Into the Storm

Chapter 13

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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When Han arrived at the familiar tall, heavy doors to Luke's opulent prison, it was to a scene of organized bedlam. There were about three times as many guards as normal, the two sets of heavy blast doors which marked the entrance to the sprawling apartments uncharacteristically shut and heavily guarded. Large roll-away boxes lined the wide main corridor within, filled with what looked like explosion debris, so fine and unrecognizable were the fragments. As they took off his binders and cycled open the heavy bolts to the rooms the kid was imprisoned in, Han glanced to the roomy, unused office opposite, now crammed with even more of the boxed debris.

"Kid's been busy, huh?" he asked his guards, who looked ahead in stony silence.

He'd spent the last two weeks alternately worrying that something major had happened to the kid, then reassuring himself that nothing would--that the Emperor thought he needed Luke for whatever the hell reason, and so he wouldn't do anything stupid. Still, after nine straight days without his usual visit he'd taken to pacing the cell and lying awake, running all kinds of scenarios through his head between fits of banging on the cell door, though nobody came.

So when the damned door had finally slid open today, he'd been so eager to see the kid that he'd stepped forward, hands held out before him for the customary binders, grinning like an idiot.

Then he'd fretted all over again on the way up here, bracing himself for every possible situation.

Except this one, of course. He broke step as he was marched through the empty dining hall to the locked doors of the cavernous room beyond, staring at the massive damage being repaired about the center three windows in the long, tall run to the dining room wall. Whole panes had been removed, the plaster about them chipped away to show for the first time the massive fortification hidden within the walls, organic steel girders and massive alloy slabs set against each other with the reinforced transparisteel windows bonded back into the main structure, the fine monofilaments within running not just through the panes themselves but welded into the body of the frame, and that bonded into the main alloy structure beyond. The jumpy guards pushed him forward as he slowed, taking up position around the drawing room door before it was released.

He entered the vast arch-ceiling drawing room, where the oppressive silence of the huge, impersonal space was being chipped at by a constant stream of noise from the bedroom beyond, mingled with the muffled conversations of many voices.

Rising, the kid turned casually, eyes fixing on Solo.

Something was different--Han knew immediately, though he didn't know what. Something about Luke... He looked...different somehow. Not just the clothes--Han was getting used to seeing Luke like this, in perfectly fitted, expensive clothing, always flawlessly tailored. Hand-made boots, luxurious, hand-stitched shirts in vinesilk or cortal linen, presenting an overall appearance which was groomed and casually affluent, so very much in keeping with the prosperous excesses of Palace life, whether the kid wanted that or not. His hair had been cut short too, since Han had last been allowed to see him--very short.

But it was none of these things which made him seem so different today. It was his manner, his eyes, the wariness of the guards who tip-toed around him.

The way that for some reason, Han already felt he should do the same.

Then the kid walked toward him, smiling broadly... and he was Luke again...just...with an edge, maybe.

Han opened his arms in automatic answer. It was this moment, these few brief seconds when they leaned in, patting each other's backs in a friendly embrace, that they were able to exchange a brief burst of whispered information.

"We're leaving this week. Late," Luke murmured, and Han nodded silently as they pulled apart.

"Been busy, huh?" he said casually, gesturing to the room beyond.

"No--not at all."

This close, Han noticed that Luke's face was covered with fine cuts and grazes. He frowned in silent question, but the kid merely turned away, as if he hadn't noticed, his manner restless and wired.

"Come in why don't you, Red," he invited without turning.

Han glanced back to the slim, trim redhead who was walking in from the bedroom beyond to monitor the conversation, as she always did when Han was there. Today though, his eyes were drawn to a glimpse of the bedroom beyond, completely empty, a haze of dust in the air.

Han gestured to Luke's short, military haircut. "Someone get a little carried away with the clippers?"

Luke glanced away again, vaguely dismissive. "I think it's the only cut they know around here."

Doesn't want to talk about that either, then. Han frowned. "You okay?"

The kid's voice remained completely neutral. "I'm fine."

" 'Cos you seem a little...wired," Han pushed.

"No," Luke replied.

Han glanced uneasily at Jade, who held his gaze for a second too long, then turned away.

Luke's voice drew Han's eyes back. "Seems like an age since you were here last. We have a lot to talk about."

