Into the Storm

Chapter 14

.

.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

.

.

.

Twelve weeks--twelve weeks of incarceration in the same few rooms. Twelve weeks of grinding pressure. Twelve weeks of uncertainty and doubt and incessant provocation.

And it wouldn't end here, not really. Not for him.

But it sure as hell was about to change. For better or worse.

Luke had spent much of the afternoon in the empty bedroom, knelt in meditation--or as near as he could come to it in this dark, desolate place. Putting up shields, raising imperceptible barriers to hide his intent.

He'd realized he could do this days after arriving here, sensing the impression of it in Mara's mind when she spoke to him and using it as a template to guide his own attempts, consistently investing time and effort in improving the same skill week on week, so that he was pretty confident now that he could not only shield thoughts from Palpatine, but hide the shields also, in such a way that the Sith wasn't aware that something was being hidden.

The trick, Luke had found, was to always leave a few perceptible barriers in place--something to focus attention on--so that although he now hid far more than he allowed to be seen, he was confident that although Palpatine knew he was hiding things beyond the obvious, the Sith had no idea what or how much.

He was staking a great deal on that theory tonight.

Luke opened his eyes to gaze out into the darkening night, studying the heavy, monofilament-reinforced clear plasteel plate of the windows.

Could he break them?

Yes--he knew he could. He knew.

The window was nothing--he had broken down the doors five days ago, which were far heavier...and therein lie the dilemma.

He had destroyed the doors because he had touched Darkness. Allowed it sway in his frustration and his anger. But he was aware of his abilities expanding even without that spur, as if it had somehow opened a portal--or perhaps he simply had faith in his own abilities now, as Master Yoda had always sought to instill.

Or maybe he remained in contact with the Darkness... that thought brought a slight frown to his face; fast, easy power--that was what Master Yoda had said. But would it be so terrible to use it as a method of escape--to gain Han's freedom? What could possibly be Dark in that intent? He glanced again at the windows, his momentary doubt rejected in the face of greater need.

In his meditative state, he easily picked up on Palpatine's presence as he moved through the Palace in the early evening, heading for Luke's quarters, sense focused, brimming with decisive intent, eager and energized and endlessly self-confident.

When he entered the hall two rooms away, Luke took one final deep, calming breath.

Long night ahead.

.

.

.

.

.

Palpatine mouthed and espoused as only he could. Vindictive, manipulative accusations whose words Luke didn't even hear, gazing blankly at the old man, listening to his own blood whistling in his ears.

Time passed and he tried to listen, tried to react, tried to hide how wired and tense he was.

He reached out to take the large, engraved glass goblet from the table, momentarily chiding himself for not having taken the time to do this more often so that now it seemed a common act, casually transferring it to his left hand before bringing it to his dry mouth.

He took a long drink, wishing it were something stronger, aware of his heart pounding as he replaced the goblet to the table but not releasing it. Waiting--turning his attention back to Palpatine--concentrate!...

"...tell me that you have been struck from the Rebellion's records--they are disowning you, my friend."

"They wouldn't abandon me so hastily," Luke said, shaking his head.

"You are already gone, Jedi." Palpatine smiled, amused.

"Then who destroyed the Death Star?"

"The pilot who destroyed the Death Star died in the battle of Hoth, they say. That is the official line. He died a hero--sacrificed his life for their cause. You, my friend, are an Imperial agent. A spy who infiltrated their highest ranks and betrayed their every trust. I'm told they fell over themselves to desert you. To deny any association or connection with the man they couldn't wait to condemn. That is the extent of their loyalty--it always was."

Luke tensed against this final barb, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

"You have no--" The glass shattered into fragments in his hand, causing him to jump up and back as his chair toppled behind him.

He halted, cradling his injured left hand as blood began to flow from deep wounds, mingling with the red wine which stained the perfect white cloth of the table. Teeth clenched, he gingerly pulled at a large fragment which had lodged into the flesh of his palm, and dropped the scarlet-smeared shard to the table, reaching back to work a second razor-sharp splinter free.

The Emperor watched all of this in rapt silence, as if it were a diversion acted out for his personal entertainment.

Luke clenched his hand shut against the flow of blood, jumped just slightly, then carefully picked at another deep gash to pull free a vicious glass sliver. Again he squeezed his hand shut, dark, viscous blood oozing between his fingers and onto the already-stained cloth; more than he'd expected.

