In Shadows and Darkness

Chapter 7

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

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

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

He fell to silence, sharp yellow eyes locked on his Jedi's, searching for some reaction, for the explosion of fury which would have welled up inside of himself had he been given this news - for the continuation of his outrage just a few days earlier when the true motive behind the attack had come to light.

Strangely, the boy only slumped, his head turning away, expression completely void of any emotion. Palpatine reached out subtly with the Force, but all he sensed was a momentary impression of a weight pressing in on the boy, deep and profound; disappointment not anger, loss rather than outrage. But acceptance; the final severance of old ties, even those which lay buried. Something Palpatine himself could never have induced - such a profound parting of the ways had to be incited by those his Jedi trusted.

He was almost immediately pushed back, barriers raised and true emotions hidden, but he'd glimpsed the truth, and that was enough. Enough to bring the veiled ghost of a gratified smile to the old man's lips.

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

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

Had Leia been there, when they'd made this decision? Had Mon? The woman who'd shook his hand and told him that she was proud of his commitment- that they needed more like him. Had Rieekan, the man who'd promised him that there would always be a safe haven for him within the Alliance on the same day he'd become top of the Empire's Most Wanted list? Had Madine and Ackbar? Had Han?

After a long time, Luke became aware that his Master was still speaking, still pontificating on some detail or indictment. He wanted to tell him to stop - that the battle had been won, that he understood this final betrayal, that he accepted its implications and consequences.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." Vader said without sarcasm, "Not at all."

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

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

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

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

Luke gazed at the ceiling for a long time, Vader studying his son. The severe injury which had punctured his throat and the scar which gouged a deep path down the right side of his face remained painfully obvious, as did the darkened bloom of deep red within his still-glassy right eye, though the lens had re-attached and the medics said he would not lose his sight.

His son glanced at him momentarily and despite everything those blue eyes seemed so similar to Vader's own. It was a long time since he had cared to look at his own reflection, but Vader hadn't failed to realize how much the boy looked like him - the same eyes, the same hair, the same jawline. Lean and sinewy as Anakin had been in his youth, but compact and trim, very much like his mother. A mix of them both, of himself and...

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

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

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

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

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

"No," Luke murmured without looking up, "I belonged."

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

Luke shook his head, "There's nothing for me here."

"That is by your own making." Vader rumbled, bringing his son's head about in open question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know you better than that."

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

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

"Not good enough." Luke maintained, "I need clarification; without it, I can't move."

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

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

Realisation, when it came to Vader, was a revelation in every sense of the word - why Luke had hesitated this long, why he had shied back from confrontation, allowed Palpatine control...

If he removed the Emperor, Luke believed it would put him in direct contention with his father - and despite everything he said out loud, he didn't want that.

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

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

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

His son looked away, voice quiet, "So you see, the decision isn't mine at all..."

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

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

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

"Will you do likewise?" his son pushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You still don't trust him?"

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

He considered again his father's words. Despite working to his own agenda, Vader was right about one thing; Luke had tip-toed around the corners of his life for too long, caught between past and present loyalties. He should probably thank the Alliance for spelling out to him that it was time to move forward. Thank the Emperor for...

It suddenly occurred to Luke to wonder whether this had all been another of his Master's manipulations, designed to finally clarify in the most explicit way possible where everyone's loyalties lay - and in doing so, to lock down Luke's own. If it was, then it had been a big gamble... but then, perhaps he had not expected so direct-a reaction.

"Thinking?" Hallin prompted into the silence,

"Wondering whether I see Palpatine's hand in this." Luke replied, still thoughtful.

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

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

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

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

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

"Should I be worried?" Luke prompted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're not talking about sabacc." Hallin dismissed.

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

Luke could sense Hallin's doubt- but then, he didn't know Palpatine as Luke did.

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

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

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

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

"Palpatine's looking for a response- expecting one." Luke said thoughtfully, "I'd hate to disappoint."

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CHAPTER EIGHT

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

"Well, he must be getting better because he's driving me insane." The slight medic said, smiling tightly.

