Into the Storm

Chapter 9

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CHAPTER NINE

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"Leia!" Mon smiled broadly, arms out in welcome as Leia rushed from the transport onto the deck of Home-One, the Alliance's main Mon-Cal cruiser, Lando and Chewie in tow.

"Mon." She smiled, embracing the older woman genuinely. It had been so long since she had seen her, had felt safe.

Mon Mothma held on to Leia for long seconds, always pleased to have her back safely. They'd always been close, practically family, Mon having known knowing her adoptive parents well, and being a part of her life since Leia since she was a child. They were all the family each had left now.

Mon had already read Leia's report, written on her week-long journey back to the fleet, and spoken with her several times, when both their ships had happened to be in realspace between jumps at the same time. Interpreting the play of another's thoughts over the HoloNet ws always difficult, but Mon had seemed disturbed by all that had happened--and more. She'd briefly intimated that they had shouldered their own problems onboard Home One, in the form of a high-level spy, but been frustratingly unwilling to tell more, even over a scrambled channel. Some things, she'd claimed, were best done face to face.

And the worry on Mon's face right now intimated just how disturbing these things were. "Lieutenant Grade will see that your friends are settled in quarters...we have something we need to speak about," she said gravely, leading Leia away.

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"Oh please!" Leia said dryly as she held the clear bag which contained the comlink, disbelieving eyes turning from Mon to Crix Madine, his face hidden in the low light of Home One's carefully emptied Communications suite.

"We're not assigning blame--yet," Madine said neutrally. He too knew Luke, and though it seemed that he was having trouble accepting what appeared to be right in front of him, Leia could also see the brief bursts of resentment shadow his face as, being forced to validate this against her scathing disbelief, his own opinion seemed to be consolidating. "What we do know for certain is that this is the comlink which was sending out coded messages. Comms have track them specifically to this unit."

"Everybody sends out unauthorized transmissions," Leia argued, unconvinced.

"These were encoded," Mon said softly. "Once we had the comlink to work with, the techs traced over forty transmissions on its bandwidth over the last year, all encoded. It's a standard-issue comlink, Leia, it shouldn't even be able to transmit on that kind of compressed frequency."

"You don't even know it's his," Leia said, unwilling to give in so easily, though a little voice whispered at the back of her mind.

"It was in his crate," Madine said levelly.

"We're not saying it was his," Mon cut across Madine, seeking to give Leia time to come to terms with this. "We're just looking for answers."

"If I were an Imperial agent, I don't think I'd keep my doctored comlink in my own crate," Leia said of the large, plasteel chests which every member of Alliance personnel had, each with their name and number stenciled on the side, always moved from ship to ship as they were reassigned. They held all of that crew member's personal belongings. In Luke's case pitifully little: his uniforms and fatigues, a few pieces of civilian clothing, a reader and a mass of work-related data chips...and this.

"We're not blind to that," Mon assured gently, quieting Leia's anger. "Leia, we knew we had a spy...we knew almost a year ago."

"Luke has been with us for three, Mon," Leia interjected.

Madine shook his head. "We knew we had a spy a year ago. He was probably operating long before we realized."

"He?" Leia said pointedly. Of everyone here, she had thought Madine would be the least likely to accuse, having himself been an Imperial defector, and therefore being under watchful suspicion when he first arrived. But then, maybe his Imperial history was beginning to show through.

"The last coded transmission from this comlink went out less than two hours before the Imperial blockade on Hoth," Madine said gravely. "The one before that was three weeks previously...when the last of the main units transferred planet-side. The one before that was sent the day that the first advance units arrived there to set up camp--Rogue Group included. We don't know what they say yet--we can't crack the code--but I think the dates pretty much say it all."

"Yes. I don't doubt that this is the unit that the spy was using to send out information. I just question the owner's identity," Leia said, hearing her own voice raise a notch, as the Com Chief turned slightly, nervous. It was, after all, he who had put all the pieces together when the standard-issue comlink had been returned to him for reassignment.

Slowly, it all came out...it all came out, and Leia felt physically sick.

Madine was right, of course; they'd known they had a spy passing on information; had been trying to catch him for almost a year. But he'd always avoided every subtle trap and every carefully-laid snare, worked out to the smallest detail by the Command staff...of whom Luke was a member.

Had he betrayed them? Had he sat in those meetings with that earnest smile, always full of suggestions, always frustrated at their failure...had he sat there and quietly laughed at them all, knowing that they were so close to their infiltrator and yet light-years away?

She shook her head as the facts were carefully read out, biting her nail to the quick until it bled, the pain strangely comforting, a distraction from cold reality.

