentarily.

"You'd think, wouldn't you?" he said, voice dripping with patronizing sarcasm. He wasn't a shy man at the best of times, and had great faith in his own medical abilities—fortunately he was right. "The wound left a sloping exit high enough to puncture his left lung, introducing air into the chest cavity every time he drew breath. Air was filling the cavity into which the lungs normally expanded and restricting lung capacity; he was suffocating with every breath."

"Nathan," Reece cut through the irrelevant explanation, greater things on his mind. "I need to know whether to send the transmission out."

Hallin sighed, turning back to the unconscious man. "I really can't tell you at this point."

Mara frowned. "What transmission?"

Both men ignored her. "That's not good enough. I need an answer."

"I can't give you one. He has severe abdominal trauma—I've just packed a hole through his stomach which ran front to back, patched his lung back together and directed three surgical droids tying up the loose ends for the last two hours. I have no models for this kind of surgery—the only remaining information is kept by the Emperor's medical staff and I think they'd be understandably reluctant to part with it, don't you?"

"So there is information available? If I sent a team over there now…"

Hallin shook his head. "And tell them what? You'd never contain that kind of information request—they wouldn't release it without Palpatine's express permission and even if they were willing, I'd bet it's code-restricted to Palpatine, Pestage, Amedda and a few others, and when you couldn't get that code people would start asking questions. You may as well announce to the whole galaxy that the Emperor is dead and The Heir—the only person capable of standing against him—is seriously wounded. It's hardly a stretch to put that information together and come up with the logical conclusion, Wez."

Mara glanced at Reece. "Is that so important? You'll have to announce the Emperor's death anyway."

"But it's hardly the time to let slip that his Heir is seriously injured," Reece said in agreement with Hallin. "The information would be unstoppable; it would be out of the Palace within minutes—we'll be lucky to contain it as it is."

"We can protect him," Mara stated, very sure.

"No," Reece said decisively, looking to Hallin. "We stick to the plan. Nothing changes until we have two loyal Super Star Destroyers and four Destroyers in orbit and at least two thirds of the 701st in position—as well as all key supporters. The codes have gone out—the Patriot's presently in orbit and the Dauntless, the Executor, the Peerless and the Avenger have already responded—I need nineteen hours to implement everything. We put out the announcements based on that schedule and we ease this in as planned. Which means I have to know his prognosis—I can't very well start disseminating images of The Heir assuring that everything is under control only to have everyone find out that he died two hours previously."

Mara frowned. "What images?"

Reece ignored her, his attention on Hallin. "So I need assurance."

"I can't give it!" Hallin hissed. "You're asking me to give guarantees which I'm not in a position to know."

Mara took a step back, outraged by the surreal image of Luke's two most trusted advisors arguing over his unconscious body about whether or not he was going to make it through the next few hours—not out of concern, but on the grounds that they needed to manage the HoloNet.

"What the hell are you doing?! Listen to yourselves—listen to what you're saying!"

Both men turned, but it was Reece who found his voice first.

"I'm doing what The Heir charged me to do, Commander Jade—I'm stabilizing an Empire which could very well descend into anarchy and civil war if there's the slightest indication of vulnerability." Reece paused pointedly before stating frostily, "The Heir had a rare clarity of vision in such things; he placed the greater good before himself."

Hallin narrowed his own eyes at what sounded a little too close to a eulogy. "He's not dead yet."

Reece brought his face back to the medic, eyebrows raised expectantly. Hallin glanced back down to his patient, then pursed his lips determinedly. "He'll survive. He's young and he's fit and he's made it through far worse than this."

"Thank-you, Nathan," Reece said emphatically, and Mara felt everyone's temper calm a little at the medic's assurance, the burst of adrenaline-laced tension which had been building since Luke had arrived here finally burned away in the brief dispute.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a very long day ahead." Reece paused at the door. "And incidentally, I spoke in error—he's no longer The Heir."

Lightyears away, the Rebel Flagship Home One maintained a synchronous orbit around Yaga Minor, just clearing the dark side of the planet's shadow, the sharp light of a new dawn creeping in through the viewport and dusting the surfaces with soft shadows.

Leia abruptly surged bolt-upright in bed, eyes wide. "No!" She shouted out into the night, arms out before her to…what? Protect…something—someone. Pull them back from…

Han turned, his voice muffled by the pillow he still clung to. "Hmmm?"

"What?" she asked in reply, blinking awake, the chilling nightmare already fading from reach.

"What d'ya say, sweetheart?" he murmured; it took a herd of banthas stampeding through the room to wake Han.

Leia froze in the cold starlight, a sheen of sweat on her body, making her shiver in the chilly room; dreams…broken fragments of intense memories burst into waking thoughts, more emotions than images, but terrifyingly real. Danger and violence and reckless, abandoned fury. Like a stormfront, wild and tempestuous, unstoppable, relentless…

And somehow…inevitable. The storm had been so long coming, she realized, a dark, roiling shadow on the horizon. Gathering momentum, drawing ever closer, like a change in air pressure, like ions charging. Ever more volatile, immense and momentous…

She frowned, heart still beating staccato against her ribs, arms wrapped about the burning prickle in her stomach, her mind racing to chase down that nebulous feeling. Knowing only one thing but knowing it absolutely…

"Something's happened," she murmured; she'd never been more sure of anything in her entire life.

Mara stepped out onto the wide balcony, taking in huge gulps of fresh air, sharp with the first frost of the turning season. The sun rose slowly over the city, freezing mist caught in the avenues between the tall buildings, not yet burned off by the wan warmth of daylight—a new day dawning.

A new day dawning on a new Empire—though nobody knew it yet. The first shards of light stretched to touch the highest towers of the Palace, their edges given clarity by the mist.

A new Empire…one without the Emperor. Only there was an Emperor.

And he was struggling for his life in the medi-center behind Mara.

She should have known…she had known. She'd just never been able to admit it even to herself. She'd known that first time, when he'd destroyed the transparisteel-reinforced windows in the opulent prison that had been designed by the Emperor specifically to hold his new Jedi. Because that prison had been built to hold someone whose powers were equal to Palpatine's…

And he'd still destroyed it—shattered it to dust and rubble.

Not only that, but he'd done so for his own reasons. Reasons that he'd hidden completely—not just from Mara and Vader but most importantly, from Palpatine. She should have known then that her master never hold his precious Wolf. At the very best, he'd keep it at bay for a while.

His Wolf…

Abruptly, like a veil falling away, recognition of why Palpatine had given Luke that name burst into Mara's memory—the vision! The vision from the night Luke had shattered the reinforced window flooded back into her mind—the first night she'd seen him use the Force.