"What's he doing now?"

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

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

"To go where?"

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

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

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

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

It was the third day he had been back, Hallin having caved completely, though he'd complained bitterly about the necessity of bringing all his medical equipment from the North Tower to the West Tower where the massive Perlemian Apartments sprawled over one complete level of the Tower, taking every opportunity on the rare moments that Skywalker was actually awake in the last two days to state that the reason for his exhaustion was that he wasn't ready for this kind of stress yet.

So much so that Skywalker had finally asserted that the reason he'd wanted to return was that he could now legitimately throw Hallin out of his room if the medic nagged too much, which he was on the verge of doing right now.

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

Still, a return to his own quarters had seen a marked improvement, even to Mara's eyes; he'd slept through the night again and well into the next morning, Mara keeping the photosensitive transparisteel of the tall bank of windows dialled down to halfway.

Now the balcony doors were pushed open, the warm summer breeze filtering in to tug at Mara's hair as she sat, her back to the room, finally getting a chance to settle and catch up on some Intel reports. Engrossed in her reading, she almost jumped from her chair when there was a loud thud behind her and a flash of surprise which blasted out so strongly through the Force that even she felt it. She twisted round to see Skywalker huddled awkwardly on the floor by the bed, more or less upright. Panicking, she swung up, keying the medial emergency comm on the table then dashing forward to him.

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

"What the hell are you doing?!"

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

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

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

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

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

"What happened?" Mara finally managed, reaching out, uncertain.

"My leg went from under me when I put my weight on it, that's all."

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

"Somebody could have told me that."

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

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

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

"A third?" Mara grinned, "That's way more than me."

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

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

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

"Those are broken."

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

"Ow."

"Well..."

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

"Well then maybe you shouldn't have tried to get up." Mara said, still crouched behind him.

"Thanks." Skywalker deadpanned huskily, "I really needed to hear that. It's very helpful."

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

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

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

"Ow."

"What!?"

"You're laughing on my broken shoulder." he croaked.

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

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

"This isn't a crisis, this is a fiasco." she corrected blithely.

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

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

"If you ever tell Hallin about this..."

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

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

His disembodied voice came politely from the other side of the door, "... now?"

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

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

He was restless at being trapped in the Palace- he'd never liked being here, had always seen it as a gilded cage and a dangerous one at that, so close to his Master. And whilst he remained, there was no reliably undetectable way to contact agents he had spent the last year and a half placing in the field for just the kind of information he wanted right now.

He needed to know exactly what had happened in the lead-up and the aftermath of the assassination attempt. He particularly needed to know why Argot, his own spy in the Rebel camp, had been excluded; whether Argot's cover had been compromised. But until he was on his Destroyer and away from the capital he remained isolated from all incoming information save that which his Master chose to pass on. He didn't believe Palpatine would lie to him - he was far too skilful at manipulating the truth to ever need to resort to lies - but Luke knew that the Emperor would certainly be controlling what information was reaching him, and how. Omissions were just as misleading as lies if carefully handled, and this morning's discussion with Hallin had brought home to him one more time not just how far Palpatine was prepared to go in assuring his own goals, but how precarious Luke's position here really was- how expendable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hallin nodded resolutely, though Luke could sense his discomfort.

"This is important Nathan." he emphasized, "... to me as much as anything. I won't give him that opportunity." He had watched as his father slowly realised that in his son, he was also seeing his replacement; his comprehension that Palpatine would cast Vader aside in an instant- would willingly initiate his death for just the chance of controlling the next generation. Even in his darkest hour, when he had hated his father with a vengeance for bringing him here, Luke had balked at how the Emperor could so easily dismiss and discard that which he had created - callously use one who had served him for so long.

Had experienced firsthand how once the Sith Master had fixed his avaricious sights on something he would ruthlessly exploit any means to ensure his own desires.