He gazed at his clenched fist for long seconds before finally lifting his head to Palpatine, eyes burning an accusation.

The Emperor only smiled, eyebrows raised in polite expectation. "Perhaps you'd like another glass?"

Luke glared long seconds before biting out, "Why, do you have something else you'd like to say?"

The Emperor paused considering, as if this had been a serious request. "No--no, I think we have finished tonight, my friend."

He rose, the heavy doors beginning their slow cycle of unlocking. Luke subconsciously counted out the seconds, as he had done a hundred times before. Mara entered, followed by six Royal Guards, who opened their tight, two-by-two formation to allow the Emperor to step between them.

Glancing nonchalantly back, Palpatine murmured to Jade, "See to his hand," before walking from the room without looking back. The doors slammed shut behind him, their staged lock engaging.

Mara stepped forward, hand outstretched, but Luke turned away. "It's fine," he lied, stalking back through the dark drawing room alone.

Check it...

"Let me check," she said easily, following him.

"I said it's fine," he dismissed again, dropping it casually open at his side to leave a trail of ruby drops scattered across the stone floor on his path through the bedroom and down the long marble corridor of the 'fresher suite.

.

Shaking her head just slightly at Skywalker's typical willful stubbornness, Mara followed. By the time she reached the washroom the sink was already spattered with blood, more of the same still trickling from his hand.

He let out a small sigh, as if uncertain what to do, and Mara stepped forward to take his hand and open it without resistance, examining the deep cuts with a soldier's eye.

He remained silent for long seconds before offering in a quiet voice, "I think there's still some glass in, but I can't find it."

She lifted his hand closer, examining the oozing gashes. "I can't see anything," she said, easing the wounds open one by one to look, then pinching them closed. "These need stitching though. I'll send for Hallin."

"Stupid." He looked away, annoyed. "Stupid thing to do."

For some reason, Mara kept hold of his injured hand. "I think you both have a way of getting round each other's defenses," she said without looking up.

"Yeah, I don't see him calling out the medic."

"You've scored a few blows, believe me," Mara admitted, wondering why she was telling him this. "He thought he'd have you well trained, by now."

He was silent for long seconds at this, in which time Mara studiously studied his hand. When she finally looked up, he was frowning at her, clearly wondering the same thing.

She held his gaze for long seconds...

When he took a breath to speak, Mara cut in quickly. "I'll...get that medic."

She released his hand to walk quickly past him in the doorway, aware that she'd brushed against him even though he'd stepped back, the room plenty large enough for her to have avoided it.

"Thanks," he muttered quietly, then, "Mara--"

She glanced round, surprised; it was rare that he called her by name. "What?"

"Sorry," he said, a strangely heartfelt apology.

"For what?"

He shrugged. "Just...sorry."

Mara stared for a few moments longer, wondering at this, but he glanced down and took his bleeding hand in his other, so she turned to walk away, aware of the surveillance lenses, wishing she could slap herself on the forehead at her own rash actions.

.

.

.

Skywalker remained uncharacteristically quiet as Nathan cleaned and sutured the wounds in his hand, sitting on the arm of a chair in the locked drawing room, a light pulled close.

Nathan was getting used to being just dragged out to perform his duties wherever his sole charge happened to be at the time, so that being summoned from his own quarters in the North Tower and brought through the incredible security of the South Tower to tend to Vader's son in what were hardly sterile conditions, with poor light and only what equipment he had brought with him, seemed little more than a mild inconvenience now.

It had become clear that Skywalker occupied a strangely ambiguous position within the Palace--though that was about the only thing that was clear. He seemed, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner here, with locked doors and countless guards. Yet he also seemed to occupy a position in the Emperor's personal entourage and the title of Commander, with apartments and staff and all attendant entitlements.

It was just that all these privileges existed under incredible security, most of which was kept well hidden from the few who were entitled to travel this far into the always-restricted South Tower.

No one within the Palace, outside of those who were involved with him on a daily basis, seemed to have the slightest idea who he was, and Nathan had found himself the subject of many subtle attempts to find out. Why exactly they thought he would know was a mystery, since he was almost as clueless as everyone else, aware now that he had been fed the official party line with regard to Skywalker's past.