The vision of the twin suns, of the blood-red moon…of the black wolf running through the shadows, claws to stone, breath misting in the moonlight, hunting…

Her master had asked her what it hunted and in that instant the vision had left her, not a single impression remaining, melting to nothing like the wolf in the shadows… But Palpatine had seen it too, the vision of the wolf; she knew from the look in his eyes when she'd said it, from the tone in his voice—he'd seen the vision many times.

But he couldn't see the wolf for what it was—or willfully refused to. He saw only power and potential and thought he could hold it; thought he could bind it and dictate and possess. So he'd hunted down the wolf. He'd claimed it and named it…but the truth was he'd never tamed it—it remained always the same feral creature, wild and ungovernable, and the more he pulled at the leash the more it bared its teeth…

It was fitting really, Mara reflected numbly; that Palpatine had lost his Empire in very much the same way that he had created it—by force, in a blaze of passionate fury, all twisted through with Vader and Skywalker's line and her master's precious prophesies, Sith and Jedi both.

And now the sun was dawning on a new Empire…and a new Emperor…

And as much as she liked to think that she knew him, Mara realized now that she had absolutely no idea—none whatsoever—what this new Empire would be.



As she considered this, she heard quiet footsteps close behind her and turned to see Hallin approaching.

"I haven't had a chance to thank you."

"For?"

"You could have walked away…instead of contacting Reece, you could have simply turned around and walked away. Or you could have stood and watched him die, for what he did to the Emperor. He had just minutes."

Mara turned back to the waking city. "I couldn't walk away. I told you that a long time ago."

"You did," he said simply. "But thank you all the same. I also wanted to apologize for our behavior earlier. We're all a little…stressed right now. You're not really seeing us at our best."

"On the contrary," Mara observed, "I think I'm finally seeing just that. And a lot more besides."

She glanced sideways at the slender medic as he stepped forward to lean on the heavy stone balustrade beside her, rubbing at eyes made tired by hours of close surgery. "So how long has all this been in the cards?" she asked, never one to prevaricate.

Hallin frowned, glancing down to pick at the stone, so it was left to Mara to fill the uneasy silence. "I'm not blind, Hallin; everything was already in place—there were codes, lines of contact, pre-ordained procedures. Reece already has something to put out over the HoloNet, for crying out loud." Despite her words, her voice was subdued and calm—surprisingly so, even to herself.

"You have to understand, Mara, he would have never acted unless he felt that it was in the greater good."

Mara remained silent, and eventually Hallin sighed, squinting into the dawn sun, the autumnal air still cold enough to mist his breath.

"It was to have been a staged take-over," the medic allowed at last. "The military first, though he'd begun making headways into Court and the Royal Houses. He has the tacit support of over half of the Moffs and Fleet Admirals, plus Destroyer and Frigate Captains—another year and he would have held the military; they would have followed him, even over Palpatine's direct order."

Mara shook her head. "No—the Emp…" she floundered, suddenly unsure of what to say. "Palpatine deliberately split up the fleet. Neither Commander-in-Chief had access to the other fleet—it gave Palpatine the edge if even a large percentage of either fleet became mutinous."

"But he made the mistake of interchanging high-ranking officers among the two fleets in order to place those he trusted in key positions…"

"Those he trusted," Mara underlined, but Hallin was shaking his head gently.

"They may well have been loyal, but their old station had to be filled and with so many of the rank-and-file officers loyal to Luke, never having even met the Emperor, in actuality all it did was to spread the dissent. Remember, Luke has traveled with the Fleet almost constantly; he's very much thought of as a military leader. Most of the recruiting which Luke did was among mid-class officers which he would then quietly contrive to maneuver into higher ranks. By the time they came to command, they were already loyal to him."

Mara nodded, remembering the number of younger officers in the Core Fleet, remembering noting the gradual change in attitude it had seemed to usher in—she'd been looking right at it! "And they came to power quite quickly, didn't they?"

"He never removed an officer simply because they weren't loyal to him, if that's what you're saying, though he moved them around to ensure an even spread of loyal officers" Even at her accusation, the ever-loyal Hallin was muted in his tone, quietly insistent rather than his usual argumentative self, clearly feeling the need to explain but not wishing to argue. "Those whom he eliminated were spies. Palpatine knew when he placed them within The Heir's staff that they would be found and removed."

"So the fault was the Emperor's, is that what you're saying?"

"No, Commander. I suppose I'm saying that we all do what we feel we must."

"Apparently he was right to place them," Mara sniped, though there was no real heart in it, and they both fell to contemplative silence, watching the new day creep into being. Eventually Mara shook her head. "He shouldn't have given Luke free passage into the Outer Rim."

"No," Hallin agreed quietly. "It advanced his plans so much; had made them ready where otherwise they may have floundered this soon."

Mara still scowled at the sunrise. "But I watched him so carefully… I know that the incoming officers and personnel on Project Redress weren't particularly known to him."

"He knew you were watching," Hallin said simply.

Now, with all the risks and duplicity done and Luke still here, there was, it seemed to Mara, something very close to compassion in his gentle voice. Perhaps it was sympathy: the realization that she was as trapped as he was on this gyrocoaster ride. Perhaps it was comprehension of the torn loyalties which had ripped into her with such savage fury and left her reeling, caught between torn loyalties and values, struggling to come to terms with the changes she had both desperately desired and dreaded. What ever it was, it softened his voice, old enmities forgotten beneath greater events. Perhaps he just felt she deserved some kind of explanation.

"But he was still using the project to hide the movement of officers and units of the 701st around between the two Fleets, and to advance those mid-level officers into positions of power when their seniors were required on Project Redress. He was also breaking up perceived hot-spots of entrenched officers loyal to the Emperor, splitting them up and moving them around ostensibly to cover the vacant posts. Everyone was looking at who he brought in, so he always brought the right specialists for the job… But no one checked who replaced them in the Fleet, or where they were returned to when their work was done. And it was possible to hide a percentage of loyal mid-level Core Fleet officers in the turnover and have them bled back out into both fleets, Core and Rim. Then he need only supply his father with the names of those who he wished to see advance in the Rim Fleet. The turnover of personnel was expected to be massive in order to complete a project of that size, especially when he was supposedly ramping up construction."

"All the while he was routing loyal personnel into positions of power—building his own private little army." Right under her nose. She'd been charged to watch who he tried to make contact with, where he went, when he spoke to the high-ranking staff he appointed to the station, courting their loyalty—it had never even occurred to her to look too closely at where they came from or who replaced them.