It wasn't Luke. It wasn't Luke they were talking about...was it?

But there were so many incidents and slowly they added up.

It was his unit--always his unit which seemed to be involved. First of all the Rogues, who always seemed in the thick of it, stumbling from one hazardous incident to another. Then, when he'd been made Unit Commander, it was always his unit who'd had the close shaves, always his unit under close pursuit, bugging out just a hair's breadth in front of the Empire, as they had done on Hoth. Han had said it more than once; that Luke was a trouble-magnet.

Han. Leia felt a burning in her throat at the realization. What was happening to him now? Because if Luke really was an Imperial operative then...

She frowned, uncertain all over again. No, no, he wasn't. He wasn't. Whatever was going on, it wasn't what it seemed. Luke would never betray them. He would never betray her. She knew him too well.

"...had the slicers working on it for three weeks, but it's a rolling code," the Rodian Chief of Communications was explaining apologetically in heavily-accented Basic. "It re-writes itself every time it sends. The key to the changing algorithm is somewhere in the previous communication, but without the key to that one, we have no way to reference it."

"How long?" Leia said simply, in no mood for excuses.

"I'm sorry, we just don't know. If we could break one key--just one key--then we could eventually decipher everything after it. But we have no point of reference and the comms are very short, so there's little to go on. And it was transmitting by splicing itself within existing messages...routine communications between the fleet. There could be dozens more that we simply didn't pick up, ones that weren't auto-archived. Any break in the order would break the key sequence and put us straight back to square one."

"Thank you, Chief," Mothma acknowledged. "Please keep trying, I'm sure we don't need to emphasize the importance of this."

"Or the importance of keeping it classified, for now," Leia added, not wishing word of the fact that Luke was even implicated to leak out.

She handed the bagged comlink back over to the apologetic Rodian and turned on Madine. "And just why were you rifling through Luke's possessions anyway?"

"We've..." Mon hesitated, and Leia braced herself for some new blow. "Commander Skywalker was listed among the dead, Leia. After the Battle of Hoth."

Leia blanched. "What?"

Madine made to speak, but Mon held up a hand to silence him, wanting this to come from her. "He was Missing in Action, presumed dead. That's why his container was being emptied; that's how we found the comlink. It was passed back on to the Communications Chief for reassignment. He was running refurb tests on it when he spotted something."

Leia just gazed at Mon, unable to take anything more in.

"When did Luke first get in contact with you after Hoth?" Mon finally prompted, voice gentle.

Leia struggled to remember, it seemed a lifetime ago. "We...the Falcon's hyperdrive failed whilst we were still in the Hoth System. We limped to the Anoat System on main drive, but it took weeks. Then we were waiting for parts and I didn't trust Lando enough to risk contacting you beyond that one message. I think...maybe...five weeks, seven perhaps?"

"He didn't come back, Leia," Mon said gently. "He never rejoined the fleet."

"...Where was he...?" It was all she could think to say.

"That's what we'd like to know," Madine murmured ominously.

"Did he say anything to you about where he'd been?" Mon pushed. "Anything at all?"

"No, I assumed he'd come because of the message I sent to you..." Leia trailed off. How had he known where they were, if he hadn't been with the fleet to hear her message? "Why would he come to Bespin at all if he was an Imperial agent? Why like that?"

"We think...we think he may have had a specific mission," Madine said.

"What?"

Mon paused, glancing at Madine, then, "We think it may have been you, Leia. Or all of us--the Chiefs of Staff."

"Me?" Her heart skipped a beat in persecution at that--in true betrayal.

Madine stepped forward. "Think! If he could pass you, one of the ringleaders of the Alliance, over to his superiors, then still appear to break your companions out, he would be able to return to us with his cover intact. Maybe even pick up a second...certainly keep on passing information."

Leia shook her head. "They already had me."

"But they didn't have a method of his returning to the Alliance," Madine said.

"Why did he need one? He could have just come back straight after Hoth."

"Not if he'd been shadowing the Falcon in his X-wing. He was one of the very last ships to leave, very close to the time you did. And coincidentally the Imperial fleet abandoned the blockade to come after you--after the Falcon. Solo had already sent a comm transmission saying he'd get you out on the Falcon. It was on a coded frequency, but anyone with Alliance command codes could have picked that up, known which transport you were on, and passed it to the Imperial Fleet, Skywalker included."

Leia struggled to think it through; to point out the flaws. "If he'd been shadowing the damaged Falcon he could have reported our position at any time. The Empire could have picked us up weeks before."