Still, it had been made abundantly clear by the higher powers that speaking Luke Skywalker's name outside of the man's presence was absolutely out of the question. He was to be referred to as the Commander; only ever the Commander.

Nathan had heard it whispered many times now that he was one of the Emperor's vaunted undercover agents, as Commander Jade was suspected to be, trained from a young age to travel unnoticed throughout the Empire fulfilling his master's commands in 'delicate situations.' But then he'd also heard that he was an ex-Royal Guard, an infiltration specialist who, like Lieutenant Commander Reece, had now been retired to take up a more conventional position within the Emperor's retinue. Either of which could well be true for all Nathan knew, though neither explained the guards at the door, more jumpy than ever tonight.

For some reason, Skywalker seemed to be limited to the bedroom and drawing room again now; or rather, for what was a very obvious reason--it was hard to miss the huge amount of repair work visible around the drawing room entrance, the massive reinforced cage of the underlying security structure surrounding the security doors carefully reconstructed but not yet matched in and hidden.

That they'd actually tried to take his scalpel from him at the outer doors tonight had seemed a little extreme even here though, as outrageously wary as they always were of their charge. He'd argued strenuously that the short medical laser was hardly a threat, before finally being allowed it by Commander Jade.

It all seemed rather a case of obsessive overkill as far as Nathan was concerned. Although he was clearly here against his will, it wasn't as though Skywalker had ever done anything even vaguely threatening. He seemed always polite and mild-mannered, and was no taller than Nathan himself, though he had the kind of rangy, solid musculature one probably got from a life as a professional soldier, rather than Nathan 's more sedate days spent studying papers on specialist surgery and medical anatomy.

But he'd always remained so very equitable and composed. Never once had Nathan felt threatened in his company the way he did in his father's presence, even when they had differences of agreement in their discussions--which they almost invariably did. For a man who lived in the Imperial Palace, Skywalker seemed to have decidedly radical views.

He'd often been tempted to just ask directly of Skywalker what exactly was going on...but since that one slip in which Skywalker had clarified just a few brief points, his answers posing more questions than they addressed, it had been made very clear to Nathan that his newly-acquired position depended greatly on his co-operation, and while a little knowledge could be a dangerous thing, Nathan had the distinct impression that in this case, a lot of it could well be deadly.

Skywalker broke into Nathan's train of thought as he worked now, his question as searching as every other discussion they'd had. But always congenial, even in disagreement.

"Do you ever ask yourself what you're doing, Hallin?"

"What, in suturing your hand?" Nathan asked lightly. "No, I'm pretty sure I know how to do it. They gave me certificates and everything."

Skywalker's voice was quietly good-natured. "You know what I mean--whether this is right."

"No, I don't ask myself any such thing," Nathan said pointedly. "Which is why I'm here and you're there."

"Then you're a fool," Skywalker said easily with a brief, tight smile. "If I get out of here I'm free--you'll stay in your prison forever."

"How wonderfully self-righteous you are," Nathan countered easily, no malice in his voice. "But then I suppose that's all you have left."

"I have my integrity," Skywalker said without looking up as the medic sutured the deep slices in his hand.

"Integrity doesn't open locked doors," Nathan dismissed amiably. Though he disagreed with his views, he rather liked Luke in truth, enjoying their little debates.

"Integrity can't be chained," Skywalker said affably.

"But you, apparently, can."

Skywalker smiled at this, typically unoffended. "Touché."

He looked at his hand as Nathan sprayed a liquid protector over the wounds, the worst three of which had required sutures, the rest closed with sterile strip.

"Thank you," Luke said absently, glancing down.

"Try to keep your hand open tonight so the scars don't split open in the morning. And keep it dry," Nathan said, packing up. "It's a pity it wasn't your prosthetic hand, really--it would have been a far simpler job."

"But it would probably have been left 'till morning," his charge replied, as if this were some validation.

"Quite." Nathan frowned, uncertain what to make of that, instead studying the reader in his hand, a sample of his patient's blood in the small receptor. "Your adrenalin's very high." He frowned again, taking a scan. "And your heart rate's way up. How do you feel?"

"Fine. Thank you, Hallin." Skywalker stood in polite dismissal, so Nathan backed away, packing instruments into his pockets and case.