Han didn't miss the implication--that if they were getting out of here, they had a great deal they needed to communicate in a short visit without once mentioning anything directly.

"So--how's life below decks?" Luke asked, that same dispassionate tone to his voice.

"Good, good. I was moved this morning from a small white box on Level Nine to a small white box on Level Seven...which is nice."

"Well, you know what they say about variety," Luke said. "In fact, maybe I'll come visit you, next time."

Han raised his eyebrows slightly at this, knowing that Luke was referring to the escape. It seemed an odd way round to work it, when Han had traveled the path up through the Palace so often, yet Luke had never been outside these three rooms. "What, and deprive me of my regular walk?"

Luke paused a second; considering, Han knew. "Maybe we can meet halfway--I'm sure I can arrange that." He half-turned to his wary jailor. "What d'you say, Red? Trip out next week?"

She merely raised her eyebrows in silence.

"She loves that idea," Luke said dryly, turning back to Han. "She's very excited."

Solo kept his eyes on Jade. "How can you tell?"

"She raised both eyebrows."

Jade turned to walk smoothly to a chair some distance away--to give some appearance of privacy when it was no such thing, Han knew. How could the kid stand this, to be watched all the time?

When he turned back to Luke, the kid's eyes and thoughts were still on her. "Red thinks I'm gonna do something stupid today," he observed, tone laconic, more of a taunt to the silent redhead than it was an explanation to Han.

Aware that he'd subconsciously stopped a good five paces away from Luke, Han wondered how the kid would take it if he pointed out that he was with Jade on this one...

Immediately, Luke turned to him, eyes sharp and searching, and Han knew he didn't have to say it out loud. But the challenge died unsaid as, quick as it had appeared, the momentary anger was gone and Luke only laughed, turning to walk to the tall windows.

"Well, you're both wrong," he said easily, eyes to the horizon. "I'm fine."

The brittle silence hung for long moments...

"So..." Luke turned back suddenly. "How's life on Level..?"

"Seven," Han repeated, trying to keep his reply casual. "Minus seven I'm guessing, from the distinct lack of windows down there. See, you got this whole fresh air and daylight thing going on up here. We don't get that below decks."

"No, but you get the weekly walk through the Palace. That's a good ten minutes of freedom."

There was the slightest of questions in the last, and Han reacted accordingly. "Twenty minutes easy--but then I make the most of it. Maybe ten if you were running flat out. Plus the enclision grids at the Tower entrance slow us down a lot, gives me some time to sightsee. And the security checks every three--"

"That's enough," Jade said simply.

Both men fell silent for a few moments, Luke half-turning back.

Han kept his head down, surreptitiously trying to look at the fine grazes all over the kid's face, uneasy at his mercurial manner.

"You look tired," he said at last, genuine concern in his voice.

"Just sick of being cooped up," Luke dismissed evenly. "I'm ready for some fresh air."

Han nodded, his concern not settled a whit. "You know," he said at last, turning to look out at the city, "last time I was on Coruscant I was complaining because I had nowhere to stay. Now I'm in the Imperial Palace, no less. Admittedly not the best room in the house, but still..."

Luke turned sharply, understanding. "How long ago was that?"

"Four or five years." Not too long was the inference.

"Doing what?"

"Dropping off," Han said vaguely.

"Where?"

"Tyren Islands--a district actually, near the equator. There's a few spots, there." Now wasn't the time to be giving out co-ordinates. "Didn't like 'em so much. I guess they were okay for a short stop, but too hot to stay too long," Han added pointedly.

"I like the heat, you know that," Luke reassured.

"You've just been in it too long. It gets like that," Han said, understanding the double meaning and keeping his tone casual.

Clearly understanding, Luke half-glanced to Jade, doubtless wishing to disperse the conversation a little for her ears. "No--desert born and bred. I think the novelty of snow on Hoth wore off about the same time as you lowered the Falcon's landing ramp."

"You were the one who kept volunteering for perimeter checks and dragging me out with you," Han accused good-naturedly, glad to see the kid smile, if only fractionally.

"It was a rota," Luke said easily, turning back to the window.

"You were the Unit Commander--you could have left your own name out, y'know."

Luke shrugged dismissively. "I liked Yavin though--and Circarpous. Liked the greenery." His eyes turned down to the verdant roof gardens of the Main Palace below. "Like the gardens here...I'd like to visit them one day."

