Into the Storm

Chapter 4

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CHAPTER FOUR

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"Leia? Leia!" Han shouted out as he was hustled down the ramp of the transport, on seeing Leia being dragged from a second shuttle onto the wide, troop-lined platform, lit up in the dark of the planet's night.

"Han!" She struggled pointlessly against her guards, but that didn't stop her trying. "Let me go! You stupid..."

Her voice was drowned out by Chewie's deafening howl as he saw Han from the ramp.

"Chewie!" Han yelled, elated now. "Hey, ya big..."

The stormtrooper beside him pushed his blaster into Han's ribs. "Shut your mouth, pirate, or I'll shut it for you."

Han didn't care--he didn't care in that moment. They were alive, they were okay. Talk about a roller-coaster day!

They were dragged up alongside him to stand in the center of an impressive group of troopers, all of whom they completely ignored in their relief to see that each of the others were okay. Lando joined them, hands bound, and though he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the man, in that moment, Han didn't even care that he was there.

"Were you on-board too?" Leia asked, beaming from ear to ear, hardly at her most regal but sure as hell stunning to Han. "For how long?"

"You know me, sweetheart, just can't keep away from a pretty face," he grinned, bobbing his eyebrows.

Leia rolled her eyes as Chewie chuntered his concern. Han brushed it off easily. "Best night's sleep I ever had!"

The stormtrooper in charge of the prisoners turned on them. "If you don't all shut up..."

He never finished his threat. A far greater one than he could ever issue stalked down the ramp of the transport, black cloak swirling about him in the night winds as the impressive phalanxes of troops came smartly to attention.

In the silence, Han glanced around, orienting himself.

They were on a huge landing platform high on the roof of a massive, monolithic building, open to the elements and surrounded by four towering spires which continued up in perfect proportion from the monumental mass off the main structure below, the night illuminated by thousands of lights from the city about it, their reflected glow great enough to obscure the stars entirely. Not that Han needed them to recognize Coruscant--and it would always be Coruscant to him, no matter how many times the Imperials claimed and renamed it.

And he knew the Towers too, had seen them hundreds of times from a distance. A safe distance. Never once expected to see them up close...then again, who did?

The legendary magnificence of the Imperial Palace was laid out about them, in the scale of the landing platform and the troops assembled; in the polished and banded granite slab beneath their feet, delicately inlaid with finely scrolled metals whose design radiated out in a complex pattern hidden by the polished boots of many stormtroopers, in the height of the towers which soared above every other structure even here, immersing the viewer in its casual opulence, a tremendous statement of Imperial wealth and resources on a planet where overt displays of outrageous luxury were the norm.

As vast as it was, the platform was only a fraction of the roof space of the monumental main Palace. The four lofty Habitation Towers which rose up about them from the corners of the building below were each surrounded by private gardens lit up in the night, where full-height trees swayed in the wind, dwarfed by the imposing bulk of the towers themselves. Their intricately-carved stonework, floor upon floor, was thrown into sharp relief by bright lights aimed from the lush gardens at the bases of the towers, the lamps hissing and steaming as drizzle landed on the magnified heat of their huge refracting lenses.

Vader strode forward across the landing platform without pause, completely at ease surrounded by this display of Imperial might, a group of somber-faced officers trailing behind him.

Halfway across the platform he paused as rows of scarlet-clad Royal Guard--the Emperor's own regiment--marched out to break the of the rows of white stormtroopers with a double line of blood red.

"The Emperor," Leia murmured, drawing back slightly as Han craned his neck to see.

Darth Vader walked several paces forward from the Imperial Commanders and dropped to one knee, head low, disappearing below rows of attention-still troopers.

Anticipation made Han's heart beat faster; he was about to see the Emperor...the Emperor! Nobody saw Emperor Palpatine, not in the flesh. Admittedly he probably wasn't going to live to tell anyone, and even if he did who would believe him, but still...

An expectant stillness fell about the scene, its imposing gravity lost on no one, even Solo.

The man who walked slowly out from the high double doors of the south tower, a heavy, hooded cloak hiding his form, seemed at once small and frail, yet absolutely in command; aware of his status and expecting recognition of such.

A small entourage followed at a respectful distance, four elderly men in dark, rich vermillion robes, a striking, porcelain-skinned red-haired woman in a black one-piece--clearly military from the way she held herself--and two Royal Guards.

Oddly, above the wind and despite the distance, Han thought he could hear the 'click - click' of the gnarled black cane the Emperor used to walk with as he stepped forward. More so, he felt, for the first time in many years, reduced to unsettled silence by the hooded man's disquieting presence...