"If you need something to sleep..."

"No. Thank you."

Nathan shrugged and walked to the door, waiting long seconds for it to slowly cycle open.

Two Red Guard stepped in and to either side as it did so, to let him through.

"Ah!"

Hearing his shout, Nathan turned back to see his patient holding his injured hand awkwardly.

"It's split...the sutures..." Skywalker stepped forward to Nathan, hand out before him, so he took a half-step back into the room towards him as Skywalker reached the door, hand out...and Nathan frowned; all the sutures were intact...

It happened in a blur, Nathan barely registering the actions before they were done.

Skywalker twisted his injured hand to the side and the long pike in the grip of the nearest guard wrenched free to leap the short distance to his own--

Even as it happened he was still stepping forward, snatching the pike from midair and twisting it quickly round to land a solid blow to the guard's chest, the activated pike releasing a blinding charge of power which dropped the guard without a sound--

Without pausing to make sure he fell, Skywalker immediately back-swung the pike into the second guard, using the opposite end for speed, so that both were on the floor before Nathan even realized what was happening--

The two guards who stood inside the dining room started forward, reaching for concealed blasters as Skywalker flung the pike from his left hand to his right and stretched his left hand out before him, palm out, fingers open--

And somehow the guards were launched back, feet leaving the ground, arms flailing as they hit the far wall with a brutal smack which could have been bone or armor or both--

"S-Stop!" Completely ignored by Skywalker, Nathan backed up a step, fumbling at the medical scalpel in his pocket, finally pulling it free to turn on the tiny blade and brandish it before him.

Skywalker barely glanced at him. "Really?" he asked, pike still in hand.

Now, suddenly, with this mercurial change--in his stance and his intent and his casually threatening manner--he seemed very much like his father.

Nathan glanced at the pike and at the four guards, brought down without the slightest hesitation, then looked into the man's eyes...

He backed up, dropping the scalpel as Skywalker grabbed at the scruff of the nearest guard, hauling him with him as he walked quickly to the huge windows in the dining room, counting down out loud--

The doors to the dining hall were cycling open now, more guards undoubtedly waiting to get in--

"Fifteen... fourteen..."

Nathan turned to Skywalker as he stopped, unruffled, before the windows; paused as if gathering his thoughts...then he threw his open hand out before him--

Something... something wrenched at the air about Nathan with enough power to make his eardrums pop, and in that same instant the heavy reinforced windows exploded outwards in a shower of fine, fragmented pieces, the screeching wrench of shearing cables and stressed steel competing against the deafening alarm which burst forth that same instant--

Nathan could see Skywalker's lips moving, counting down as he stepped through the still-falling debris onto the darkness of the balcony beyond, the unconscious guard in tow--

The medic stood frozen for several long seconds before the outer door finally cycled open, realizing as it did so that this was what Luke had been counting down.

Guards flooded into the room in a flurry of red robes, force pikes activated. Nathan gestured pointlessly to the huge, gaping hole in the wall, where massive chunks of reinforced lintel still swung wildly, held in place by a few intact cables still threaded through the transparisteel slab--

He stepped back further as still more guards poured through the narrow doors, the room a sea of scarlet now. Momentarily, he spotted the dark fitted jumpsuit and flash of red hair which was Commander Jade as she pushed forward, then she was lost again in the massed troops.

Bizarrely, in that moment, surrounded by this wild chaos of noise and people, his heart beating staccato against his chest, the only thing which was going through Nathan 's shocked mind in the face of this incredible revelation of Skywalker's true abilities was, 'That's why they wanted to take my scalpel!'

.

.

.

Mara stood on the balcony gazing out over the carved stone balustrade, trying to spot Skywalker in the dense black of night, the huge beams of light which illuminated the Tower walls to make them visible for miles around, now blinding her completely.

She turned quickly, blinking away the bright spots, having the forethought to check above as well as below and to the side of her, but he was nowhere to be seen. She knew a Jedi could jump extreme distances without injury, but the balcony was twenty-four stories above the monolithic Main Palace...could he jump that far?

She turned back, pushing through the throngs of Red Guards, struggling against the crowd to get back into the main corridor beyond the Dining Hall and head at full tilt for the Ops room, cursing all the way.

.

.

"Status," Mara ordered as she arrived, struggling for breath.