It took a second for Han to work this abrupt change of conversation out, then he glanced down, affecting a disinterested air. "Well, unlike me, you're in the right place. You can't get to them from the Main Palace, they're completely sealed off. I don't think you can even get through--"

"Stop it," Jade interrupted, editing the conversation again, more cautious than usual. Luke turned quizzically but she wasn't giving ground. "Stop discussing how to get from the Towers to the Palace."

"I already know how to get from the Towers to the Palace," Luke said dismissively, turning away.

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Glancing once to Solo, who was stood a cagey few steps back from his own friend, clearly aware on some level that something was different, Mara narrowed her eyes at Luke, picking up the gauntlet he'd thrown down in his casually dismissive claim. "And you would know that how?"

Luke gestured with a sideways glance to the bedroom, voice cool and matter-of-fact. "You really should use droids occasionally, and not sentient minds. Everyone in that room came up through the Palace into the Towers this morning; it's in the head of every single person who walks through here, Red. Yourself included."

It wasn't quite a challenge, but Mara knew Solo too could hear the short fuse when Luke spoke, which was rare enough to make him shift uneasily.

"You can't read my mind," she dismissed, the barest hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"You think those shields stop me? They don't."

"Liar."

He half-turned to her, his face hidden by the bright corona of daylight behind him. "When have I ever lied to you, Red?"

Mara turned away, unwilling to be pulled into an argument with him when he was so uncharacteristically volatile. But he wouldn't let her off so easily.

"Worried?" He had a wicked grin on his face, but she wasn't about to be brow-beaten by him.

"Hardly," she lied.

"You should be," he said simply, voice amused and brittle, the uneasy truth of his next words stopping her cold: "I am."

He held her eye for a second too long before his flat gaze flicked away, all his attention focused on Solo, who took a half step back without realizing, leaving Mara to study him closely, no longer listening to what they were saying. He was slipping, increment by infinitesimal increment. Too long under her master's influence, frustrated and bound, constrained and provoked, he was losing perspective and gaining an edge, volatile and erratic, quicksilver fast.

And he knew it.

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Vader walked through the towering, lavishly decorated halls which led to the Throne Room, grinding his jaw in distaste as dignitaries and Moffs paused in whatever malicious whispers they were spreading among the Royal Houses to bow lightly and politely as he passed, though he never once acknowledged them.

He had been summoned to Court, something he disliked intensely, the pomp and ceremony which his Master had instigated to keep the fractious Royal Houses in line grating against his reined-in distaste. He wasn't stupid--wasn't blind to what his Master did. The intricate formalities and etiquettes of Court were designed expressly to intimidate, to instill insecurity into anyone coming into that most exclusive of circles, to dissuade anyone without prior knowledge from daring to intrude. Thus an elite was formed who had a vested interest in maintaining their own position and therefore by extension, the Emperor's, whilst Palpatine kept close to himself all those who held any power--and he made it his business to know them all.

Before one entered the Throne Room, one must travel through the Attendant's Hall, an equally large and lavish space, three stories high and awash with the constant chatter of the exclusive language of Archaic Coruscanti, adopted by Palpatine for his Court, as well as endless native languages. The vast, magnificent hall remained forever crowded out by literally hundreds of lackeys and sycophants, all petitioning for entry to Court in hope of gaining the Emperor's patronage, which was always strictly rationed--though when one was in his favor, there were no limits to his generosity. But in order to gain such a position of favor, one must do it at the expense of another, and risk either the Emperor's amusement or his wrath. 'Dead Man's Shoes,' they called it. Fools, every one of them, for trying; they deserved all that they reaped.

The vast chamber fell to an observant hush as Vader strode through it, looking neither left nor right, having no time for the petty power-plays of these contemptible parasites. They were everything he had once thought his Master would remove, as the Old Republic groaned under the weight of its own traditions. Everything he'd once hoped to have the power to remove himself. Now there seemed more of them every day, crowded into these halls and this Palace, exchanging power for money or money for power. He hated them, every one, their weakness was sickening--but no less than his own for tolerating them.

The grand, floor-to-ceiling double-doors swung open onto the Throne Room where his Master held Court, scarlet-robed Royal Guards stepping back to allow Vader entrance--he was never made to wait. He walked forward without breaking stride into the whispering shadows of the lofty, imposing, expansive hall beyond, the gathered assemblage turning to view the new entrant, lowering their heads in polite acknowledgement of his status.