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Walking across the windswept platform, Emperor Palpatine forced himself to slow his pace, but when he finally reached Lord Vader he was unable to keep the fervent anticipation from his voice. "Rise--rise, my friend. Your mission was successful."

It was not a question.

"Yes, my Master."

Palpatine could sense some sliver of reluctance, a carefully concealed unease, and it brought a slow, subtle smile to his thin, cracked lips. Not that Vader felt this, but that he felt it yet did nothing about it. Control on any level was rewarding...control of someone of Vader's abilities was endlessly gratifying.

"Good. Very good. You've done well," Palpatine rewarded easily, eyes turning to the transport.

An open medical repulsor-sled was being guided down the ramp, its occupant unconscious, hooked up to the inbuilt specialist IV system which was capable of keeping him that way.

Palpatine waited, eyes locked on the sled. As it approached he sensed something, some blast of intense concern, and glanced momentarily at the spot several rows back into the stormtroopers.

"His companions," Vader said simply, clearly having sensed the same.

Palpatine frowned; there was something--some distant familiarity...

"Leia Organa," he said, remembering the woman from her infrequent attendance to Court; her father was always so protective.

As well he should be, traitor that she was. She held his attention for only a moment though, his ochre eyes turning back greedily to the sled. He'd once thought to bring her before him in chains, to answer for her crimes. Now she was almost beneath his notice, useful for one thing only. But very useful in that, he hoped. Yes, he had plans for his little Rebel Princess.

He smiled wickedly, eyes remaining locked on the greater prize. He had waited a long time for this moment once he realized Skywalker's existence. Prepared for it, anticipated and carefully schemed, plans within plans, waiting to be set in motion. It had been a long time coming, but then so had most momentous things in his life. As with all of them, he was a patient man. And as with all of them, he knew that this too would come, despite the best efforts of the Jedi.

He took three fast steps forward as the sled neared, in that moment completely forgetting his cane. Halting it, he leaned over the unconscious man who had been the bane of his life for so long, omen of the Jedi's precious prophesy hanging like chains about his neck. The only real threat to his reign.

He stared for long, still seconds, head to one side, yellow eyes taking in the boy's features as his closed eyelids flickered, perhaps at some distant realization.

"He's barely grown, little more than a padawan." Palpatine's tone was mocking, scornful in its amusement as he glanced up to Vader. "How did he elude you for so long?"

He reached out, ashen skin pale against the boy's dark bruises, almost but not quite touching the boy's temple; noting him flinch more violently away. "But what a power..." Palpatine turned sulphurous, taunting eyes to Vader, sharp voice reduced to a private, goading whisper. "Everything you once were."

Vader remained silent; impassive. He likely knew his Master would seek to drive a wedge between himself and his son as soon as possible. And he knew why.

Palpatine turned away, amused by Vader's willful silence, knowing that his servant would try to use the boy against him--probably already had. But Vader had always been too impatient, too impetuous, far too abrupt to achieve anything in as delicate a situation as this. Except to serve Palpatine's ends of course, as he always did, whether he intended to or not.

As his son would. He studied the boy again, more closely now...and paused, grating voice lowered in displeasure. "You have damaged my Jedi, Lord Vader."

Vader's chin lifted slightly. "He was...difficult to contain."

"He is a Jedi." Palpatine's tone was dismissive.

"He is more than that," Vader maintained, careful to keep any challenge from his voice. Any pride.

Palpatine held his eye for several long seconds then turned away, disgusted. "Take him to his quarters," he said at last, glancing to his companions. "And take them to the detention level--if you're capable of that."

He turned and walked away, not bothering to acknowledge Vader's deep bow.

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Palpatine walked impatiently into the room where his new Jedi had been ensconced, the fiery, red-haired Mara Jade two steps behind him, her displeasure at being twisted up in her master's new 'project' blaring out through the Force. Which was of course exactly why he had brought her. Her job was to do his bidding; what she wanted or preferred was immaterial. It always had been.

He had intended not to return to it today, instead to leave it in uneasy solitude whilst he enjoyed the satisfaction of ownership at last--in body if not yet in spirit. But the pull to come here had been just too great, so he had made his way down here on the pretext of checking the unprepared-for medical arrangements, knowing that in truth he had wanted nothing more than to be here, watching it. Like a child with a new toy that he was not yet allowed to touch.

The comparison brought a smile to pale, thin lips at the realization. He had not felt this way in a long time.

His Jedi's heavily-fortified quarters were spread over several rooms within an immense, elegantly proportioned apartment. Tall, ornately-carved wooden panels concealed massively-reinforced blast doors and the dark, macassar-polished walls hid trussed, perennium-strung plasteel slab, with brace-strung military-grade filament set within the solid, refraction-free bulk of explosion-rated windows. A prison to hold a Jedi.