But of course he never showed the slightest interest in the station—never went much further than the management offices when he was there, dividing his time between them and his office on the Patriot. They always seemed a hive of activity based on the figures and the charts, personnel and ordnance streaming through… And he spent so long with the Ops officers when he was there—mid-level officers he'd placed, people he trusted to carry out his orders to the letter—having reams of information sent up to his office on the Patriot, reading through and correcting and reassigning and checking… She'd actually been in the room when he'd done it! Watched him sign off whole groups of personnel, splitting them up to re-integrate them back into the Fleets—using the whole massive project as a glorified staging house to disseminate pre-existing militia.

She'd been watching the shadows and he'd been working in the plain light of day.

"And Project Redress?" she finally asked, sure now that Luke wouldn't have handed it back over to the Emperor as completely as it would seem.

"He had someone in mind," Hallin allowed. "From the Rim fleet. But he'd not set that in motion yet. We…thought we had time—another year at least. This is all rather premature."

An empty laugh came to Mara's lips. "You even had a deadline."

She should be angry, outraged, as she had been yesterday morning…was it only yesterday? But the passion was spent, only a numb weariness remaining, relief blunting her guilt… And the realization that if it had to happen, the truth was that this was the outcome she would have wanted.

"Not so much a deadline as a direction," Hallin admitted. "We have, I think, a very interesting year ahead of us."

Mara turned sharply. "You know what he's going to do?"

Hallin shrugged. "I don't think anybody quite knows what Luke's going to do, as yesterday evidenced. But I have a good idea…and faith."

She turned slowly away to watch the dawn light over a new Empire.

"And you, Commander—what will you do now?" Hallin asked quietly, his words carrying far greater import than he realized, Mara knew.

"I guess that depends on Luke," she said neutrally, aware that her access to him may be quickly curtailed if they knew the truth. Luke hadn't yet regained consciousness so no one knew all the facts—that her actions had instigated this, her betrayal.

Only yesterday, he had stood on the landing platform and told her that his fate was in her hands… In the turn of one day, Mara was intensely aware that the opposite was now true.

She sighed, pushing the thought away, unable to even consider it yet. "What will you do?"

Hallin shrugged, picking at the balustrade again. "I suppose we have a coronation to organize." He laughed disbelievingly. "Is it called a coronation with an Emperor? I have no idea."

"You'd better learn, Hallin," Mara said, wondering if he realized just how much everything was about to change. "Because that man back there is about to step center-stage…and you know as well as I do that it's not where he wants to be. I can guarantee that 'very interesting year' of yours will start the moment he wakes up."

From the outside, everything went smooth as glass, the carefully arranged annexing surprising Mara in its orderly execution…and its extent. In a calculated act of assured standing, the military were the first to officially know, emphasis being placed on securing and stabilizing the Empire when the news was made public, and of the military's reassuringly significant role in this.

As such, the subtle insinuation of continued status assured that there was the barest ripple in the military, such was Skywalker's support, and though there was an uneasy murmur through Court and the Royal Houses, those who had supported him now came quickly to the fore, knowing their day had come and that they had a vested interest in making the turnover as smooth—and as permanent—as possible.

One of the major houses supporting the new Emperor with applied zeal, Mara noted, was the D'Arcas, Lady Kiria's standing bolstered significantly by her whispered association with Luke. They'd already requested a private audience, and based on the quick glance Mara had glimpsed of the notes on Reece's automemo before he'd blanked the screen, it seemed that they were high in line when such things became possible again.

All members of the Red Guard were quietly reassigned in small groups to outlying barracks within ten hours of the Emperor's death, to be replaced by members of the 701st and the 501st, shipped down from the orbiting Patriot and Executor, Reece wishing to take no chances though there had pointedly been no allusion that Palpatine's death was anything other than natural when it was finally confirmed.

Regular announcements were released over the HoloNet for the next two weeks, accompanied by three short pre-recorded pieces from the new Emperor assuring that everything was in hand.

No one knew, of course, that the images were pre-recorded, and every effort was made to keep it that way. They'd been shot against a plain, dark backdrop with no clue as to where it was, carefully chosen words always spoken in the present tense, just vague enough to cover any circumstance, referring to the need for calm during this transition—for solidarity. But hinting at more: a new age, an opportunity to be grasped, the potential for reform.




The inauguration was planned in minute detail, the date set for fifteen days after the announcement of Palpatine's death—purportedly to give dignitaries a chance to get to Coruscant. In actual fact it was to give Luke a chance to recover—and for extensive repairs to the Throne Room in preparation, Reece insisting that the ceremony should be there.

Seven days before the ceremony, Luke flew to the Emperor's hunting estates on the Issig peninsula. What remained of his father's body was cremated there. It was little, but then that wasn't the point, Mara knew; it was a way to say goodbye—to lay his father to rest with some dignity, something which he knew would not have happened without his involvement.

He was the only one to attend, the funeral not announced. Even those close to Luke were not encouraged, so that in the event his final moments with his father were much the same way that they had always conducted their association—privately, whatever words spoken remaining between them alone. As much a mystery to Mara as the whole of his ambiguous, explosive relationship with the man he both loved and hated.

Still too weak to stand for more than a few minutes—a fact that was being very carefully hidden from prying eyes—he sat in somber silence and watched the pyre burn, face neutral, gaze lost in the flames.



Mara and Hallin stood at a discreet distance, knowing they should go no closer but somehow wishing to be there, aware of his grief without understanding or sharing it.

"He used him," Mara murmured at last of the limits of Vader's relationship to his own son, unable to hide her disgust, incensed at the injustice of it all.

"He knows that," Hallin said of Luke, bringing Mara's eyes to him. The medic shrugged, his attention remaining on the lonely, melancholy, scene. "Some ties are deeper," he murmured simply, offering no more.

Mara turned back to the solitary figure. "I couldn't forgive," she said, very sure.

"It's a rare thing, the willful determination to look beyond the obvious," Hallin said, turning to leave his friend in peace. Before he did so he paused to look pointedly back at Mara, though his voice held no censure when he spoke. "I would have thought you of all people would appreciate his ability to do that."

Mara stared at his back as he walked calmly away, her mind racing—did he know?

She'd tried several times to explain to Luke her unwilling part in the events which had led up to the death of his father and his own fateful duel with his Master, hoping to apologize; to be, if not forgiven then at least understood. But always Luke had made it crystal clear that he didn't wish her to elaborate; didn't want to discuss it in any way, avoiding or curtailing it without ever allowing her to continue.

She told herself that perhaps he wasn't ready yet, the events too fresh to talk about. She told herself that he'd always known that it was inevitable. That those events had been destined to happen one way or another from the first moment Luke had stood before the Emperor, dragged there by his own father, three very different wills and intentions in play, all of them stubbornly intractable and uniquely, incomparably gifted. She told herself that he knew firsthand what Palpatine was like; how manipulative and calculating. Told herself that he knew only too well how quickly events rushed beyond your control when he turned on you. That he knew he too had to take his share of the blame in what had happened. She told herself that he just needed some time.