"We don't have all the answers, Leia," Madine admitted. "Maybe he'd docked with one of the Star Destroyers which gave chase then lost you. He could have made the decision to hunt you down at that point, using his knowledge of Captain Solo as a starting point, knowing you couldn't get back to the Alliance quickly. You said yourself that Cloud City belonged to a friend of Solo's. We think Skywalker might have known Solo's associates too. Given that and your position when the fleet lost you, plus the fact that you had no hyperdrive, he could have easily worked it out." Madine tilted his head just slightly. "Or do you have a better explanation of how he just found you again after seven weeks?"

"They injured him--badly," Leia said. "On Bespin. Vader...cut off Luke's hand. Do you do that to one of your own?"

Mon turned in silence to Madine, but his expression softened not a whit. "Did you see the injury?"

"Yes I saw it! I treated it onboard the Falcon."

Madine considered a moment, eyes skipping across the ground. "Was it bleeding?"

"What?" Leia scowled.

"Was it fresh--how badly was it bleeding?"

Leia was speechless for long seconds, then, "It...it wasn't. It was...burnt."

"Cauterized?" Madine prompted.

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm asking if it was a fresh wound, or simply an old injury made to look new. Believe me, a severed limb hemorrhages...badly. However, if you simply removed the prosthesis from an old wound it would look--"

"It wasn't an old wound! It didn't bleed because Vader used a lightsaber."

"I think that very convenient," Madine countered.

"You think, we think..." Leia countered, set on edge by his behavior. "We seem to be thinking a lot of things. But until you can prove he was using that comlink and until you can prove that he was the agent, I think I'm within my rights to question this, don't you?"

"Leia, please..." Mon started forward, always the voice of reason.

Leia turned and stormed out, tired and irritable and defensive. Pursued every step of the way by her own unspoken doubts.

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Luke stared at Commander Jade over the top of his hard-copy book, reflecting that he needed to get to know his jailor. Needed to know how she thought, how she'd react under pressure, what she'd call him on and what she'd let pass.

He was, very pointedly, never left alone anymore except when he slept. There was always someone 'in attendance' as they described it, despite the hidden surveillance lenses. Sometimes a guard or two, occasionally a man of Han's age named Commander Reece, another plain-clothes agent like Jade, but mostly the Commander herself, much to her obvious frustration. The only time he was left alone was when he retired for the night, at which point the huge reinforced double-doors to the bedroom were locked and the dozen or so guards took up residence in the drawing room outside. But the lenses kept watching, of that much he was sure.

And always in the morning, Red would return early, fazing up the privacy blackout in the monofilament-threaded windows whether he was awake or not, then settling on the seat to gaze out in silence over the distant city as he rose and dressed.

Always there. Never armed any more, but always carrying an open comlink to the guards outside, any incoming reports restricted to her earpiece.

But it was obvious from the one-way conversations that she was in charge. Which meant that it would be her thought processes which governed both his incarceration and any attempt to retrieve him if he escaped.

Despite Palpatine's scheming, Luke didn't intend staying here forever. The moment the agreement was up, he would take action...and when he did, the first person he would have to get past would be Jade.

After three weeks of pacing his prison, the huge rooms were beginning to feel decidedly smaller. He was allowed beyond his bedroom these days, and into the cavernous 'withdrawing room' which linked the bedroom suite with what he now knew was the 'private dining room' where he met the Emperor every night across that perfectly-set dinner table, sometimes for an hour, sometimes three or four. Every night food was laid out and every night neither ate. Luke wondered wryly whether the kitchens bothered to actually make a main course anymore.

But at least he was now fed during the day. Having conceded that battle he was now brought breakfast and lunch, and had simply learned to live without an evening meal. And he'd gained something even from this failure; to pick his fights with more care, to think before he opened his mouth. He was learning that Palpatine allowed no weakness or mistakes, that he had to give over his full attention to every meeting, to every single word spoken.

And he did, Luke's whole day now shaped by the knowledge that Palpatine would arrive at dusk and he'd damn-well better be ready, because there were no off-days, no allowances made. Occasionally, just occasionally, he'd get a verbal strike in himself and when he did he'd learned not to dwell on it or allow himself even a single moment's grace; Palpatine always came back with a vengeance.

But between these times, long days stretched into mind-numbing stillness with nothing to do in his opulent cage but stew over those brief interludes of intense pressure, so that despite his knife-edge situation boredom had set in, grinding each day out ever-longer and leaving him desperate for something--anything--to occupy his mind.