Beautifully dressed and luxuriously appointed, but a prison nonetheless. Doubtless his Jedi would see it as such, too. But there was a game being played here, subliminal messages being communicated; that open defiance was unnecessary in such a context; every effort was being made to make this a civilized encounter.

How long it remained that way was up to his new Jedi.

At the end of three large rooms, the bedroom already looked like a full-facility medi-center, groaning with scanners and support equipment. No one would take any chances here, the risks for failure were just too high. Palpatine had gone to great lengths to make that very clear--as had Lord Vader, from what he understood.

The Jedi's unconscious form lay on the high bed, wires and inputs connected up to medical displays, the several human medics crowded about them all turning and bowing reverentially as the Emperor entered. There were no sentient droids here; unreadable in the Force, Palpatine did not trust them, never allowing them beyond the main Palace and into the Habitation Towers.

"Leave," he ordered the medics as he walked forward.

Accustomed to their Emperor's curtness, they filed out in silence. The last to leave was noticeably younger and sported a fleet uniform, with dark hair and olive skin.

"You are Hallin," Palpatine said simply, having made a point to remember his name.

The man stammered to a halt, bowing uncertainly. "Yes, Your Excellency."

Palpatine nodded slightly, never taking his eyes from the man. "Lord Vader has told me that you are an exemplary medic."

"He is very kind, Excellency," Hallin said, at a loss for other words.

The Emperor smiled at that. "No, he is not. He is, however, trustworthy." At this, Palpatine leaned forward just slightly, pressing his message home. "It is that which I value more than anything else."

The slight young medic nodded his understanding, though he was unable to resist backstepping before the Emperor; always a pleasing reaction.

"Of course, Excellency."

Palpatine held silent for long seconds, eyes burrowing into the nervous man, judging him...

Having, as ever, more in play here than the obvious, he glanced back to Jade, who had remained at the door. Stepping in closer to the medic before he spoke, he kept his voice low, consciously dampened in the massive, echoing room. "You have done well thus far--you are to be rewarded. Skywalker is...of great value to me. I appoint you as Chief Physician to Lord Vader's son; his retinue must, after all, be reinstated after his prolonged absence. You will be assigned quarters in the Palace, for living and for working. You will be assigned an aide, but may choose your own staff."

This time the medic did not retreat, elated at the distinction bestowed on him, finally managing, "Th-Thank-you, Excellency."

The Emperor narrowed his eyes slightly as he stepped back. "You understand the heavy responsibilities of your post? I do this because I have great faith in you."

"I...shall endeavor not to disappoint, Excellency."

"Do so," Palpatine grated in dismissal. "As if your life depended on it."

The medic bowed low as Palpatine turned away, pleased. He had, of course, already studied the man's file closely before making this decision, though the fact that Lord Vader had trusted him enough to assign him first to his own staff and then to treat his son had held greater weight.

For the Emperor to hand out the honor of such a post was one thing; to do so in such a way as to be in itself of use was another. Personal recognition and a few gracious words on the part of the monarch could create a loyal servant for life. Especially when offset with a subtle threat to clarify. Which was what Palpatine needed around his new Jedi; loyal vassals...loyal to Palpatine, and unshakably so. The boy would test them all, sooner or later.

Consideration of this fact brought Palpatine's eyes back to Mara, remaining where she was by the door as the medic had left, her flash of russet hair bright against the muted tones of the room.

"Not you, child," Palpatine ordered as she too turned to leave.

A slight tightening of her jaw was her only visible sign of frustration, though she obeyed without question--she always had.

Palpatine walked up the step to the raised level on which the bed stood, dark, its rich covers making the boy's grazed and bruised skin appear pale. It had indeed taken a great deal for Vader to subdue his son. He tilted his head to look at the boy as Mara drew near.

"He looks not at all like his mother, only his father," he said at last, considering this a good thing, knowing she would not understand.

She didn't know who he was, of course, only that he was a Jedi. As much as Palpatine trusted his favored assassin, he was not in the habit of handing out significant information. Only what was necessary to her job, which this was not--not yet. Knowledge was power, and Palpatine never gave power unnecessarily. Particularly when it could hamper. The timing of this particular nugget of information was most sensitive; he needed her to reach certain conclusions without it. Too soon would color her opinion of him, and all of their subsequent interactions.

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Mara Jade remained silent as she glanced with vague disinterest at the unconscious man, unsure of why he was here anyway and not in the detention levels with his companions.

She knew of course that he was a Jedi; had noted her master's obsessive attention to planning every detail of his confinement, as well as his growing excitement at the Jedi's impending arrival. And she well remembered the maltreatment of other such treacherous, dangerous individuals in the past. Dangerous...though not to her master, of course.