She told herself everything except the one thing she truly feared…

That he didn't want to know how deep her involvement had truly been. Because if he did, how could he forgive her…ever.

Reece walked the corridors of power like he belonged—but then he had always believed that he did.

His attentions at the moment were concentrated on the security updates he was reading on his automemo. With just days to the inauguration, they were still sifting through the staff here at the Palace, particularly guards and Intel operatives, trying to sort out who was reliable and who needed to be removed. It was a monumental task and despite it being given priority, it would in all likelihood take several months to process them all—and there would always be a few who slipped through the net; that was what the new Internal Intelligence department had been set up for. The existing Intelligence network would eventually be absorbed into the new, more trustworthy one—when all relevant checks had been completed of course.

And in the meantime, with his father's reliable 501st and Skywalker's own 701st spread so thin, a few who had the means to be genuine threats in the future had already dropped beneath the radar, some within hours of the Emperor's death.

Saté Pestage was nowhere to be seen, four Grand Moffs were gone, though their ships remained in the fleet, and Dangor had been sighted three times on Bilbringi. Sloppy; he'd be picked up inside the month.

Several members of the Ruling Council had gone to ground too, but Karrde's people had already tracked three down and were watching them. They'd give them a few weeks to see what they did; they should condemn themselves by their own actions, Skywalker had said. Personally Reece would have been happier simply to remove them and several others, but Luke had maintained that members of the Ruling Council were presently responsible for the day to day running of the Empire, still its de-facto legislators, and he needed that stability…for now.

It was, of course, the right thing to do under the circumstances, though as far as Reece was concerned, those who had fled had already illustrated their doubtful loyalty by abandoning their posts, taking whatever they had amassed with them. But Palpatine had been diligent in maintaining files on everyone, and those files from the old regime's Intel divisions were in the hands of the new Emperor's agents within hours of the takeover. They wouldn't run far. The Empire still remained, and now as then, disloyalty would not be tolerated.

Those who had proved faithful would be accepted, those who had aided the transition would be rewarded. Those with existing ties would finally reap the benefit. Reece firmly believed himself to fall into the latter of the three categories, though his loyalty to The Heir had never contested or opposed his loyalty to the Empire; they were one and the same.

Since his early induction into the ranks of the Imperial Armed Forces and his recruitment to the Red Guard, he was intensely loyal to the Empire, had always believed in it; believed in it still. It was only with assignment to the Emperor's entourage that his convictions had begun to falter—and not even that in truth. He still upheld the principles of the Empire; the ideal if not the reality. If Skywalker hadn't come along, he would still serve the Emperor and the Empire, still loyal to both, if no longer approving of the former in the flesh—what had been left of it.

They always said you should worship your heroes from afar—nearness withered them. It was this which had slowly brought Wez to the realization that his beloved Emperor may have lost his way in gratuitous self-indulgence. Every person who came to the Palace did so with such high aspirations…but all too soon they felt as sullied and hopeless as everyone else, tainted by association.

And just as such thoughts had begun to percolate in Wez's mind, Skywalker had come along.

Still a serving officer, Wez had been recruited by Saté Pestage, the Emperor's personal Aide. Amedda, like Dangor, was the public face of Palpatine's offices; Pestage was known as the Emperor's private voice; to have him approach one on the Emperor's behalf was tantamount to a personal command, as well as individual recognition; a solid foundation in the upper echelons of the Imperial Court. Wez had taken the assignment of course; it wasn't exactly a choice, in truth—if he'd turned it down it would have ended his career, certainly within the Palace and probably within the military. And something nudged him on: curiosity, ambition, vanity even, that he'd been singled out.

And after almost two years of serving Skywalker whilst reporting to the Emperor through Pestage, of seeing his own distaste at the petty machinations of Palace life reflected in Skywalker's and watching him try to steer a fine path between personal ethics and the need to interact with this offensive state of affairs, it was hardly surprising that Wez had begun to listen.

He'd been warned, of course, that the man he was being assigned to was a Sith. That because he could read thoughts, he would know exactly the tack to take with Wez when he came to try to recruit him—which he would, they assured. Though having said that, for a long time Skywalker had, if not ignored Reece, then certainly discounted him, clearly viewing him as nothing more than another spy in his midst. It was only when Reece began to build some kind of relationship with Nathan Hallin that Luke had begun to accept Reece…and pull him in.

He had simply seemed…the better choice. Everything that the Emperor was, just as decisive and resolute and uncompromising, as was required to lead so massive and sprawling and diverse an Empire, but with some sense of moral code. Some vision other than the pursuit of personal power and indulgences.

The Empire that Reece so venerated would be better served in Skywalker's hands; it was as simple as that.

He didn't regard himself as a dissident or a Rebel. Though like Skywalker, he was willing to use such factions, he would never support them; he believed absolutely in the sanctity of the Empire. And he truly believed that Skywalker could maintain and further that. So he was not disloyal, he had simply chosen his loyalties with care—and thus far, had never found reason to question that choice.

Now, in the face of consummation of those expectations, Skywalker was keeping to himself leading up to the inauguration, remaining in his apartments, quiet and insular. Though unlike the ever-cautious Nathan or the unusually nervous Jade, Reece could hardly fault him; it was better that he kept a low profile since his injuries were still apparent and anyway, it was time he began creating some sense of detachment.

Public ceremony notwithstanding, he was Emperor now, and some degree of decorum must be maintained.









It was the night before the inauguration when Mara received the comm she had been dreading and yet somehow, on some level, expecting.

"Mara, is Luke with you?" It was Hallin, the raw nerves audible in his voice making her sit up in her bed, hand slapping at the light panel nearby.

"No, where are you?"

"I'm in his apartments…he's not here."

Her heart skipped—it actually skipped; she felt it pause then drum against her chest. "Wait there, I'm on my way."

She ran all the way; the entrance to the Perlemian Apartments was calm and composed from the outside, the lights turned low for the night and the main doors closed, guards in ever-present attendance.

It was very different inside; when Mara passed through it was into pandemonium, every room lit, about a dozen of the more trusted guards clustered in the security office which was opposite the main staff offices just inside the doorway, everyone checking security footage to trace Luke's last known movements.

"Have you done a life-sign check?" Mara asked, pushing through; Hallin was nowhere to be seen but Reece was at the front of the throng. They'd disconnected practically all of the security lenses in the apartments at Luke's order a week ago, only those at the main entrance remaining.

"No, we're just calling everyone out of the rooms to get a clear reading. We've done a visual check—in fact we've done about three."

"If he doesn't want to be seen by people, he won't be," Mara reminded.