Eventually he'd turned to the huge glass bookcase in the drawing room. He'd asked for an auto-reader days before, but Jade had point-blank refused. How she thought he would foil the massed forces of the Royal Guard, the Palace Guard and the stormtrooper battalions, and go on to make good his escape with a five-bit auto-reader he didn't know. Still, with nothing else to do, he'd resorted to the hard-copy books...and felt his heart sink--

'Staged Study of Fleet Hierarchy and Command Structures'

'Cultural Analogies in Disparate Societies'

'Etiquette and Protocol in Contemporary Court'

The list went on... He'd twisted his lip, turning to Red. "Any chance of some real books?"

"Those are real books," she'd said evenly, not looking up from her own silver-plated auto-reader.

"I meant books I'd actually want to read," Luke tried, turning back to the bookcase.

"Those are useful books. Relevant."

" 'The Psychology of Mass Perception'?" Luke had asked, incredulous. "Have you read it?"

"The Emperor chose them," Jade countered, ignoring his question. "When you've read them all, I'm instructed to allow you more."

"All! There's about forty books here." A momentary flare of stubbornness had cut in, making Luke step back from the massed books, but the fact that it was Jade and not Palpatine saying this softened the blow somehow, and in truth, what else did he have to do here?

He'd pulled out a book at random. It turned out to be, 'Qualitative Tactical Data for Planetary and Inter-System Offensives.'

He'd put it back.

"Then you should probably get started," Mara had said vaguely, looking back down to her 'reader.

"What, are you gonna test me?" he'd teased, digging for some response more from boredom than anything else.

"No, I'm going to watch you," she'd replied without looking up.

"Fantastic," he'd nodded, dryly amused. "The only thing worse than being bored to tears reading these things has to be watching someone else being bored to tears reading these things. You have my sympathy."

She'd glanced up at him without lifting her head, the slightest hint of shared amusement visible in her eyes.

"Okay...what shall we start with? Your choice, Red."

So now, a week and five books later, he was staring at his jailor, mind numb from reading three straight hours of the excruciatingly dry tome, 'Political, Social and Economic Structure in the Core Systems,' wondering how to get inside her head.

"How about a deck of cards?" Luke slammed the book shut. "Am I allowed a deck of cards, or are they deadly weapons in the right hands?"

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Looking up from her own reader, Mara arched her eyebrows, wondering what had prompted this new angle. "I guess that depends how good you are with them."

"I'm terrible with them. Can I have a pack now?"

"Who you gonna play, flyboy?" She asked easily.

He grinned disarmingly. "You're telling me you never play?"

"Play what?" She had a hunch...

"Sabacc."

"I knew you were a sabacc player." If ever you needed to find a pilot, walk into any cantina within spitting distance of a spaceport and look around. The five guys sitting round the sabacc table would be pilots. Pilots always played sabacc. It was in their blood, like flying.

Luke shrugged. "Hurry up and wait," he said cryptically.

"What?"

"Hurry up and wait; a fighter pilot's life. You're either out on a sortie and someone's trying real hard to kill you, or you're in the docking bay waiting to go out on a sortie thinking about the fact that soon someone's gonna try real hard to kill you. Not a fantastic thing to be sitting thinking about, so you get a deck of cards out."

"Or you could actually go off and do some other work," Mara said.

Skywalker shook his head. "Not allowed to leave the flight deck when you're on active call. We help out the techs and the mechs sometimes, but they have this system going. I think we really just get in their way. They look nervous if we go near their ships."

"Fascinating," Mara said derisively, turning away. "You can't have a sabacc table in here."

"Why?"

"Too much technology. Wouldn't want you to start dismantling it, would we?"

"Why, what can I make if I dismantle a sabacc table?"

"I guess you'll never know," she replied, still without looking up.

"Deck rules then."

Mara sighed; deck rules were a method of playing sabacc without the electronic pulse which changed the chip-cards, called this because fighter pilots often played it on flight-decks whilst waiting to fly, where considering the concentration of technological ordnance, much of it live, pulse-generating technology was sensibly banned.

"I don't play deck rules," she dismissed.

"Yes, you do," he said, very sure.

She glanced up at him, wondering if he'd read her mind. It occurred to her that playing may well give her a few insights into his mind...and consequently to wonder if that was why he was trying to get her to play.

Luke folded his arms. "What, afraid I'd beat you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you any good?"

"I'm a pilot," he said simply, as if the two were synonymous.

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"Finally, someone to play sabacc with!" Luke declared with a grin as Han walked forward.

He'd arrived just moments earlier on his regular, once-weekly visit, taking the time as usual to pace out distances, note bottlenecks and security, and memorize guard numbers and surveillance.