The Throne Room itself was a statement of Imperial wealth and supremacy on the grandest scale, a cavernous audience chamber whose carved, fluted pillars and crenulations were picked out with thousands upon thousands of hand-laid sheets of rose and yellow gold, banded striations of vermillion and cobalt blue threaded into its subtle lustre in flowing, fluid arcs and scrolls on the grandest scale. The distant vaulted ceiling was an immense terrazzo mosaic of darkest midnight blue, a perfect representation of Coruscant's night sky beyond the Palace rendered in fine gold strapwork.

Flanking this grand space to either side, divided from the main chamber by a series of ornate, gilded sliding panels, were less formal but still equally sumptuous private Receiving Rooms, only reachable by walking through the Throne Room itself, and only ever accessible to the very favored few. By opening or closing the wall-long runs of these elaborate sliding panels, it was possible to create several stately, intimate receiving rooms or one vast, impressive hall, an ornate raised dais at its far end.

On this dais which Vader now approached, stood Palpatine's precious Sunburst Throne, the extinct Jedi Order's vaunted 'Seat of Prophesy,' taken from the Jedi Temple before its destruction. Set above its subjects as Vader's Master always believed he was, the centuries old throne refracted subtle light about the dais from the beaten, hammered surface of the precious metal sunburst which formed the backrest, the infamous Son of Suns prophesy engraved in fine, archaic script upon it, the only copy of the prophesy in existence. Had Vader had his way, the prophesy which had hung like a chain about his neck his whole life would have been destroyed along with the chair into which it was carved.

But he didn't; he never would have. So he came to a slow halt on the half-circle of Terassotti marble before the dais, its mirror-half set into the raised dais itself, completing the circle. Its inlaid design, a pale cream circle with a russet red center set with a complex filigree in muted blue-grey, a second russet and blue-grey motif inlaid at regular intervals around its outer edge, was painfully, offensively familiar to Vader from his youth. He often wondered if anyone else recognized it as the floor of the venerated Jedi Council Chamber; probably not--who was left alive to know?

And it would, he knew, give his Master a great deal of satisfaction to have desecrated it so--to know that his throne now rested on the floor that he would once never have been allowed to stand upon. And as Vader knelt on the half-circle set into the floor before the dais, eyes lowered and back bent, gazing at the floor which he had once stood upon as a Jedi, he wondered...

Did that too fill his Master with cold amusement?

He had always sworn that if he ever rose to Emperor he would have this floor ripped up and destroyed--broken down to dust. If he rose to Emperor.

But the floor remained, and he still bent on one knee each time he came here. And he knew now that his wish would never be fulfilled. It had outlasted a thousand generations of Jedi--it would outlast this one Sith.

It gave Vader some small modicum of pleasure to think that it would outlast his Master, too--even here.

"Lord Vader." Palpatine lounged upon his throne when everyone before him was made to stand. No one sat in Court--no one save himself. He loved his power, Vader knew. It gave him no greater pleasure, than to wield it.

"What is thy bidding, my Master?" he asked, eyes to that familiar floor.

"Rise, my friend, rise," the Emperor bid him magnanimously. "Everything is proceeding as planned."

Vader remained silent, knowing instantly the true subject of this conversation, but unwilling to play these pointless word games with his Master. Though he knew that Palpatine was right; the boy balanced at the brink...but something had held him back thus far. Some sense of duty or self-restraint which had always eluded Vader. Or perhaps it was simple stubbornness--in that he and his son were very much alike.

He saw himself reflected in his son a little more every day now. Saw the brittleness, the mercurial mood swings as Luke struggled to maintain control against endless provocations. Felt the boy's sense in the Force shift. The boy knew it too--and he fought it, struggling to maintain a connection to something which no longer existed. Could not exist here, so close to the Emperor.

Vader looked to his Master, who had remained silent. Did he expect some answer? A confirmation of his own appraisal? If so, it would be the first time.

But then, Vader had a unique perspective in this. A certain...personal connection.

"Yes, Master," he said at last. "Though something remains intact--some limit yet to breach."

Palpatine narrowed his eyes in consideration of this, leaning forward and nodding slowly. He remained silent, staring at Vader for a long time, no longer considering his words, Vader knew, but considering him.