Call-ins were being monitored by the redoubtable Clem, a long-standing member of Luke's security staff who had made the transition from Palpatine to his Heir without so much as a blink. Now he turned to Reece, voice tight. "We have all eyes reported in again—still negative."

Reece shook his head, not really needing the life-sign check. "He's not in the apartments."

"How did he get past ten guards?" Mara asked, feeling some uneasy deja-vu creep over her, realizing just how much this reminded her of the time long ago when Luke had first broken out of these apartments to buy Han Solo's freedom.

That time, he'd intended staying in the Palace—this time…

Reece took her arm, pulling her away from the crowds. "We have less than nine hours before the official public inauguration starts; we'll look pretty stupid without an Emperor in attendance."

Mara twisted free. "Then you should have been watching him—don't tell me you didn't see this coming."

"You're supposed to be stabilizing him."

"Don't worry, Reece, he'll be at your precious investiture." She set off out of the security rooms, knowing that it would do them no good to keep looking—if he wanted to be found, he'd be found. The question was, did he want to be—ever?

She was three steps down the hall when Hallin caught up with her on his way back in, though his worried tone at least held genuine concern. "No luck yet?"

"He's not there." Mara shook her head, pausing as she strode down the corridor in realization of the fact that she had no idea where to go next.

"We just need to think this through," Hallin said obviously, bringing Mara's disparaging eyes round to him, though he continued gamely, ignoring the look—or missing it in his anxiety, "Where would he go…? Did you two ever meet anywhere—anywhere private?"

"Nathan, if he wanted to leave, he'll be long gone by now, believe me."

"Why are we assuming he wants to leave?" Hallin asked, frowning, though he didn't actually dispute the fact, Mara noted.

She set off down the corridor, keeping her voice low. "Come on, you've seen how he's been. He doesn't want this, he never did. His father wanted it and now he's locked on that course. Maybe he finally decided to get off."

Hallin was unperturbed, strangely calm in the crisis, as he always was when it actually came down to it. "If that's true, he won't stay on Coruscant; his face is all over the HoloNet—somebody would stop him. He'd want to get further afield."
Mara frowned, pulled into the discussion. "Who's that smuggler he deals with—the one with the moustache?"
"Karrde?" Hallin considered. "His network does actually reach this far into the Core Systems…"

"Where's his nearest base?"

"I know he has bases at Velusia and Abregado-Rae…"

"Nothing reachable with a short-range transport then. He'd need a hyperdrive."

Hallin shook his head, uncertain. "Actually I think he may have a few safe-houses on Coruscant, near the Poles. You'd have to check with Wez…"

Mara had already pulled her comlink free, another thought occurring. "Control? This is Jade. Are there any ships due to leave from the secure bays in the West Tower?"

"No, Ma'am. All Tower bays are closed down until after the inauguration."

Mara frowned, not willing to let the hunch go yet. "Anything cleared but not actioned—high priority clearance?"

There was a pause… "Yes, Ma'am; two Echo Group fighters are due to relieve perimeter guards at oh-five-hundred—they're from bay three… and a long-range scout in bay nine. No assignment listed but it's an Echo designation; registered to the 701st."

She shut off the comlink, setting off at a run. "Got him!"

Mara glanced behind her, shouting to Hallin as she repeatedly pressed the turbolift call, resisting the urge to head for the stairs. "Get everyone out of Bay 9-W. Quietly; don't spook him—and don't let anybody up there!"

The turbolift doors slid open and Mara stepped in, Hallin's hand reaching out to hold against the closing door for a moment. "And how am I supposed to do that!?"

"Hallin, you're not a medic anymore, you're an Adjutant—a Primary Aide," Mara reminded of his new status. "You can order pretty much everyone now, believe me."

She pushed his hand free, snapping off one last order between the closing doors. "And don't let anyone try to lock that ship down or he'll cut it free and leave anyway!"



By the time she got there Bay 9-W was empty. Security was in the corridor outside, looking confused and jumpy, but Hallin had gotten everyone else well away.

Mara walked through the darkened silence of the small bay inset into the West Tower, its exit open to the night. Several advanced scoutships were arranged across one wall, their noses pointing to the exit, and she walked nervously to the second, easy to spot amongst the others because it was the only one with no landing clamps engaged. The door release wasn't locked, so she lifted her hand to it, pausing mid-action as she realized that she hadn't the slightest idea what to say if Luke was actually inside. If he wouldn't come back…what then?

Squaring her jaw, Mara pressed the release and stepped in, wondering as she turned to walk the short length to the cockpit why she was being quiet; he was a Sith—he probably knew she was on her way here about the same time she did—

"Will you come?" His voice, steady and even, made Mara jump as she neared the shadowed cockpit.

"What?" She was completely thrown, once by his presence and again by the resolute tone of his voice.

Luke didn't turn, eyes and spirit never leaving the dark expanse of space visible beyond the inset bay doors. "I'm leaving," he said simply. "Are you coming…or am I going alone?"

Mara hesitated before the resolute determination of his voice. She'd come here to talk him down, and already she was involved in a very different conversation. She paused at the open cockpit door, voice quiet. "Where are you going?"

He shrugged slightly, eyes still on that sliver of open space. "Away. Anywhere."

"To do what?"

"I don't know…does it matter?"

Mara stepped tentatively forward. Luke sat tensely, hand resting on the toggles which initiated the pre-flight sequence. How long had he sat like this, she wondered? The landing clamps had been released over an hour ago, according to the bay logs. Interestingly, Luke had arranged permission direct with Palace Control a whole three days earlier.

"Why are you leaving?" A stupid question really, but it would get him talking.

She heard his foot tap quickly against the ship's pitch pedals like he was itching to go, yet he seemed strangely calm. That particular wired, kinetic stillness he had sometimes, like the silence in the eye of the storm. Without the Emperor or his father there to focus him, he seemed more and more to be splitting up—polarizing into two separate people: one the confident, driving, self-possessed Sith that her master had created, the other the self-effacing, unassuming, idealistic pilot who had been brought here so unwillingly five years ago. But always with an edge; he never lost that now—Palpatine had ground it into him too deeply to ever step back from.

He remained still, eyes fixed on that sliver of freedom, his whole sense attuned to it, as if it were calling him. "Why should I stay?"

"It's what your father would have wanted." Mara immediately regretted it. His foot stopped tapping and it seemed that the temperature dropped several degrees, though he didn't turn or acknowledge her words.

"I'm sorry, that was unfair," she backtracked. His foot began tapping again, more restless than ever…and still he stared out into the open night.

"My father wanted power," he said at last, acknowledging the truth.

"For you. He wanted it for you. You've achieved everything he wanted, all you intended. Now's the time to reap the rewards."

Luke shook his head, voice cynical and very sure. "There are no rewards, Mara."