Slowly, very slowly, they were working out a code system, since they were banned from anything but the most inane small talk, usually by the bad-tempered redhead who always seemed to loiter, Han had noticed. Luke had mentioned that he was never left alone anymore--again in the most vague, broad terms--but they were learning to get around even that. They'd developed a customary bear-hug as Han entered the room, slapping each other heartily on the back, knowing that in those few seconds they were close enough to whisper, the sound of their slaps drowned out their whispered words from surveillance mic's in the ceiling.

"Guards in the Tower," Han whispered today's topic in confirmation of Luke's previous request, given as they'd bear-hugged at the end of last week's visit.

Which had been a lot easier to spot than the previous week's request for surveillance lenses. It was amazing how hard they were to spot in the lofty grandeur of the Imperial Palace without either standing and gazing at the ceilings like an idiot or walking along with your eyes straight up and constantly tripping. Han had forgone the former in favor of the latter and was now pretty sure that the guards thought him incapable of walking in a straight line without assistance.

He had a hunch that this week's request, communicated in the bear-hug as he left--the only other time they were close enough to whisper--would be security stops and checkpoints. He also worried that maybe the guards thought they were hugging way too much...

He walked casually over to the bank of ridiculously reinforced windows, glancing at the book on the table Luke had been sitting at, lifting it up to check the title when he was close enough.

'Instituting Change: Shaping the Sociological Architecture of a New Empire', was the somber title, raising Han's eyebrows. He looked doubtfully to Luke.

"Are they making you read this?" he asked, as he often did on checking the kid's reading choice.

Luke shrugged, evasive as ever. As ever; Han hadn't failed to note that the kid kept a lot to himself these days, everything battened down beneath a mask of distant disinterest. But then what else could he do here? Five weeks of being locked up in this strange, opulent prison, never alone, constantly chipped away at by Palpatine and Vader...it wasn't surprising that he'd developed a few idiosyncratic defenses. The sooner they got out of here the better.

"Actually it's quite interesting, if you can get past the grinding tedium," Luke said, taking the book from him. "And I learned something."

Han jerked his chin up in question as Luke placed it back down on the table, careful to keep his page.

"If you're bored enough anything can become interesting."

He did a double-take, thrown by the dry, detached tone in Luke's voice, parsecs from the sand-dusted kid from Tatooine, both literally and figuratively, then turned to the huge, heavy glass bookcase. The kid seemed to have set himself the monumental task of reading every book in there, despite their weighty topics.

"Where're you up to?" he prompted, setting forward toward the bookcase on the far wall, aware of Jade's disapproving eyes on him. She didn't like him and she liked him being here with the kid even less, Han knew.

"Halfway across the fourth shelf down," Luke said, squinting over. The cavernous size of the room meant it was far enough away that all of the traditional hard-copy books merged into long stripes of somber-colored bindings.

Han opened the glass doors, stretching up. "So you actually read 'Command Substructures and Established Military Foundations Deconstructed'?" he quoted.

"Unfortunately yes," Luke replied easily.

"How about...What the hell is 'Blood Royal--Genealogical Justification for Autocracy'?"

"Very, very long," the kid said with feeling. "And utter rubbish."

The last seemed aimed far more toward Jade and the surveillance than himself, Han realized. But if she was at all offended, she hid it well.

"Want something to take away with you?" Luke asked. "I can recommend...well, none of those actually. Maybe the fleet command structures one. Might come in useful one day."

"Thanks," Han said dryly, shaking his head. "Knowing who's tellin' 'em to shoot at me doesn't really help that much if they're still shooting."

"At least you'd know who to curse."

"Ah, I don't need to know a rank for that, I can curse freestyle." Han grinned lopsidedly, heading back to the table and pulling out a chair. "You gonna deal those cards or what?"

The kid settled down opposite, shuffling the old-fashioned cards. "Sabacc or aster?"

"Aster first. Then I'll show you how to really play sabacc."

Luke smiled wickedly. "You said that last week."

"I was lulling you into a false sense of security," Han said, taking the elaborate perennium-inlaid ivory chips from the small, ebony-inlaid box so considerately provided with the deck of antique cards. He was hoping to take these with him when they left, too.

Lifting his eyebrows doubtfully, Luke dealt...and the game commenced. Only it wasn't a game at all--or at least, not one which actually required cards.

"Okay then...immediately, I'm gonna put twenty on this," Han said easily, pushing two of the exquisite chips forward from his stacked pile after studying and rearranging the eight cards in his hand.

Luke glanced up; immediately meant right outside the door, and following this week's information request, chips represented guards.

Han grinned. "See, you thought I was gonna bet a round dozen, didn't you?"