Despite his father's twisted morals, Luke had sensed in recent talks some shade of genuine regret; remorse at his decision to bring his own son here, exposing him to Palpatine's self-serving ambitions and pitiless wrath. To Luke, the thought that another generation may become caught up in this soul-destroying struggle was abhorrent. All in the service of his Master's greater goal, his precious Sith Dynasty - did he seriously believe Luke would give him that? That satisfaction, that control over another life?

But apparently, he didn't need Luke's consent - and why was he even surprised at that?

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

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

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

Eventually Luke had headed for the gym in his apartments, much to Hallin's obvious dismay, resorting to exercise in an effort to get his mind off the medic's revelation, grateful for the distraction from guessing and double-guessing every play in his Master's part but frustrated by how little it took to reduce still-weak muscles to exhaustion.

When he sensed Wez Reece heading meaningfully down the corridor, his thoughts boiling with ominous uncertainty, Luke turned expectantly to the door, bringing Hallin's gaze about too. Moments later Reece entered, nervous anticipation apparent in his face and his sense as he glanced momentarily at the medic then turned to Skywalker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reece glanced back, raising his eyebrows in question.

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

Reece was fascinated now, "Any particular reason?"

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?" Luke prompted.

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

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

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

"Well it's nice to know you had your priorities straight." Luke croaked, amused.

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

Luke smiled amiably, "That's what I have you for Hallin." he dismissed easily.

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

"You'll always arrive at the very last minute to patch me up- you just like the drama."

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

.

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

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

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

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

"Stranger things have happened."

"Yeah, well that's not nearly strange enough for my life." He dismissed easily without turning round.

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

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

Mara stood watching him for a few seconds, his linen dressing-gown fluttering in the warm summer breeze, his long, dark blond hair blown into disarray...

He glanced sideways at her momentarily, making her aware that she had stared too long, so she quickly looked away, following his gaze before turning and lifting herself up to sit on the wide stone balustrade, so confident in her own sense of balance that she remained oblivious to the lethal drop behind her. If it bothered Skywalker at all, then he hid it well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mara frowned, "To what?"

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

Now, in coming here and commanding dinner be served in that same room, Palpatine was looking to make a statement - a return to that moment; that opportunity.

This was, Luke knew, a carefully considered reminder of what had been, of how much had changed since then. More than that, it was the chance at that moment again - for Luke to remake that decision from a better informed, less naïve standpoint. His Master was offering a clean slate and Luke was willing to indulge him - that much, at least, had definitely changed.

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

Which was exactly what he intended to do tonight.

Palpatine was looking for a response, a clarification of his precious Jedi's viewpoint in consideration of what had happened. He had gone to great lengths to prompt, to induce this change - Luke now believed absolutely that Palpatine had instigated this though he wasn't so foolish as to try looking for proof, which would only alert Palpatine to his realization. It was pointless, since intentional or not, the end result remained the same. In this particular manipulation, his Master had been successful.

Because it had completely clarified Luke's position, isolated and unsupported as it was on all sides. Made it painfully obvious that Luke had no-one, no-one to rely on but himself.

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

Himself. His plans. His goals.

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

.

.

.

CHAPTER NINE

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were long dead now of course - dead men told no tales and in truth, Palpatine had not expected the assassination attempt to be a fraction as close to successful as it was - someone had to take the brunt of his own wrath.

But it was far better for Palpatine to remain completely removed from this. There were to be no ambiguities. Skywalker had taken this final step forward and as far as he was aware, he had done so of his own free will, his own decision, without any influence from his Master. And Palpatine intended for it to stay that way.

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

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

"He's sure of that?"

"Very sure. Leemarit has total access. He's completely trusted- has been for many years."

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

"Well now isn't that interesting..." he murmured at last, almost to himself.

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

"How far you've come, my friend." Palpatine murmured at last, benevolent and contented, "It was a difficult path you walked, but it has only made you stronger. From ignorance to enlightenment - from day to night....." He set his head to one side, ochre eyes fixed on the subject of his musings, and the boy gazed back unfazed.

Would he do as Palpatine hoped? Would he take that final step - cut that cord; hunt down those he had once venerated.

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

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

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