She was silent for long seconds, at a loss as to what he even meant by that. "You're the Emperor!"

Again he shook his head, dismissive.

"Yes, you are! Tomorrow is just a ceremony, Luke, that's all. You're already Emperor. You were the moment Palpatine died."

He finally looked to her, that ingrained, perfectly modulated intonation giving way to a loose Rim accent. "I'm not an Emperor, Mara—I'm a nobody from Tatooine."

"Who changed the course of a galaxy!"

He looked away, unmoved. "I'm not an Emperor."

"You are now."

Luke only shook his head, wrapping his arms about himself as if locking her out, unwilling to be dragged into a discussion. And still his eyes remained on that dark sliver of freedom just beyond the bay doors.

Mara stared, struggling to understand—why wouldn't he want this? "After…after all these years and all this struggle…you're just going to walk away?"

"Yeah." The reply was instant.

"But this is what you wanted, it's what you fought for."

Luke turned just briefly, and in his eyes she saw surprise that she could be so close and understand him so little, even now. "I was fighting Palpatine, Mara. I wanted him, not his position. Vader wanted this, not me…and I don't owe him anything. I don't want this power. I don't want it."

She reached out to squeeze his arm. "Don't you see—that's why you should have it."

"No." He shrugged away, not wishing this closeness if he would have to leave it behind. "No one should have this much power. No one… Let the vultures fight amongst themselves. I've no reason to stay."

"What about me?"

He turned, mismatched eyes locking on her, drawing Mara in as completely as the night sky called him. "Come with me."

In that moment, she almost would have—would have followed him anywhere. But something held her back: loyalty to her old master, the desire to see Luke rule, to be with him…she didn't know. She blinked, looking down, caught between conflicting desires. To run—to tell him to fire up the ship and just run with him, wherever he wanted to go—or to stay, a lifetime's investment and familiarity here, her knowledge of what Luke was capable of, her image of him as that person.

She wanted to be with him here, as that person; as Emperor. "My life is here, Luke…and so is yours. This is my home—"

"This is the place where I was imprisoned, beaten, spied on and manipulated for five years," Luke said tersely, a dry edge returning to his voice along with the formal accent, the change capricious as ever. "It's the place where my father died."

The place where I died. He didn't say it out loud, knowing she wouldn't understand—how could she?

"But that's all done now—it's done, it's all in the past. This is your future, your life is here now."

"No. I've done all I intended."

"So you'll just leave?"

He remained silent, aware that they were talking in circles, so unfathomable was his decision to her.



Mara only stared, dumbfounded. How could he not want this? How could he not see that it was right, that he was right—why he was right? Try another tack. "What about all your plans?"

His eyes dropped momentarily, jaw clenching, then he looked back up, eyes to the stars. "That was them; they're all done."

Mara frowned—because he had planned. In the last two weeks, Hallin had slowly let slip fragments and groundwork, objectives and intentions, and...

Realization hit her hard; that Luke hadn't expected to live, not really. He'd made plans, nudged events to what he believed would be beneficial, hinted at strategies and potential policies, but as an exercise, nothing more. Something to keep him moving, to give others faith. He never thought he'd be here; not now.

But he was, and she would hold him to them, to the possibilities he'd earned; drag him forward if necessary. "I know everything you planned with Hallin and Reece. Are you just going to let all that go now? Those opportunities…"

He turned sharply to her, and she saw some spark of the Emperor's Sith return, heard it as an edge in his voice as he let out an annoyed, derisive laugh, the familiarity of it setting a warm twist in Mara's stomach. "Hallin; how the hell he kept his mouth shut for five years I'll never know."

"He told me because he's proud; because he believes in you. Because he trusts you."

Luke sighed, rubbing at his temples. "Then he's a fool."

"No, he's not. Much as I'd like to agree, the truth is he's one of the smartest men I know—and he has faith in you."



Luke shook his head slowly, eyes returning to that promise of freedom beyond the Palace walls, sharp edge and sharp accent instantly eaten away again by doubt. "I'm not an Emperor, Mara—I'm not."

"You're not the Emperor," she corrected. "But then you didn't want to be. You didn't ever intend to be. What you did, you didn't do for yourself…that's why Hallin trusts you. That's why they all trust you; look to you now. You can hold all this together and still change its direction—you can do that. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

And it had been—once. But she was wrong; Hallin was wrong—because in the end, Luke knew he'd faced Palpatine for his own reasons. The truth was that Palpatine had hurt him and he'd wanted retribution. Even when he'd told Palpatine that he intended to tear down the Empire the Sith had built, that he would scour any trace of its creator from history, it had been for his own reasons…hadn't it?

He couldn't quite remember any more—couldn't trace where the desire for revenge ended and the desire to create a better order began. They merged and muddied, and in truth…he didn't remember anymore whether that mattered.

"Use your feelings, boy; bend the power they contain to your own will. They make you invincible." His Master's teachings rang in his head and how could that make him anything but Sith? How could that make him a better choice? He'd fought too hard for too long and somewhere along the way he'd lost some vital part of himself: ethics, principles, integrity—conscience? He didn't quite know. He just knew there was a gaping hole inside of him and it would be so easy to fill that void with power and ambition…and was that wrong?

He couldn't remember; couldn't remember what he'd once wanted—what he'd once been. And that scared him. Far more than ancient prophesies and Sith Masters, the realization of that scared him.

Luke shifted in his seat, hand going to his side, the wound still fresh enough to make him wince. He'd been holding everything together under incredible pressure for so long that it had become normal, but now…now he didn't need to. Now the constraints were gone and there was nothing hanging over his head…and he didn't know how to live like this anymore—he didn't even know how. "I'm so tired, Mara; I'm so tired. They want me to be something I can't be—not anymore. They're all looking to me to be something I cannot be."

"They want you to be exactly who you are, Luke. That's who they have faith in."

He pursed his scarred lips, fingers brushing lightly over the startup toggles, playing out the sequence that would flare the engines into life. "Absolute power corrupts absolutely—have you heard that before?" he asked at last without looking up.

"That's just an old saying. Real life's more complicated than—"

"What if it's not?" he said immediately. "What if it really is that simple? If I try, and fail…who'll stop me? I don't want to be the next Palpatine."

"Then don't be."

"How do I know? How do I know when I've stepped over the line?"

"You'll know," she assured. "Just be yourself."

He brought his hand to his temples, eyes closed, voice deathly tired. "I don't know who that is anymore."



"This is you," Mara put all her own faith into those words. "You're the man who's sat for the last hour in this cockpit and tried to leave, but couldn't quite summon the selfish indifference that'd make you able to do so. You think I don't know you at all, but I know that; you can't quite bring yourself to abandon these people or their faith in you. You'll stay because it's the right thing to do and you know it. You won't let them down." She reached out to rest her arm lightly on his, letting its weight ease his hand gently away from the startup toggles—and felt it give, just slightly. "And they won't let you down. No one's asking you to do this alone. We're all here…we'll get through it, we'll make a difference. Isn't that what you always wanted—to make a difference?"