"That's the usual amount."

"Well let me tell ya, pal, I'm just gonna be throwin' chips all over today, like I'm made of 'em. I'm bettin' on staves--red suit."

Red; all Royal Guard. No blue-suited Palace Guards. Nodding, Luke slid four five-denomination chips of his own out into the pot, then turned one card from the central deck face up, studying his own hand with feigned interest before taking it and laying a random card of his own down in its place, feigning play.

"See, that's no good to me, what'd you put that down for?" Han contrived, then, "No wait, I'll take it."

"I dunno, I think that counts as a refusal," Luke said, but Han was already taking the card.

"No, no, see, I got a ranked card." Han placed the Master face-card down, which meant he was talking about the central stairwell in the MainPalace. Gradually, painstakingly, each of the face cards had been assigned a place within the Palace, so that questions about specific areas could be asked and answered surreptitiously, checked by Han on the way up. He slid three ten-denomination chips into the pot, the total of thirty making Luke's eyebrows rise.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Hey, I think I can count cards," Han said, offended.

"Tell me you're not still betting on staves."

"Nah, flasks," Han replied easily: Palace Guards.

"That's a big bet," Luke said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Han agreed. "Looks like that's the way it goes."

"So you're gonna bet big all day?"

" 'Fraid so. Wait till I get an ace."

Ace was the main Tower entrance, always well-guarded. Luke raised his eyebrows, uneasy.

"I'll double that, easy," Han warned, glancing back at the pot of stacked chips.

"Any particular reason why you're betting big today?" Luke said casually as he rearranged his cards.

Han shook his head. "Hey, just betting on what's in front of me. Maybe I like to keep you on your toes."

"Believe me, I am on my toes."

"Ah, c'mon, this is a stroll," Han said, cutting short his preferred term for ridiculous odds; 'A stroll through the Death Star.'

"Have you seen the pot?" Luke glared meaningfully at the pile of intricately-tooled chips on the table, representing just a fraction of the number of guards they'd need to get through to get out of the Palace.

"That's just 'cos you're looking at the whole pot at once," Han dismissed.

"We don't have enough chips to look at the whole pot at once," Luke replied pointedly.

"Hey, fifty percent of any game is the cards you get dealt on the day."

"I don't believe in luck," Luke said. "We make our own luck."

"Damn straight," Han agreed. "I'll take a stacked deck over luck any day."

"And if you can't stack the deck?"

"There's always some way to stack the deck," Han said, reaching out to lift the top card from the deck, to hold it with its back facing Luke as he looked at its face. "What's this card--seriously?"

The kid glanced at Han as if it were all the information he needed. "Eight of Staves."

Han dropped the card face up on the table: the eight of Staves. "See? Now that's what I call stacking the deck."

Luke looked meaningfully back at Han. "Which is great...if you're the only one at the table who can do that trick."

"Hey, even if you're not, it's one hell of an advantage." Han tapped at the cards, aware that the conversation was becoming a little too specific. "Are you playing or not?"

"I'm playing," Luke said, mind clearly on the bigger picture. "I'm just waiting for the right cards. They'll come."

"But not this week?"

"Too many chips on the table," Luke declared, throwing his hand down.

"A wise choice, pal. Couldn't've put it better myself." Han grinned, dragging the chips over to himself. "Besides, I think I'm gonna need these today."

"Great," Luke frowned, staring at the pile of chips as Han dealt out the next hand in this non-existent card game. "I think I really need to start stacking that deck."

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"So, they've given you a little more space to pace in," Han said, gesturing with a flick of his head to the drawing room door behind him, open now into the dining room beyond.

He'd managed to communicate to Luke a few weeks back that the dining room was the last one in this sequence of chambers, and so lead directly out into the main hallway...useful information to Luke who, because of the ridiculous proportions of the wide hallway he occasionally glimpsed, hadn't been sure. That had been an interesting conversation, Luke reflected wryly; Jade had called them every third word that visit.

"Yep," Luke answered vaguely, rearranging his cards into no particular order with considered care. They'd played for an hour now, with most information passed on, one way or another. "Not quite made it as far as including a landing platform yet, though."

"Hardly, you'd need to stretch another fourteen floors down for that," Han said casually without looking up.

Both remained silent for long seconds, waiting to be interrupted by Jade, but if she'd noticed, she let it pass without comment.

Finally Luke glanced up and Han gestured again with a nonchalant flick of his head whilst still arranging his cards; the platform was on the east side of the tower.

"Hmm," Luke said simply, sliding ten ornate chips into the center of the table, eyebrows up in question.