The four ops officers shook their heads, expressions grave--everyone knew their heads were on the block tonight. "Nothing yet. All security images clean; no sightings. He's going to have to get back into the main Crossway in the Tower base if he wants to get down any further into the Palace though. The Towers are sealed already. Enclision grids are active, blast shields are in place. We're locked down--there's no way he can get through to the Main Palace."

Mara considered... "Open the first few blast doors on the East Tower--the ones you can see from the Crossways. Let's see if he'll bite. Get extra troops down there, out of sight. And start repositioning stormtroopers around the stairwell in the Main Palace."

The Ops Duty Officer nodded, speaking quickly into his comlink as Mara forced herself calm, eyes skipping from display to display...nothing.

She shook her head, frustrated. "He'll not try to get back in yet. He'll stay outside as long as he can to avoid being spotted; try to climb down to the Palace roof somehow. But it'll slow him down and he knows it--and whatever he does, he'll eventually have to get back in--he can't bypass the Main Palace entry, he has to go through it."

But he didn't know that. He may well try to stay outside and look for some way down the smooth, shielded bulk of the Main Palace walls--in his situation, she would have... Which meant he'd probably get as close to the main Crossway at the Tower bases as possible outside, then try to get back in--probably not back into the South Tower. Which would put him on the Main Palace roof in the next few minutes... and within striking distance of the landing pads there, she realized. "Lock down everything on the roof pad. How many transports are there?"

The duty officer frowned. "Just two. Both shuttles."

"Do you know the Deck Officer to look at?"

The Ops D.O. nodded.

"Tell him he's to go out to them right now with a blaster and shoot out the flight consoles--tell him it's my order. I want them unflyable inside one minute."

The man nodded, understanding--two shuttles were a small price to pay.

"Then get every spare body onto the roof gardens. Get every light on--I want it lit up like a landing strip. Call Units Four, Five and Nine down from his quarters and get them out there. How many--"

-Mara-

She flinched, knowing this was coming...

-We'll find him, master-

She knew that the Emperor was rising, heading downwards toward her position. There would be hell to pay for this. He'd known, of course, that Skywalker was going to do this eventually; make some bid for freedom. But he'd predicted that it wouldn't be yet--had been so sure that it would be late tomorrow, when the pact which had held Skywalker this long expired--and Mara had set all her plans around this, additional reinforcements to be placed everywhere at the change of shift at dawn tomorrow, sure that her master couldn't be wrong.

Sure that Skywalker would hold to his word on the agreement.

But Skywalker was changing; becoming more volatile, less predictable. She knew that, had watched it happen--why hadn't she allowed for it?

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

A stray memory clicked--of Skywalker cursing himself the same way in the 'fresher as she'd studied his injured hand. Of him apologizing, for what she hadn't known...

This was all planned! His hand, the medic--everything! "Pull up the footage of the drawing room just before it happened!"

She watched it closely, squinting... "Again."

This wasn't a chance opportunity he'd seized. He'd walked forward too casually, eyes on his hand, not looking up.

She watched him move with that incredible burst of speed as he snatched the force pike, dropping both the guards almost simultaneously, then swapping the pike to his artificial hand to use the Force to throw the second pair of guards back...then he grabbed one by the scruff and dragged him casually forward to the tall, reinforced windows...

The windows! That had been a trial! Weeks ago, he'd thrown the Force at them, and she'd believed, as everybody had, that they'd held against him...but he'd not broken them on purpose! He'd wanted to see if they couldbe broken, but hadn't wanted to have them further reinforced, so he'd just tested them!

It was all just a test...a test for today. She shook her head, lips pursed in frustration. And then the rest fell into place...everything. He'd wanted to know the response too; what would happen when he did break them--timings, numbers. That was all part of his dry run.

"You son of a... what are you doing...?" She gazed at the footage as that sea of Red Guards flooded into the room... Come on, Luke--this was organized...what were you planning...

"Go back." She frowned, reaching forward to operate the controls herself. The image jumped back several seconds to the point when he glanced to the medic--what did he say? She frowned, leaning closer... "What's he saying now?"

Everyone in Ops squinted at the image. "He's counting," one of the men said slowly. "See? He's counting down..."