They lasted a day, sometimes two or three, until her master grew bored of tormenting them. Then he would turn Vader on them. For practice, he claimed--for sport, she often suspected. Though it was hardly a fair fight.

She had seen the Emperor bring down Jedi himself several times under the same justification, with or without the aid of a lightsaber. Had been taught by her master how to do the same, though she had nothing approaching his abilities in the Force. But certain things could be learned, and in the beginning there had never been a shortage to hone her skills on, though in recent years Lord Vader's applied zeal had finally begun to show as they became fewer and farther between, none in the last several years. In a strange sort of way, she missed it.

The concept of guilt was long since lost on her--it did not serve her master's needs.

Which did nothing to explain the Emperor's treatment of this particular enemy. Presumably the Jedi had something he needed--or perhaps he was part of some greater game. She glanced at her master who remained lost in thought, fascinated by the unconscious man, all his attentions focused there. What was he scheming...what did he want with him?

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Aware of her intense curiosity, Palpatine glanced momentarily up to her and she lowered her eyes, turning away deferentially. That battle was long since won. Satisfied, he turned again to his new acquisition. It had been the threat which hung over all that he had accomplished, the Jedi Order's last great caveat; fulfillment of their precious prophesy and destruction of his own:

The Son of Suns.

They had thought it Lord Vader, but with a wonderful, twisted irony, Palpatine had proved to them how very wrong they were...so they had apparently hung their hopes for retribution on his son.

How they'd lied to hold sway over it. How they'd manipulated. How they'd bent and warped their precious Jedi ethics to suit their needs in the name of necessity...and what power they'd handed to Palpatine in doing so. Because now--now that he finally had this threat restrained and contained, now that he finally had the opportunity--he found he could not destroy it.

He knew he should; he should kill it now. Knew that absolutely, having come face to face with it, at last.

But he couldn't quite bring himself to do so, not without making some effort to possess it. As with Lord Vader, the temptation of controlling this much power was just too great. And in truth, wasn't this what Palpatine had always intended? To own this power? Whether in the hands of Vader or his son was immaterial. What mattered was that he possessed it. This--this boy hardly yet full-grown, their precious 'Son of Suns'--could just as effortlessly fulfill the Sith prophesies of dominion as he could the Jedi's claims of true balance...just as his father had.

All of Palpatine's far-reaching plans...this embodied in this half-grown child was the missing link without which all else fell to dust. The opportunity which Kenobi had so long since denied Palpatine when he had is dueled with Anakin was now possible again...by Kenobi's hand. How wonderfully ironic. It made possession that much sweeter.

But how to possess? How to make it yield to a new Master?

Had he held it ten years earlier, as he had its father, there would have been no question as to its loyalties. But that opportunity was gone, stolen away by the Jedi, bane of all his careful plans. So how to go about twisting this mind to his own ends, now? That he didn't know yet; that would take time--to learn, to exploit. To create the chains with which he would bind it.

It wouldn't be awed by his abilities or his position, and careful study of his spies' reports over the last three years suggested that the more pressure he brought to bear, the more the willful little creature would push back. If he needed further proof of that, then Lord Vader's encounter at Cloud City was a prime example.

He could offer it power--more power even than its father now held--was that a possible incitement? Position, perhaps; recognition...unequalled status? Assets and wealth? Though if it wanted any of those, it could have taken them in abundance long before now.

And pain alone wouldn't sway it; if that were the case, then Vader would have already triumphed. It was, after all, his forte. No, the boy wouldn't submit under duress of pain. Outrage would only feed his resolve.

Because Vader had tried, presumably, though he hadn't admitted to such. Palpatine wasn't blind to his ambition, though he knew it was not a true threat--not without this boy. Vader's weakness had always been his lust for power: the power to excel, to rise beyond his humble origins, to change events to suit his own desires. It blinded him to all other considerations. But he lacked the resolve to carry those ambitions through with Palpatine, the chains which bound him too old and too deep-set. That was why he needed the boy; to accomplish what he knew he could not, mentally as well as physically.

Still, Lord Vader would surely have offered more than Palpatine ever could at Bespin, and it hadn't abandoned its principles or its companions. Perhaps that was his son's weakness; a Jedi's compassion; it cared too much. Always a terrible, hobbling flaw. Compassion had long been the weak underbelly of the Jedi...had it realized this?

Probably not; its every act had illustrated its loyalty to its cause, its need to protect that with which it felt empathy. Its Rebellion, its comrades, even the Jedi tenets which had so bound and constricted it. Yes; compassion had made it trust, and trust had dragged it down to weakness.