Vader held his peace, not wishing to be drawn further, already regretting his words, feeling that he had in some way betrayed the boy.

Before the arrival of his son, he would have spoken at this point, out of his own discomfort beneath his Master's searching gaze. Now he felt strangely empowered, his son's close presence, his connection and abilities, giving Vader confidence where before he had held none--not before his Master.

And as much as Vader tried to hide this, Palpatine knew it.

He shifted, raising barrier after barrier, realizing that he was too late. He had already given too much away--in facing his Master, in speaking his thoughts. In knowing at all.

Palpatine sat back again, some decision made.

"You have done well of late, Lord Vader, and I wish to reward you." The Emperor's words were quick and decisive.

Vader's eyes narrowed beneath his mask. Reward? His Master did not reward. What was the wily old Sith doing?

"I am restructuring the fleet to better reflect the needs of my Empire. You will be given new responsibilities and powers, my friend, in acknowledgment of your exemplary service."

"Yes, Master," Vader said uneasily, hearing the wary tone in his own deep voice. Looking for the trap.

"My Empire and my fleet are growing ever larger, Lord Vader. I have decreed that the fleet is to be divided for efficiency into two separate commands. One will be named the Core Fleet, responsible for all aspects of maintaining stability in the Core Systems and the Colonies. The second will be named the Rim Fleet and will administer to all other territories and responsibilities, including expanding Imperial space and policing all insurrection and rebellion, wherever it arises. The Rim Territories require a strong hand and a dedicated, loyal commitment to Imperial policy. Your experience and diligence in such areas has earned you the right to command this fleet in my name, my friend. I can think of no one I would trust more."

Ah, there it was--the twist of the knife.

He was being sent away, Vader realized. Away from the Palace and away from his son. His Master needed time to bring the boy fully to heel--to guarantee his loyalty--and Vader's presence had clearly become an unwanted complication. The Rim territories were vast, and with no legitimate reason to bring his fleet into the Core Colonies, Vader would remain away for extended periods of time. Masterfully done...but then he had expected no less, from the man who brought a Republic to its knees.

Palpatine's thin lips twisted to a triumphant smile. "You are to go to the Meridian Sector immediately, my friend. Your fleet will be reassigned to join you in the coming days."

Vader's chin rose in shock. "Now?"

The Emperor paused to stare Vader down, and he held that hard glare for long seconds before he crumbled, the chains which held him too old and too ingrained to withstand.

"As you wish, Master."

Palpatine continued as if the interruption had never taken place. "There is word of a Rebel unit hiding in the Gion Asteroid belt. Hunt them down in my name as only you can, Lord Vader. Destroy them completely. This is the first mission for your new fleet, my friend, and you are to dedicate yourself to it completely. I know you will not fail me."

There was a finality to his last words which indicated dismissal, and Vader bowed low in response, backstepping before turning to leave.

The susurration of whispers as he strode down the vast hall set his teeth on edge. Blind, power-hungry fools; they saw only that the Emperor had rewarded the loyalty of his favored servant. Vader knew the truth; that this empty honor had taken his son from him...and with it, any chance of securing the boy's loyalty.

Strangely, in that moment of realization, the former meant far more to him than the latter.

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Eleven long weeks--stimulating and challenging and enervating--and dormant promise was finally shaping into workable potential. Inherent traits finally breaking through the pressure fractures. Palpatine rose, stalking forward around the table impeccably set for a dinner that was never eaten, reaching out to rest a hand on the boy's shoulder as he reached him, feeling him tense in wary reaction, the air in the cavernous chamber charged.

And his Jedi, his sense in the Force blaring out with agitation now, layers of repressed anger threatening to overcome all logic.

"This is why they would not teach you, my friend. Why they hid you in the desert and left you to rot. Surely you wondered why they delayed your training?"

Palpatine stopped behind the chair, his hand still on the boy's shoulder, the close proximity to such wildly fluid power drawing him in, urging him on, his voice a hissing whisper of feigned outrage. "They were afraid of you. Of what you would become."

He paused, aware that he was walking a fine line. He was pushing for a reaction to see just what the boy was capable of. Seeit for himself--sense it. To know the extent of the power Vader's son could command; whether it was equal to his father. But at the same time, he wanted the boy to fail, to recognize the limitations of the lessons the Jedi had taught him. To realize that he could so easily move beyond them with Palpatine's aid.