"He's counting the response time..." Mara said, then, in a flush of realization, "The door time! The length of time it takes for the lock on the door to cycle open."

"But he's almost out..." the Ops officer said, confused.

"Yes," The Emperor's guttural voice was hard and biting, and everyone spun about and bowed low, Mara included.

When she lifted her head, it was she whom Palpatine was glaring at.

"Why haven't you caught him yet?" To the point as ever.

"We're having some trouble locating his exact..."

"Replay the images," Palpatine spoke over her, disinterested in excuses.

The Ops officer rushed to comply, playing the image from the moment the prisoner walked up to the drawing room door, hand out.

"Where are the guards stationed now?" Palpatine asked quietly, squinting at the image.

Mara checked status screens. "Mostly in the lower levels. We've got as many units as possible out on the rooftop gardens, searching it by quarters. He's still outside, because we haven't had an entry alarm sound yet. I've had some of the tranquillizer sent down, and there are three units who carry it routinely who've..."

"Bring them in," Palpatine interrupted. "He's in the Towers."

Mara frowned. "Master?"

"He's in the Towers, dressed as a Royal Guard. Probably with those you so considerately sent running down to the Crossways, since that's where he needed to get to. Replay the image."

Mara turned back to the display, head fizzing with adrenaline as she took in the scene.

"There--slow the image," Palpatine said coolly.

It was at the point where the first flurry of guards came rushing in... Mara studied the display as the image edged forward incrementally.

"Stop," the Emperor ordered curtly, stepping forward to point at the frame, his long white fingers pale against the sea of scarlet in the image. "He's there."

In the midst of the chaos of red-garbed Royal Guard who streamed into the room, spreading out and onto the balcony, one guard was walking calmly the opposite way, back through the entrance door, pike in hand...

"The guard he dragged out onto the balcony," Mara said flatly. "He was counting down the time he had to dress."

The Emperor turned hard, yellow eyes on Mara. "Are the guards still out in the gardens?" he asked pointedly.

Mara rushed to comply, recalling troops and reassigning the blue-clad Palace Guard and grey-uniformed officers--every Royal Guard now had to have his identity checked.

.

.

Luke smoothed down the olive drab of the officer's uniform he wore, running his fingers quickly through the short, military crop he'd had just days before, eyes flicking coldly from the nervous Intel officer he'd just taken the uniform from, to the second officer now slumped in the corner; there was always someone who chanced their luck.

He turned back to the first man. "Okay, here's the deal. You do exactly as I tell you and you'll have a very interesting story to tell over dinner tomorrow night. Cross me, interfere, get in my way or disobey and I will put you in the morgue and go find someone who will do as I say. Are we very clear on that?" His voice was quiet and flat, but deadly serious.

The man nodded dumbly.

Confronted with that blast of fear which blared out through the Force, Luke tried to feel any shred of guilt at the man's terror, but in that moment it was far beyond him. All he saw was his plan--all he felt was cold, single-minded determination.

"Put those on." He kicked his own trousers, carefully chosen tonight, across to the man--also very carefully chosen.

A little taller than Luke with short dark hair, wearing Luke's dark trousers and military boots with the white shirt from his own uniform, he could easily be Han from a distance.

Luke had been eager to get rid of the Royal Guard's uniform as quickly as possible--it had been a method of getting him out of the room, nothing more. To keep wearing it when they would have him in security footage dragging the damn guard outside would have been suicide, but it had served its purpose.

He'd headed up four stories--not so far that a member of the Red Guard would have seemed out of place--then began frantically searching for his next change of clothes, on just the right officer. He needed someone with a reasonably prominent rank and therefore high security clearance--not too old, fast enough not to slow Luke down, though he didn't intend going that far...and the right look.

And he figured he had about three minutes to find him.

Then along came this guy, making Luke's night...though probably not his own, Luke reflected dryly, bundling the red overcloak into the hard cowl-helmet, the only pieces of the Red Guard's uniform he'd had time to drag on.

Glancing about, he turned his gaze up, at the lowered roof. He almost--almost--used the Force to lift the discarded clothes into the ceiling void. But he caught himself at the last minute--he could do a reasonable job of confusing Palpatine's concept of his exact position, but not if he used the Force directly.

Instead, he climbed quickly up onto the desk, pushing a tile back and stowing the disguise before jumping back down, his eyes on the officer.