Once he clarified the extent of Kenobi's deceptions--the depths he'd stooped to, the devious, hypocritical cruelty he'd committed in the name of his precious Jedi Order--would it turn away? Surely. Surely the boy would abandon any thought of allegiance. In its position, Palpatine would aid Kenobi's enemies out of spite; just revenge on those who had so callously sought to use him.

And Palpatine would take that. It wasn't loyalty, but it was a start, a fracture point, a means in. He took one step closer, drawn in by this locus of power. Trained power--the boy was accomplished to some degree; not what he had expected. Vader had first encountered the boy three years ago above both Alderaan and Yavin, and had claimed that Obi-Wan had only begun his training, but this was not the awkward, unpolished potential he had anticipated. This was, to all intents and purposes, a Jedi.

He smiled a thin, gratified smile which did nothing to soften that sulphurous gaze; it had been so long since he had sensed another Jedi. Far, far longer since he had sensed an adept of this power. He cackled knowingly at that; the boy's lifetime, in fact.

An even longer stretch since he'd had the opportunity to truly challenge his own abilities in this way; those without knowledge of the Force were so easy to manipulate and mold, broadcasting their every emotion but sensing nothing, floundering in the dark. But this...this would be a meeting of minds. A Jedi would read his intent as clearly as he read theirs.

With his father, Palpatine had held the luxury of time, investing years of subtle manipulation in the boy from early childhood. Forming a connection, a dependence, an unbreakable bond. Now he had no such convenience; Vader's son was practically grown, with his own beliefs no matter how shaken, and his own will. He would never trust as his father had.

But trust wasn't necessary. Only obedience.

The unanticipated fact that he was trained was a curiosity, but of no lasting importance. He had turned Jedi before. Count Dooku had been so willful, so defiant in the face of Darkness... But everyone had a weakness. Once isolated--once the flaw was found and compounded--that iron resolve had crumbled so wonderfully.

Like Dooku, Skywalker would of course know what Palpatine was doing; that was always the challenge with Jedi. Which was why it had been so advantageous to loose Vader on it. He had needed to so brutally dissect its life before he brought it before him, and to provide Skywalker with someone to rail against of course. An enemy to concentrate that willful obstinacy on, whilst safely removing it from himself so that he remained always the principal authority, all his Jedi's attention and energies and anger carefully directed elsewhere.

A challenge was all well and good, but Palpatine had never believed in starting from a level playing field; it was not in his nature.

He again became aware of Jade's eyes on him and let his face settle into a neutral expression as he pulled his thoughts to more immediate concerns.

"Tell them to repair this," he said to her of the medics, indicating the bandaged remains of his Jedi's arm.

"Tonight?" Mara asked.

"Of course tonight," Palpatine said, the snap in his tone indicating his annoyance that she need ask.

"The hand, is it...temporary?"

He knew what she was really asking, and why. So he smiled at her discreetness, rewarding her with a direct answer. "No, my dear, it is permanent, like my guest. Have them fit the very best. Nothing less will do for my new Jedi."

He looked again at the still-frail creature, resisting the urge to shake it awake. No doubt it would make its presence known from the moment it was.

"Mara; put a detachment of my Royal Guards outside its door with the Palace Guards; it's more powerful than I thought. There are to be no mistakes."

"Yes, Master," she acknowledged. "But the lock's not breachable. The room is a prison; he won't..."

He only needed to turn slightly towards her, not even bother to catch her eye. She was instantly silent.

"You will stay here at the Palace for the foreseeable future," he continued, as if she had not spoken. "You are now responsible for its imprisonment until I'm satisfied that it will stay where I put it."

It was a gamble, to place Mara in charge when only Vader could really control the boy, but she was capable and loyal, and whilst Vader's involvement was very much a part of his greater plan, Palpatine had no desire to have him anywhere near the Jedi until he himself had a far greater understanding of the situation. And Mara Jade had her part to play, eventually...

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Mara scowled, emerald-green eyes narrowing in distaste as she glanced again to the unconscious man. She didn't like babysitting jobs, they were beneath her. Especially ones with no future, which this Jedi surely was, no matter what her master claimed right now.

"Not this one," Palpatine said with a smile, more alive than Mara remembered seeing him in many years. "This one will carry my Empire forward. He will be all that his father should have been."

She frowned at this, her eyes rising to her master.

"Do you not sense it?" His tone was, as ever, half challenge and half disappointment.

"I know he's a Jedi," she said.

He laughed, amused at her dismissive air. "No, child; he's more than that. All things bow to the power of the Force."

She waited, intensely curious now, knowing he would sense this, and tell her what he saw fit.

"His line is to the Jedi as you are to an ape, my dear. They are the next evolutionary leap, compelled into being by direct intervention of the Force, connection beyond all that the Jedi envisioned. I'm surprised Kenobi taught him...he must have been truly desperate."