He was silent for a long time, wrestling with private demons, his foot still tapping restlessly against the pitch pedals, and Mara remained still, giving him time, knowing to push no further…

Finally the restive tapping slowed to silence and he seemed to relax, body losing tension, tired eyes falling away from that narrow strip of starlit night.

When he eventually turned, it was with a sharp glint in those mismatched eyes, no trace of regret or doubt in his voice or his straightening stance, the change as total and as mercurial as ever. "If I'd left…would you have come with me?"

It was a searching challenge rather than tentative concern. Still, Mara squeezed his arm in reassurance. "I'd have followed you to the end of the galaxy."

"And then what?"

She smiled. "Then I would have brought you back here and told you never to scare me like that ever again, Skywalker."

Wez Reece, the new major-domo to the new Emperor, walked calmly out into the anteroom, turning to the first figure waiting there, one of many summoned to the Emperor's presence in the days following his formal investiture, nervous tension holding their backs straight, everyone waiting to see how the next Emperor would choose to stamp his identity onto his new Office in those first weeks. To date he had been disturbingly quiet; restrained even, though there was a sense that a great deal was going on behind the scenes, away from the public eye.

"The Emperor will see you now." The Emperor's deputy was, it seemed, settling into his role with more noticeable ease.

Mas Amedda rose and set forward, leaving Chancellor Cordo to gaze dolefully after him.

He walked into the office, large and elegantly proportioned but simply furnished; hand-made, aesthetic pieces of effortless integrity, none of them familiar to Amedda—hardly to Emperor Palpatine's sumptuous standards.

The man who looked up from the auto-reader at the far side of the wide, mirror-polished macassar-ebony desk, however, embodied every bit as much presence as the old Emperor had—and every bit as much menace in his mismatched eyes. Hope at the whispered rumors that the Emperor was less than comfortable in his new role dissolved for Amedda, burned away by the self-assured poise in that intensely analytical gaze. Amedda slowed to a halt, bowing deeply, aware of the precariousness of his situation.

Chancellor Reece closed the doors as he entered the room, then walked unhurriedly to stand beside the Emperor, who had steepled his fingers in thought, letting the silence hang heavy.

"Chancellor Amedda..." The Sith Emperor paused again, impassive, as if considering his words. "We have had a…less than ideal relationship to date. Would you say that's a fair appraisal?"

It briefly crossed Amedda's mind to feign wounded surprise at the new Emperor's words but, familiar with Sith abilities and remembering to whom he spoke, he instead nodded just once, aware that his nervousness was darkening his pale blue skin to indigo but unable to stop it.

The Emperor glanced only briefly, just to clarify that he hadn't missed the fact, then caught Amedda's eyes once more. "However, in the interests of smoothing this transition, I am prepared to accept you back into the Cabinet… Unless of course you feel your loyalties would be split?"

Amedda took a half step forward in his eagerness to seize this opportunity. "No, Excellency, not at all. I would be honored to serve."

The Emperor didn't move, didn't react in the slightest, just remained still, fingers steepled, staring at Amedda… Until the Chadrian felt his skin flush hot again, the need to fill the uncomfortable silence with meaningless murmurs irresistible. "I would be…"

"There is, of course, a price for this privilege," the Emperor cut across his words. "If you want my confidence, you must earn it—I trust you are prepared to do that?"

"Of course. Name any…"

The Emperor let his hands drop to the arms of the chair, relaxed stance speaking of casual confidence; so much like his predecessor. "Palpatine had a drug—a tailor-made drug created specifically for use against me. You can imagine how…undesirable it would be for such a thing to fall into the wrong hands."

Amedda nodded rapidly, understanding. "Of course, Excellency, of course."

"Considering your position, I would assume that you know where such a product was being synthesized and stored. I would also presume that you have the names of everyone involved in the project, from researchers and technicians to manufacturers of storage and delivery systems?"

"I have all the details, Excellency—everyone involved," Amedda assured readily, eager to buy back favor. "Every unit: research, manufacture and storage."

"Good. Then I would like you to accompany Chancellor Reece to your offices and supply him with all relevant details. Including a list of every guard in the Palace who held a supply or a method of delivering it."

Amedda, along with all of Palpatine's personal staff, had been excluded from all Cabinet and Council chambers, including his own offices, since the announcement of the old Emperor's demise, all the guards with whom he had held sway already removed. A great deal of sensitive and very useful information was securely stored there. Too securely, as it turned out. But then who would have thought that Palpatine's protégé would have found his feet—and his nerve—so soon? Certainly not Palpatine. And while loyalty to one's Emperor was tantamount in Amedda's position, the prerequisite to maintain that status required a certain flexibility as to exactly who that Emperor was.

The new Emperor paused, leaning forward slightly to emphasize the next. "Let me be clear on this, Chancellor—this is your one opportunity to impress me. I do not give second chances and I do not tolerate failure or transgression. Loyalty, however, will not go unnoticed or unrewarded."

Amedda bowed several times in appreciation; yes, very little had changed. "Of course, Excellency, of course."

The Emperor nodded, having felt that he had made his desires clear. "We will speak when you return, Chancellor."

He said no more, clearly feeling nothing more needing to be said at this time. He had made his wishes clear; it was up to Amedda to prove his usefulness now.

The Chadrian bowed and backstepped before bowing again and turning to leave, the Emperor not once looking up to acknowledge this show of respect. Chancellor Reece paused a few moments, closing the door between himself and Amedda, who waited outside. If he was anything like the old Emperor, then he would expect his wished carried out immediately—one did not keep a man of his authority waiting. And certainly Amedda was eager to return to his offices; he would take the opportunity to surreptitiously retrieve other information whilst he was there—for his personal use.



Reece closed the door behind Amedda before turning back to the Emperor. "Well?"

"He'll help us exactly as long as it's to his advantage to do so," Skywalker stated without doubt, gaze turning to look at the point beyond the office wall where Amedda stood waiting, as if for him, the barrier simply did not exist.

Reece was hardly surprised at the assessment, but then, that was not the reason for Amedda's summons. "What do you want me to do?"

"Keep him waiting outside. Have the techs go in and plant a ghost in his system then link it to a remote site and install any covert surveillance equipment you need, then go back to his offices with him; take a few sets of eyes. When he unlocks it, have the techs take a copy of everything on his system. Make sure they get his codes and passwords, and all the information about the drug, including anybody who worked on it, past and present."

"Then?"