Now was the time to take control, to push the advantage, to take the conversation where he willed it, knowing that the boy was too ensnared to turn away. "Why teach one whom some day you may have to destroy? Why not wait and watch? An untrained mind would be so much easier to...deal with, should the need arise. Why do you think Kenobi waited and watched from the desert as you grew?"

He leaned down to whisper, close enough that his breath caught against the boy's hair, bringing his head about slightly. "Would you like the truth, my friend?"

His Jedi took a breath to speak, but Palpatine pushed on before he had a chance to do so, fingers tightening about his shoulder to silence him. "The truth--the real truth--is that your precious teacher was placed there to be your judge, jury and executioner."

The boy shook his head, though he did not pull away. "That's not true..."

"Then why did he not teach you?" Unseen, Palpatine smiled, knowing from the boy's tensed shoulders that he had delivered a blow.

Still the boy did not look, blue eyes searching before him as his mind sought an answer. "To protect me."

"From the Sith? We would not sense Kenobi, a trained Jedi Knight, yet they worried that we would sense you? You know that cannot be. You know the truth," Palpatine hissed. "Kenobi hid you in the desert, then he stepped back to watch you grow and struggle, trying to live within the confines of an ordinary life, knowing how this would constrain and frustrate you--yet he never divulged your heritage. Never once gave you any explanation, no matter how obscure. Why?"

Palpatine pressed down against the boy's shoulders, holding him captive, demanding his attention, his voice damning. "You say he wanted to protect you, but what better protection than knowledge, child? Potential Jedi were trained from infancy--yet he never attempted to do this, never once offered guidance, though he knew--he knew--that this would someday happen...that it was inevitable. No. He did not teach you because he was waiting, my friend. Waiting to see what he would have to deal with--whether he would be able to control it. Because if he could not, then his mandate would have been to destroy it, rather than see it beyond his command."

It was, after all, exactly as Palpatine would have done.

"But he did teach me."

"Because they had to gamble--they had to take the risk that they could instill enough lies and manipulations to control you before I found you."

Palpatine smiled at the boy's confusion, played out in tensed muscles beneath his hands. As if realizing, his Jedi twisted free of the touch without rising, his sense part distaste, part resentment.

Palpatine only smiled, allowing the act, indulging the emotions; feeding them. Never a direct lie, only ever the truth--as Palpatine saw it. Always logical and plausible and compelling.

Whisperings of doubt were beginning to lodge in the boy's mind now, much as he tried to deny them, much as he declared them untrue. A thousand tiny cuts, a thousand blows, quickly landed. If only one drew blood then the damage was done. And he had drawn blood, Palpatine knew, his voice a triumphant whisper. "But they could not control you completely. They could not change your lineage so they could not change your destiny. Nothing can do that."

He left this thought hanging in the dusky hush, lit more now by the dancing light of the fire than the waning sun, knowing that the boy's knife-edge silence spoke volumes.

Turning, he stepping away to stand before the hearth, gazing into the brightly destructive flickering of the flames, though every ounce of his awareness was centered on the muted, still form of the Jedi behind him. The chaos of doubts which assaulted the boy now, robbing him of clarity, instilling again that mercurial edge, that wonderfully volatile potential.

Still gazing at the fire, Palpatine shook his head, his voice laced with studied sympathy and empty outrage. "But how callous an act--to withhold from an orphaned child the knowledge of its past, its parents. To watch it struggle to survive, abandoned on some forsaken planet by those who stole it. Another generation to twist with their insurrection and their lies."

He turned slowly to the boy, whose eyes had not risen from the table before him.

"This is what they did to you, Jedi--knowingly, deliberately. They used the isolation they had created as a way to control you. They took everything from you, not I. They took you from your father and they hid you from me--denied you your birthright. You would have been raised a scion--Heir to an Empire. They knew this. You accuse me of holding you here, yet I believe I am freeing you from the enforced, restricting environment which they had bound you to... I could not begin to explain to you the life they so deliberately denied you."

Palpatine set forward, walking to stand beside his Jedi, hand on his shoulder in empty commiseration. Head down, lost in his own thoughts, the boy did not react at all.

"And when they had done this in their own self-serving attempt to control you, when they thought they had you, body and soul, they dragged you center-stage in their worthless Rebellion, aware of the danger you would be in, knowing well that they'd left you with a profound weakness. One so easily remedied, yet so grievous that it brought you here, bound and broken and betrayed."