Mara glanced at the slight man, bruised and bloody, reassessing her view of him in respect of her masters, eyes narrowing in consideration.

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Palpatine smiled at her ready acceptance, eager anticipation tingeing his words with dark intent. "I have a formidable task before me, I feel."

He had forgotten the thrill of facing a worthy adversary; a genuine, unpredictable threat. The command of his Empire paled by comparison. Unable to resist, he reached out intending to rest trembling fingers against the boy's temples, the action bringing a stray memory unbidden to his mind--of the boy's father; of finding him burned and mutilated on Mustafar.

He had reached out then to check that his new apprentice would live, in more ways than one. If Anakin's connection to the Force had been too badly diminished by his injuries...well then, what use would he have been to Palpatine? He would have simply walked away; left the boy to burn. He had clearly failed to defeat the Jedi who had gone after him; if his connection to the Force had also been substantially severed, as was oftentimes the case in such extreme injuries, then his usefulness would have been at an end.

But it had not been the case. Much had been lost, but Anakin's connection had always been intense, so that he still held more power than any Jedi. And now he had a reason to hate. Now Anakin and Palpatine's aims were the same, though for different reasons; the destruction of the Jedi. Kenobi's act had bound Anakin to him more finally than anything Palpatine could have done. His inability to finish what he had begun, whether from the compassionate weakness of a friend or some instant of vindictive hatred fuelled by betrayal, had given Palpatine the greatest tool he had ever possessed. And he had used it without compunction.

And now, incredibly, Kenobi's actions had brought an even greater instrument to Palpatine's attention. A line he had thought irrevocably broken was reinstated, an opportunity long-lost suddenly within his grasp again.

Palpatine hesitated, a new consideration presenting itself; did Vader know? Did he see his successor in his son?

Did he realize that in his need to reclaim that which he saw as his, Vader had created the potential for Palpatine to reach it; the weakness which would enable him to breach the boy's resolute defenses? Did he recognize that Palpatine would sacrifice Vader to gain Skywalker just as willingly as he had once sacrificed Dooku to gain Vader?

If so, then he said nothing, obedient to the end. Would his son be as tractable, as malleable?

Hand resting on the boy's forehead, Palpatine reached out with the Force to touch this locus of power--

and was thrown back, mentally and physically, as if touching a live wire, the unconscious boy wrenching away from him.

Mara moved quickly round to her Emperor, though he had not lose his footing entirely, so gestured her away, grinning as he stepped back, resting his hand again on his Jedi's forehead, this time leaning all of his mental abilities into subduing the youth.

Eyelids flickering, it resisted momentarily, but in its drugged state this was no cognitive defense, only subconscious instinct--opposing aspects of the Force too dissimilar to maintain contact, like oil on water--and under Palpatine's concerted effort, this was subdued and the boy slowed and stilled again.

But how wonderful that it would fight him even now, without hope of victory, like a reflex action. Would it struggle when he came to break it? Would it rail against him? Did it understand how pointless that would be?

Did it know that it would lose that battle too?

Had they told it that the more it fought, the closer to the Darkness it would edge, because it could only fight fire with fire, and the fire that gave heat would also burn?

When the boy finally settled slack, Palpatine released his hold, long fingers trailing across the grazed skin of its cheek.

Would he yet have to kill it?

What a waste... If he did, he would ensure that it had a worthy death. A blaze of glory--a fitting end for the last Jedi.

The slightest touch of a smile lifted the corners of his lips at the realization; remembrance of earlier musings. Because something could be salvaged, even then.

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The door to the detention cell slid open and Leia scrabbled upright in reaction, face already composed into a meaty scowl for whoever entered.

Two Imperial officers did so, completely unimpressed. "Up. You're to come with us," the older man said, already turning away again.

"Where are the people I arrived with?" Leia said, remaining where she was.

"I have no idea--I wasn't sent for them," he said, cold, disinterested expression changing not a whit.

"I'm not going anywhere until I know where they are." She kept her voice firm, resolute in this; if they wanted her to move, they were going to have to carry her. And just let them get close enough to try that...

The officer sighed boredly and glanced momentarily at his companion. "The Commander said you'd be awkward. He said you'd change your tune if we were to tell you where you were going."

Leia arched perfect eyebrows in doubting query.

"The injured man who arrived on the shuttle...that's who you're being taken to."

Injured?...did they mean...

"Luke?" Leia stood, anxious hope replacing stubbornness. "Where is he?"

"In his apartments. I'm ordered to take you there."

In the anticipation of the moment the oddness of that passed by unnoticed, and Leia setting forward, willing to comply for the opportunity to see Luke.