Han snorted. "You wish. Let's try doubling that, shall we?"

He slid twenty chips forward, causing Luke to frown. "Is that...thirty, or is it twenty on my ten?"

Han frowned. "That's thirty. Altogether."

"You need to turn a card," Luke said vaguely, appearing lost in thought.

When Han reached out and turned the top card from the deck, Luke glanced up. "Did you see the deck just then?"

"What?"

"The deck," Luke prompted meaningfully. "Did you see the deck?"

"That deck?" Han frowned, looking uncertainly at the deck of cards.

Luke remained still, staring at Han, willing him to understand. "The deck you just bet on."

"See, now I don't know what you're talking about," Han said, leaning in, lost.

"How can you not know what I'm talking about?"

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"Are you asking me if I cheated?" Han stared at the kid, at an absolute loss; how could he cheat at a non-existent game?

Luke rolled his eyes as if counting to ten, then reached out to place his hand on the chips. "I'm saying...you just bid thirty, did you see the deck?"

Jade was glancing over now, becoming curious.

Han stared for a few seconds more...then realization hit that the kid was talking about the flight deck; the landing platform. "Oh, the...no, no." Han paused, playing the part again. "No, I didn't see the deck, I just bet on what was in front of me."

The kid shook his head without meeting Han's eye, amused. "Man, we have got to stop playing this game."

"Or get way better at it," Han said, smothering a grin.

Neither looked at the other for a while, afraid that if they did, they'd start laughing, wondering if anyone watching the security footage was trying to follow this nonsensical game of high stakes.

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Leia stood alone in the dark of her quarters, her hand to her mouth. Simply stood there, very still.

Time passed...a long, long time, whilst distant stars trailed by the viewscreen as she stared out. Eventually she sighed, a long, low, tired sigh. Very calmly, she walked from the room, heading for Mon's office.

"I have something to tell you," she said simply when she entered, and Mon frowned, probably knowing from the tremble in her voice that it was important.

She turned to her Aide, Harlin. "Could we have a few moments, please?"

He nodded diplomatically and retreated, leaving them alone.

Leia paused for a long time, struggling to find a way to do this, aware that Mon was giving her the space, not rushing her.

"I...was thinking about the comms...and Luke." Leia didn't need to elaborate further, she knew.

Last night, just as her shift was finishing, Mon had called Leia to the Communications Suite again and her heart had beaten a little faster in her chest as she'd arrived.

"Leia, please come through." Mon had gestured her into a small room to the rear, where the Com Chief and two slicers had spent the last four weeks working on old, automatically archived comms traced back to the comlink found in Luke's belongings.

The Com Chief looked down now as she came in, taking a half-step back.

Madine was in there of course, and Ackbar, his raspy breathing loud in the confined space.

Leia braced; this didn't look good.

"Lieutenant Leemarit, please?" Mon prompted, and the Rodian Com Chief nodded silently, turning to Leia.

"I'm...sorry, Ma'am."

He reached out his long, blunt fingers to rest on the console controls, and a message played out, clipped by distortion, compression audible in the broken hiss...but clearly recognizable:

"...every chance that we will be relocating shortly. Scouts, myself included, have been sent to systems on the Corellian Trade Spine, as far out as the Outer Rim. This will be a semi-permanent base, so should provide a good strike opportunity when it's settled. Co-ordinates will follow when I have confirmation."

It was, in some strange, twisted way, good to hear Luke's voice again, even like this. He continued, leaving only the shortest pause, as if considering, searching for anything he'd missed.

"As far as I'm aware, Mon Mothma will not be at this base, nor will Madine or Ackbar. Leia Organa will be present, backed up by General Rieekan. No more information at present. Contact within three weeks."

That was it. Probably less than a second when it had been compressed and encoded. It had taken less than a second to damn the man Leia had spent three years trusting absolutely.

Mon spoke into the silence, her tone that of someone not wishing to continue, but knowing that they must lay this to rest.

"We now have four messages deciphered. We gave a fragment of one of them to the Bothans without telling them who it was and asked them to check Imperial and Independent field-agent databases. They ran it through their equipment." She paused again, then pressed on, firing the last bolt home. "They have this voice down as an Imperial Agent named The Wolf. They have no visual ID, but apparently he's the one who re-forged broken links between Black Sun and the Empire following the Falleen massacre, recruiting Xizor to work for the Emperor. They have practically nothing on him, except that he's the son of someone very highly placed in the Emperor's personal retinue. They thought for a while that he may be Aurus Cordo's son--his only son is listed as a Royal Guard, and he's about the right age; four years older than Skywalker claimed to --but Bothan spies in the Palace claim Cordo's son is still there. Whoever he is, the Bothan's contact within Black Sun claims that this agent--The Wolf--left and fell below their radar about three years ago, following the success of the Black Sun mission. The only description they have is that he was a human, average height, athletic, and in his early twenties, with fair skin, pale blond hair and blue eyes."