He stepped closer, gratified that the boy had allowed him to speak for this long without voicing some kind of denial. Long weeks of carefully manipulated events were taking their toll, his words surely kindling burning trails of doubt for the boy to offer so little resistance at Palpatine's accusations now.

"But then perhaps I could see why they would do this. Too close an examination of the past they had created to contain you would place them in a difficult position. Require them to validate...questionable actions."

The slightest tightening of the boy's shoulders was his only visible reaction, though the Emperor sensed that his mind had flickered in momentary protection and knew his thoughts must be of his mother; that after Palpatine's revelations there must be questions he was burning to ask.

But he did not--so Palpatine could wait. The boy would ask when he was ready to hear... what better time to voice accusations than to a willing audience?

"They used you. More callously than you know. Used you and gave you nothing in return, not even the truth. You weren't even worthy of that, in their eyes." His lowered his voice now, laced it with pity and disgust. "How can you defend them, knowing this? Why do you absolve them?"

Skywalker's chin came up in defiance, but he had nothing to say in their defense, against this sea of accusations.

Palpatine smiled, gratified. "Obi-Wan may be long gone, but I knew him well, and I can tell you without a shadow of doubt that he cared nothing for you. He blindly fed his cause and sacrificed anything to it without hesitation. Yet he cowered in the desert rather than face me himself. That is the truth of the man whose memory you so honor.

"The Jedi Council to which he belonged hid their true intent behind high morals and lofty ideals which perhaps they once represented, generations past. But they had become far removed from this. The Council which Master Yoda so skillfully commanded craved ever greater influence. They controlled everything--politics, trade, planetary protection--manipulated events on a galactic scale."

"And you don't?" Luke's voice was quiet and even, but still held a challenge.

Palpatine smiled; it was a small rebuke and a long time coming, lacking the venom he had expected, though as quietly resolute as ever.

"I command my Empire," he said without contrition. "I do what is necessary and hide nothing. I have told you, I do not lie. I do not cloak my goals. The Jedi Council sought nothing more spiritual than power. The Republic was crumbling. They fought me for control...and they lost. In you, Master Yoda saw a way to regain his forfeited status. It was a gamble, but it was one which he readily took because he had nothing to lose. He did not himself challenge my power--he has fought me before...he knew he could not win. No; instead he found another, an outsider, a dispensable commodity in his eyes. He was quite content to hide in the shadows and send you to the slaughter, another innocent condemned for his cause. Send you to do what he knew he could not. Sacrifice you and those about you without the slightest--"

"I think we have finished speaking," Luke said simply, his head turning away, words quiet but firm.

"Don't EVER interrupt me!" Palpatine shouted his rebuke, hand banging down on the boy's shoulder, a shock of Dark power jolting through his frame.

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Luke's heart pounded against his ribs at the fierce reproach, body tensing, hands tightening into fists at the provocation. But he wouldn't give.

"I think we have finished speaking now." He heard the clipped tone of his own voice as eh repeated his words, heard the frustration and the hostility, but in that moment was past caring. He was sick and tired of being led around. Of honoring a deal which he shouldn't have had to make in the first place, of fighting when nobody gave a damn anymore, of holding back when he knew what he was capable of.

"No, we are not finished talking, Jedi--we have only just begun."

"Then I've finished listening." Voice cut through with barely controlled anger, Luke stood, walking away to return to his quarters.

The huge double-doors to the drawing room swung shut in his face, resonating as the multiple bolts slammed home. "Sit down."

"Open the doors," Luke ordered, his voice cold fury now.

"Sit down," Palpatine hissed, his tone unmistakable.

Still Luke would not turn from the doors. He heard the heavy rustle of cloth as the Emperor turned behind him, and in that moment the Force rushed unbidden to his mind, giving a perfect image of the table behind him, every knife on it practically vibrating with the energy about them.

Answering his call--not Palpatine's--he had thought that. And in that moment, he knew how easy it would be.

The reverberating bang of Palpatine's fists on the table made him flinch just slightly, and his jaw tightened further in anger at himself for doing so.

"SIT!"

Still Luke stared forward in silence.

"The doors will not open simply because you stare at them," Palpatine spit out.

The derisive tone in the Emperor's voice lit a fire in Luke's stomach, searing away all other considerations. Narrowing his eyes, he looked to the huge, heavy doors--

And called the Force...