Stormtroopers and guards eyed her with cold disinterest as she exited from the turbolift to be walked the short distance to a second checkpoint between the Detention Centre and Palace above, permissions closely checked and confirmed before they were nodded onwards.

Then she was up in the Palace, four stormtroopers accompanying the two officers as they walked along empty walkways obviously restricted to military personnel but open to one of the cavernous internal spaces of the main Palace, everything there exactly as she remembered from her infrequent visits with her father. Level upon level of military bureaucracy bustled with its own overblown sense of importance, blind to the anguish it caused to the daily lives of ordinary people--or worse, uncaring, aware that they were imbued with the power to overwhelm any resistance, great or small.

She had always hated it here, in this house of mirrors and manipulations. Long before she'd known anything of the resistance or Palpatine or her father's covert political views, she had always hated it here.

She passed through all this self-serving wealth and outrageous opulence without a sideways glance, feeling gratefully out of place.

They traveled for a long time before they reached the apex level of the Main Palace, which housed the vast six story high hall with its grand marble and wrought-metal staircases which swept graciously, curve upon curve, to the heavily-guarded bottleneck of the Tower entry. The cavernous space of the high, pillared and vaulted Crossways linked the more public parts of the palace to the elite Habitation Towers above, the change marked not just in scale and opulence, but more subtly in the numerous guards, who changed at this point from the white of general stormtroopers to the royal blue of Palace livery, then finally, in Court itself, to the deep scarlet of the Royal Guard.

They were now further into the Habitation Towers than Leia had ever been, traveling through restricted levels where security checks were more and more frequent. Despite her unease, she hadn't failed to note that permission for her entry to the Towers had been given by a Level Two security clearance; that meant a high-ranking member of the Emperor's personal entourage. As they continued to walk, she was running through the list in her head--it was barely more than a dozen--and beginning to doubt very much that she was really being taken to see Luke at all, judging from the luxurious surroundings.

They finally stopped outside the grand double-doors of a huge private apartment high in the... West tower, she thought, trying to maintain her sense of direction.

It was lavish and impressively sumptuous, the magnificent marble-lined hallway within practically big enough to fly Han's precious Falcon down without a scratch. Incredibly well-appointed, notably placed...she held her breath, uncertain who would command such a privileged position within the Emperor's retinue.

A slim, lithe redhead set smoothly forward from what looked like a staff wing placed just within the apartment's main doors. She was a striking beauty, flame red hair and porcelain skin with a delicate bloom to her cheeks and full, ruby red lips set off by brilliant emerald green eyes...but there was a coldness to her, a sense of guarded detachment so common to so many here, her icy gaze taking Leia in and summing her up in a glance.

Leia gave the same look back, neither impressed by what they saw.

"And this is?" the redhead prompted, turning to Leia's guard.

"Leia Organa--the Commander asked to see her," the older officer replied smartly. Though the woman wore no uniform, she was obviously very much in charge here.

"When?" the redhead asked, frowning.

"An hour ago."

"Then you're late," the redhead admonished, turning about on her heel to set off down that long, tall central corridor. Leia was ushered forward by a none-too-gentle push from behind.

The wide hallway opened up to a circular crossroad within the apartment, whose high ceiling was set with a huge glass-domed atrium, different cuts and facets within it forming a complex pattern which reflected and refracted light down onto the matching geometric tiles of the pale marble floor beneath. This opened up to another three long corridors, each stretching so far as to make Leia realize that the apartment must cover half of one entire floor of the Tower; a privileged residence, indeed. She was marched quickly past room after room which led off from either side, their open doors revealing cavernous spaces whose long banks of high windows allowed sharp daylight to stream in from the bright morning beyond.

Past grand reception rooms and dark-walled studies, a vast, barrel-ceilinged library whose old-fashioned hard-copy books lined floor-to-ceiling shelves alongside a more contemporary storage system which took an entire wall in its span, pale blue light ridging the edges of hundreds of data cards, art and historic artifacts casually placed about the surfaces of mirror-polished tables.

Conference rooms, social rooms, a substantial, imposing formal dining room to her right with darkly patinated bird's-eye iroko wood paneling the walls and wide slabs of polished burr-elm on the floor, interset with inky darrick banding.

And then into an enfilade of private rooms beyond the public face of the apartment. The first was also wood-paneled, the dark, carved walls of Macassar ebony reaching well above head-height, where scagliola-polished plaster of deepest damson-red continued up to the towering vaulted ceiling, reflected in an inlaid marble floor of glossy black, veined with smoky cream and bound by sweeping, fluid lines of copper inlay.