"What's your name?"

"Arco."

"Do you have a first name?"

The man eyed him warily. "Andorius."

Luke lifted his eyebrows at that. "Okay...we'll stick with Arco. And when I ask you a question, you're gonna answer me straight away, and you're gonna tell the truth, 'cos I'm really not a man you should consider lying to--not tonight."

He hefted the man's stolen blaster up to rest it against his shoulder.

"Let's have our first try, huh? I need the nearest ops room up from here that'll give me access to the Detention Center below the Main Palace." He knew that Mara Jade used one just a few levels down, but going down was not an option.

The man tensed up resolutely. "There are none above here. The nearest one is--"

Luke stepped forward, grabbing the man's arm and wrenching him forward to slam his hand down flat onto the desk before him. Swinging the blaster in, he pushed the muzzle against the back of the Imperial's hand.

"I assume you like the matching pair? Because let me tell you, the surgery to replace it will put my blasting a hole through it to shame..."

The man pursed his lips and Luke tightened his finger on the trigger. He didn't want to shoot--more because the noise may well give him away than for any other reason--but he would, if he needed to. And it wouldn't be the man's hand which took the shot...

Somewhere in the back of his mind an alarm sounded, but he dismissed it almost instantly, focused on his goal. "Last chance--then I get rid of you and wake up the guy in the corner."

Even passively through the Force, this close he could sense the officer waiver, resistance crumbling...

"Fine." Keeping hold of the man's arm, he lifted the blaster without hesitation to his forehead...

"Wait! Okay, okay. Two stories--it's two stories up."

Luke pulled the blaster back, releasing his hold. "You're a smart man, Arco. Lead on."

He was surprised how easy it had been. How easy it would have been...

.

.

Mara sat in the ops room as streams of information came from each of the units who searched the lower levels of the Tower, taking her time now to position and back up each unit carefully, moving all Red Guards back from the last two levels above the Crossway and building the numbers of Palace Guards on every level.

In the Main Palace, one story and about thirty feet of blast-proof organic steel composite down from the Crossway, and completely unreachable from it when the shields were down, she was also positioning stormtrooper units as back-up. She knew that it was impossible to pass between the two without ending up in the enclision grids at the base of the Towers, but that was no reason not to be thorough.

Plus she didn't really want the Emperor's prize Jedi cut to pieces by the military-grade lasers in the enclision grid. Both for herself and her master--professional pride, Mara assured herself as she closed her eyes, listening to the reports... No sign of him yet.

"Where are you?" she whispered at last. "How are you getting down--how are you getting past us?"

.

.

Luke kept on heading up, keeping a loose hold of the Imperial, watchful for security lenses and trying to keep both their backs to them, subtly keeping his own head down. Wondering how much serious firepower was being amassed on the lower levels of the Towers to stop him.

Wondering when they'd start to look up.

Hoping that by now, Mara would be starting to move stormtroopers and Palace Guards up to the upper levels of the Main Palace. Gambling that they wouldn't risk the show of weakness inherent in closing down the Main Palace completely, believing Luke was still in the Towers...

"Here," the officer said quietly, pausing by a door marked 'Ops 90'.

Luke stared at the man for long seconds, but he held Luke's eye.

"How many people will be in there?" he asked, not liking standing out in a corridor, but not wishing to go in half-cocked.

"Two normally, at this time of night. But there's been a call-to-quarters, so it could be more."

Luke gestured with his head. "After you."

Arco sighed, a tremble in his breath, but he pressed the door release and entered. As he stepped through, Luke gave him a good push forward, so that all eyes were on him as he stumbled--then Luke was in the room, his blaster pulled free before anybody even looked to him.

"Up!" he shouted. "Move back to--"

The first man jumped up, chair toppling backward as he drew his blaster--

He was taken down in a single body-shot at this range.

The second man fumbled his own gun up and Luke brought his blaster back for another hasty shot, point-blank, the impact launching the man back. The blaster swung instantly around to Arco, who remained perfectly still, eyes shut...

The falling chair finally clattered to the ground, the sound making Arco jerk back in anticipation.

Luke held the blaster at the man for long seconds as his heartbeat slowed.

"Open your eyes," he dismissed casually as he set forward to the desk, leaving the man standing, shocked rigid.