"Take a team—close them down. Destroy everything. But I want every single vial accounted for without exception—every copy of the formula and process. No traces."

Reece nodded. "And those who worked on it?"

Skywalker leaned back, considering. "They're under arrest; state security. Put them in the Palace Detention Center—no one's to know they're there."

Reece nodded without comment; it was a lighter sentence that he'd expected, but then the Emperor may simply wish to be sure before he wiped the slate clean. "And Amedda?"

The Emperor turned mismatched eyes to Reece. "He's a liability," he said simply, knowing nothing more was needed.

Reece bowed then backstepped, turning to walk from the room.




Luke sat in silence for a few moments, considering. Eventually Mara stepped out of the side room she'd been listening from, her eyes following his, still set on the door that Reece had exited through.

"Go after him—quietly," Luke said without hesitation. "Make sure he does exactly as he was told. I want a separate copy of all the information that's on Amedda's system. An independent record directly from the techs, not a dupe of Reece's. And I want proof that all the vials are accounted for."

Trust was an idealistic luxury Luke could no longer afford; his Master would have been proud of him, he reflected dryly.

Mara nodded without hesitation, stepping fluidly away, heading for the door.

"Mara—"

She turned, forest green eyes regarding him as he spoke again, the slightest of smiles on his scarred lips. "That includes the two that you hold."

We all watched, of course, even us—even the most fervent Rebels drew to a halt to watch from holo-screens in ready-rooms and messes, and impromptu setups on the flight-decks. There wasn't much else to do; most of the Rebel Alliance is hidden away at the edge of the Rim Systems on tenterhooks, waiting to see if he'll send his Fleet after us.

So even we watched—how could we not? It was history in the making…good or bad. The whole galaxy ground to a halt to watch the investiture of a new Emperor. Everyone from the most ardent Imperialist to the most zealous Rebel…we all fell silent when the images were sent out on every channel across the HoloNet.

Here, we all seemed to drift in and gather round in the mess hall of Home One, pilots and soldiers and officers and techs, all caught up in that strange, morbid fascination—the desire to get a look at the new Emperor.

And we did; carefully chosen and edited images, always from a distance...which is, I suppose, how most people will see him now.

There was just one image from the inaugural ceremony itself, in a huge hall with incredible vaulted ceilings, hundreds of dignitaries in attendance: the military, the Royal Houses, planetary Governors and representatives. Our new Emperor sat on a simple, carved chair as luminaries read out the Rites. He wasn't looking at them.

It's interesting; gone was the massive throne which had been in every single image of the Throne Room from Palpatine's reign, gold on gold, a blazing sunburst at its back, carvings of planets and moons set into the heavy gilded footrest. This new Emperor had no taste for ungainly allegory or pointless grandeur; he sat on a plain, heavy chair with nothing to prove, his feet firmly on the ground.

The language was Old Coruscanti. Court Language, they call it; no one else speaks it anymore outside of that most privileged of elite circles. The official paused and everybody in the hall stood and I remember distinctly someone from Intel standing close behind me saying:

"That's it—he's Emperor."

Someone asked how she knew and she murmured without turning from the screen, "No one sits in the Emperor's presence."

He glanced up but he didn't speak; just looked kinda detached and distant. But he filled that chair like he was meant to be there—like he belonged. And everyone saw that their new Emperor wore a lightsaber. There'd always been whispers about Palpatine—that he was Sith. Now, with the new Emperor, there was no doubt. No room for misinterpretation.

Everyone here knows the rumors, of course. Intel had them a few days after the announcement of Palpatine's death, though nothing was ever confirmed: that he fought with Palpatine for the Throne, a duel to the death between Sith. That's why they put off the inauguration—not so dignitaries could arrive for some formal ceremony, it was just an excuse to give him time to recover.

The official image was released an hour or so later, probably very carefully chosen. Our new Emperor, standing before an incredible set of screens inlaid with gold strapwork and precious stones, etched and enameled in a luminous, minutely detailed rendition of a galactic map. Someone said it was the Rim Systems: from Bothan Space all the way to the Sluiss Sector and everything in between. There's a whole set of them in the Throne Room, they said. The whole galaxy laid out before him, to remind him what he owns. It just…glowed—it was incredible.

He wore a dark, somber suit with a high stand collar and a long, regal cloak tied over one shoulder, carefully arranged about him and dripping down the steps before him, intense midnight blue against that glowing gold. He didn't…carry anything; no scepter, no—I don't know, no crown or anything, but…

He looked like an Emperor—everything I thought he should.

Solo—Han Solo, who always says he knew him—Solo said that on the screen behind him, on the map, was his home planet. I don't know whether to believe him. Why would an Emperor be brought up in the Rim Systems?

He wouldn't say which planet it was, or how he knew him.

Later there were a few images released from the public celebrations on Coruscant—the largest impromptu fireworks display ever, we're told. Our new Emperor stepped out onto the Pageant Balcony in the Main Palace to watch, his limited entourage following him. It was small, but I guess it's early days yet.

Forget the fireworks—the massed spectators drowned them out completely when they saw him. The NewsNet said about sixteen million visitors went to Coruscant for the inauguration. They all think everything will change now. They don't even know him—most of the galaxy had never even seen an image of him three weeks ago. They have no idea what he's going to do, they just love him because he's not Palpatine. Because he's young and he's enigmatic and new. Already the NewsNet are starting to mention an Empress. Already everybody knows somebody who knows somebody who claims they met him once—even here!

No one out there's talking about what he'll do, to the constitution or the military or the courts. Whether his views are progressive and enlightened or totalitarian and oppressive. They just want to know who's standing beside him and if it's serious. No one wants to scratch the surface of their shiny new hope. They don't want the truth.

He glanced down only once to the vast, sprawling crowds, lifting his hand in acknowledgement. They went wild—absolutely wild—the noise topped off the sound systems on the autolenses that were recording it. He didn't smile, didn't wave again; just stepped back a few paces into his entourage, like he was uneasy, embarrassed by it.

Nice touch, we all thought; he plays the crowds well.

He didn't stay out there much longer. I guess you don't have to when you're the Emperor. You pretty much do what you want—who's gonna stop you?

He's already announced a one-month period of official mourning for Palpatine, in which time Court will be suspended. Ample time for our new Emperor to install his own supporters, Intel says. Not that he needs them—his will is absolute, his word is law now.

The question is…what will it be?

Continued in
At the Brink of the Dawn and the Darkness 

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Jedi-2B again for beta-ing my considerably less than perfect grammar and grasp of American English. She's written endless great stuff herself and always encourages me no end to get my ass in gear and post!

My gratitude, always.

Disclaimer: As per usual, I should point out that I own no part of Star Wars, nor do I profit from it. It's all owned and run by the guy in the plaid shirt...