An inrush of energy, like a change in pressure, like surfacing from deep water and drawing that first breath. Like the oxygen he breathed; natural, life-giving, potent...

The sheet of intense energy immersed Luke, an unfamiliar twist of raw power tangled through, so that nothing could be hidden, even the smallest increments visible to this flawless perception. It coalesced and defined, diffuse potential converging, frustration and blind fury channeling it as never before.

He pulled this huge well of power in and willed it into crystal-sharp focus, channeled it with absolute precision. Gave it direction, defined his intent and permitted it control in the same instant. Allowed it everything it needed.

Gave himself over to it completely...

It blazed through him, his muscles twitching as he strived to confine and control this profound inrush of blazing power--and he saw the doors. Truly saw them for the first time, every fine grain of wood which faced them, every striation in the dense slabs of interlinked polymer alloys hidden beneath, rows of heavy bolts embedded into organic steel keeps, bound and inlaid with perennium cables from floor to ceiling, all set into a cage of massive girders behind innocuous plaster walls. Every conceivable strength carefully compounded to hold against him.

.

And it was nothing--nothing at all.

.

He hurled the Force at them, a wall of dense, unstoppable energy, and the heavy wood paneling which covered the true nature of the doors simply collapsed beneath it. The fine carving compressed inwards, its mass reduced to nothing as he kept on pushing, disintegrating to dust against the might of this single, sustained blow.

And still he pushed forward--

The metal hidden within began to creak; groan beneath the power thrown against it, compression heating it to red hot so that the remnants of wood began to smolder and blacken.

Luke tilted his head, leaning in to the task, indiscriminate fury giving him purpose, all his frustration thrown forward against that which stood in his way.

With a shock of movement the doors wrenched back several inches, masonry from the walls about them exploding outwards in fine powder as the heavy inset bolts began to fail, the keeps pushed back through plasteel block, dragging heavy girders and strung cables with them.

Another jolting inch in a screech of tortured metal, the doors completely black now as the wood covering had scorched to cinders. Flaws began to rip through the internal structure as the metal failed under massive, sustained pressure...

Only now did Luke throw both hands up, palms out to the doors.

The surrounding wall exploded back under the invisible blow, the massive doors torn away as if they were matchwood, to bounce against the walls in the room beyond, dragging huge scars into the plaster to reveal the cabled plasteel structure beneath, before finally coming to rest in a mangled crush against the far wall, leaving deep gouges hewn into the polished marble floor as they tumbled in a flurry of dust and debris...

.

.

Moments passed unchecked, the silence ringing in Palpatine's ears after the cacophony of noise, both mental and physical.

Skywalker remained perfectly still as the dust rolled back and billowed about him to settle in a fine white haze on the black marble floors. He did not turn as he spoke, staring straight ahead at the huge, gaping hole ripped into the feet-thick walls where the heavy blast doors had stood, thick cable and dense alloys sheared off about it.

"Apparently they will," he said at last.

.

He walked calmly into the drawing room beyond, passing the destruction he had metered out without a single glance and continuing on into the adjoining chamber, its own huge doors closing in restrained silence behind him.

Alone now, Palpatine's face turned slowly to a broad, insidious smile as he looked appreciatively at the incredible destruction his Jedi had wrought.

He knew the power it had taken to do that--the power Skywalker had called so easily and so naturally to him.

Slowly, in the reverberating silence, he began to laugh.

.

.

.

Luke slumped to his knees in the still hush of the empty room, that dark instant of flawless clarity gone. A shiver wracked his frame at the cold realization of a brief affinity. In the shadowed hush of the huge, soulless chamber, he looked to the freedom beyond the thick panes of the tall windows, terrified in that moment that it was lost to him.

Perhaps it could never have been otherwise.

Perhaps it was all he deserved.

Was this destiny?

Staring in mute silence at the moon beyond the Palace towers, feeling the howling call of the Darkness as never before, he remembered again his childhood dream: the wolf that clung to the shadows, at one with the night, slipping past any defense, always hunting, breath misting a snarl in the cold twilight.

Hunting him, he had thought.

But now...now, when he slept, there was only himself in those raven shadows, and the Darkness clung to him like a cloak, dragging him down.

Leaving him to prowl the barren night alone.

.

.

.

To be continued...

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