When he didn't move, Luke reached around and grabbed him, pulling him back to the upright chair and yanking him into it. "Get online. And if you sound one alarm, so help me..."

He didn't finish the threat--he really didn't need to. The proof was slumped against the far wall for Arco to see.

"I'm in the system," Arco said quietly. "What do you want?"

"Detention Center. Level Seven," Luke said, pulling up the toppled chair. "I need access to the security footage and the overrides."

Arco glanced once at him, but didn't bother asking.

.

.

.

Han lay back on his hard bunk for want of anything better to do, gazing up at the ceiling. Had he misunderstood? Tonight was the last night--tonight was one week.

He had no idea of the time, but it was only a few hours after his meal, so it was probably still before midnight--did that mean today was almost through? Or did the early hours of the morning still technically count?

"We have got to work out a better system," he announced to the empty room.

If it did mean... The cell door slid open.

Frowning, Han sat up looking to the door, not sure whether he expected to see two stormtroopers or the kid. Long seconds passed in silence before he finally stood and walked forward, leaning out into the long corridor beyond...

No one was there.

First rule of Sabacc: never turn down a free card...

He stepped warily out into the corridor, seeing that the blast door at the only open end of the corridor was locked down, and hearing muffled voices from beyond.

"Great," he muttered. "That's just..."

Across the narrow corridor, the opposite cell door nearest the sealed blast door opened, making him jump outrageously.

Slowly, warily, he walked forward. Uneasy at the proximity of the guards he could hear just on the other side of the blast door, he crouched down to look inside the apparently empty cell.

Nothing inside... What the hell was going on? Was it just a malfunction?

He stepped back, glancing around...and the door half-closed, then slid open again. Then again.

.

"Come on, Han, get in the damn cell," Luke muttered, willing the cagy smuggler to step forward.

Watching security images from the holo's in the ops room he was holed up in, Luke's attention was split between the three guards on duty on the other side of the blast door, who were now beginning to wonder if it really was the malfunction he'd just assured them it was, and the image of the sealed cell corridor to its other side, where Han paused suspiciously before the open cell door.

"Would you please get in!?" he urged, exasperated.

Finally, Han walked forward, crouching to pass warily under the half-lowered door, which Luke closed immediately after he stepped through.

.

Han twisted quickly round, but wasn't nearly fast enough to get back through the closing door. Taking three steps back, he glared at it. "If this isn't you, kid, then I'm gonna look very, very stupid."

He stood still and expectant for long moments...in which nothing happened... Time passed, and he realized he was glaring so hard, his eyebrows were lifting off the top of his head...

Then, with no fanfare at all, the door slid open.

Stepping up, Han heard the voices of the guards to his left in the corridor, the blast door to his immediate right lifted again, now. Edging out, he saw the guards at the far end of the corridor, checking another open cell door. Without running, he stepped silently out of the cell and slipped under the blast door and into the main entrance beyond, immediately sliding sideways out of the line of vision of the troops.

He'd just stepped clear as the blast door closed again, the troops running forward in unison, way too far away to make it.

Shielded now, Han stepped quickly past the main console to the closed turbolift.

"C'mon!" he urged. There were no call panels here, the turbolifts apparently being sent down only on request.

The console beeped for attention behind him. He ignored it, visions of his last fiasco of a conversation on one of those things in the Death Star coming quickly to mind.

The turbolift doors stayed firmly closed. The comm beeped a demand which was easy to ignore...

"Open the..." Han spun round, realizing what he was meant to do and reaching over the back of the console to activate the comm.

"Finally!" Luke's voice crackled from the tinny speaker, filled with impatience.

"Hey, I'm not a mind reader!" Han defended, smiling broadly as he looked up to the security lenses in a bank on the wall. "Where are you?"

"Heading down. You need to get hold of a comlink and set it to 2372."

"Where from?"

"Hey, I got me out, I got you out, I'm about to try to talk down three very irate detention center guards. All you have to do is get one lousy comlink."

"Fine, fine." Han knew he was grinning maniacally now, adrenaline pumping. "...What frequency?"

He could practically hear the kid sigh. "2372. Don't forget. I can follow you on security images--get moving."

The turbolift doors were already opening as Han headed toward them. Finally! A little action!

.

.

.

To be continued...

.