Leia didn't bother to argue over the finer points of the description. It was petty and she knew it.

"I'm sorry, Leia," Mon said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"If it's any consolation, he fooled us all for a long time," Madine added.

Leia turned stony eyes on him. "No. No, it's not."

"The matter seems...laid to rest now," Ackbar said into the silence. "Damage control would seem our new priority. We should look to change any codes and contact protocols as quickly as possible. Did he have access to our own agents' names and locations?"

"Some," Madine admitted. "He also piloted for my Special Ops unit occasionally. We'd already begun recalling some field agents--as a precaution, of course." He glanced at Leia as he added the last, though she had no scorn left.

"Is it likely to impact our own intelligence-gathering?" Mon asked, all business.

"To a degree." Madine said. "Recalled agents will have to be replaced, which will take time, though we rely on the Bothans a great deal nowadays. They keep to their own networks as you know, and since we have no details of their particulars, he had none either. We've alerted them though, and any which he had contact with are being reassigned."

And so the conversation went on around Leia, and everything was tied off, everything resolved. Everyone rolling over the one vital fact...that one of the closest people in her life--someone whom she'd trusted implicitly, whom she would have given her life to protect--was a lie.

He had broken faith, had beguiled and misled. He'd sold her out; had befriended her specifically intending to do that.

The words of the Imperial pilot in the transport at Cat Dato floated into her mind. She'd asked him where Luke was and though he hadn't recognized Luke as a prisoner, he'd clearly realized who she was speaking about. Now, in hindsight, the emphasis in his words--as if believing she'd sought an enemy--made perfect sense. "Yeah, I bet you'd like to get your hands on him."

He'd known...he'd known Luke was an Imperial operative.

Was it all true, then? The Commander, the apartments...his lineage? The Bothans had said that he was the son of someone highly placed in the Emperor's personal retinue, and she knew...she knew what he could do. Leia remained silent, completely lost as to what to do.

"I think we should wrap this up for the time being. Perhaps we could have a meeting of the senior members of the staff to agree on a course of action, once we've all internalized this," Mon said mildly into the silence.

"I would...question the advisability of making this common knowledge," Ackbar murmured uneasily. "The resultant fallout would be highly destructive both in terms of morale and our reputation."

"Of course. Perhaps we should bring our suggestions to the meeting tonight?"

There was a murmur of agreement, no one wishing to dwell on the moment right now. No one wishing to meet Leia's eyes, she realized. The room emptied in silence, leaving only Leia and the Com Chief behind.

He moved uneasily, hands clasped together. "We'll still go through them, ma'am, every one," the Rodian offered at last, voice thin and reedy. "This might not be what it seems, we may all be jumping to conclusions."

"Thank you, Leemarit." What else could she say? She'd never really liked the Com Chief, he'd always just...put her on edge, before. Now, he seemed like her only ally.

Did she need one at this point, Leia considered...or was it all academic, in the face of facts?

Still, the Com Chief paused, not wishing to leave it there. "I... I don't think...well, I knew the Commander. By reputation mostly but...he was a good man, a good pilot. Good C.O. He cared about his people, his command. I can't believe he'd do this, Ma'am. It's not who he was."

Leia looked to the wiry Rodian, wanting to believe him.

He shook his head, huge eyes blinking quickly. "This is just one thing, Ma'am, it's just one thing. I know it seems pretty damning, I'm not blind. But...it's only one thing. I just...I'd want something else. To believe it was him, I'd need to know something else. Big as this is, it's not enough alone."

He looked away, looked back to her, then walked quietly out.

Leia walked in silence back to her quarters, the buzz of activity onboard ship a distant ghost. When she arrived, she stood for a long time in the darkness just staring out at the stars, hand to her mouth.

Because she knew...she knew it wasn't just one thing. She knew what she'd seen in the Palace and been so quick to dismiss, at the time.

It took over four hours of gut-wrenching uncertainty before she decided...

Eventually she sighed, a long, low, tired sigh. Very calmly, she walked from the room, heading for Mon's office, knowing she had to tell the truth. Much as it tore at her to do so.

This was too big and too important not to, and she was too close to it to make a rational decision.

Because even now, even with every damning piece of proof, she still wondered...

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To be continued...

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