Incredible, luxuriant wealth, displayed with no real desire to impress in these personal spaces, but simply because this was what the inhabitant was accustomed to. Casual affluence, comfortable and effortless, hinting at the privileged life lived within; a polished, tooled-silver autoreader and several memory chips were left casually to one end of a grand table in the private dining hall, the first heavy, carved chair pushed back as if its inhabitant had been there moments earlier.

Then she was through into a lofty, arched-ceilinged withdrawing room, immense in scale. One wall was a bank of heavily-reinforced windows, beyond which a deep stone-balustraded balcony enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the Palace roof gardens far below, and the distant city beyond. This room too had a tall, all-glass bookcase with hard-copy books inside, all the furniture here scaled up to match the imposing proportions of the room, whose walls were hung with a sumptuously embossed, dark taupe vinesilk. Dense, heavy fur rugs were scattered artfully across the marble floor and a fire was set in the massive hearth against the chill of the spring morning.

And on, into the next room. The officers stopped respectfully as she continued forward with the slim woman into a bedroom, split onto two levels, the lower one where she stood now close to another long, curving bank of tall windows boasting those breathtaking views beyond. To the back of the huge room the higher level was thickly carpeted, whilst nearer to her, the floor was a dark chocolate-and-sand polished fossil-stone which extended into an open corridor at the far side, the walls within a fine mosaic of rich browns and inky black terrazzo. The furniture here was aesthetic and timeless and unmistakably masculine; sizable, heavy, burred wood pieces on sturdy polished copper feet, all suited, all faultless, casually scattered with trinkets and memento's from various planets; clearly a very private, personal room.

Deeply uncertain, Leia glanced to the huge bed which rested in the center of the raised area, whose white linen sheets were perfectly arranged about its occupant. The surrounding technology of angular metal medical equipment arrayed about the bed's head seemed at odds with the comfortable, organic nature of the room. Unwilling to go any further, she craned her neck slightly...and then realized who it was, her feet setting forward of their own volition, her voice broken in recognition. "L - Luke?"

She was by his side in an instant, hand reaching out to rest lightly on his shoulder, hoping to wake him, knowing deep down that it was a futile gesture. She gently brushed his fringe from his eyes, as his eyelids fluttered just slightly in response.

"What have you done to him?" Leia glanced up accusingly.

"Spare me the indignant outrage," the redhead countered, unmoved. "You'd change your tune soon enough if you knew..."

As if realizing she had spoken out of turn, the woman searched for a rationalization of her words, adding a faltering explanation, "that...we were...taking care of him. He came out of his second surgery last night--his third, apparently, since Bespin..."

As Leia stared, uncertain what the woman had sought to conceal, a slight, dark-haired medic walked into the room carrying a tech reader and frowning at the redhead as he pointed to the doors behind him. "What's going on, where are all the...who are you talking to?" He glanced to the bed and noticed Leia, then started forward, hands out. "No, no. I'm sorry, no visitors--not yet."

Leia needed long seconds to place him as the medic who had first rushed forward when Luke had collapsed onboard the Millennium Falcon, after...after Vader.

He was halfway towards her, clearly familiar with this whole strange scenario, when the redhead spoke out. "The Commander authorized it," she said, her words stopping the medic in his tracks as his confused eyes turned from her to Luke.

"The Commander? When?"

"About an hour ago, apparently. Said he wanted to see her. I have no idea why," she added dryly. "I'm not entirely sure he knew what he was doing--or who he passed the command on to."

"No, he hasn't speak to anyone," the medic countered, turning back to Luke. "He hasn't woken yet."

Leia frowned, confused and glancing back to the redhead. Who was the Commander? Why would he allow her to see Luke?

The redhead narrowed those green eyes, glancing to the door. "Wait here. Watch her."

She strode meaningfully out, expression like thunder, leaving Leia with the distinct feeling that she was about to be marched back down to her cell again absolutely none the wiser. She looked quickly back down, whispering Luke's name again, hand to his cheek. No response. Aware of his eyes on her, she turned sharply back up to the medic, who grinned and stepped forward, unabashed.

"Please forgive me; protocol isn't my strong suit, a malady shared by most medics, I'm afraid. I'm Hallin, the Commander's physician." He took another step forward, still smiling genuinely, expression expectant.

It occurred to Leia that he hadn't recognized her. She had no guards here and still wore her own civilian clothes...he didn't remember who she was. She glanced mutely back down; as well as being the mysterious Commander's, was this man also Luke's physician--was that why he was here? Why assign a medic to him, let alone one of this status? More importantly, why was Luke here at all, and not in the Detention Centre? These were too highly-placed to be any rank and file commander's quarters, and even if they were, what was Luke doing here? Was he here so this commander could keep a close watch on him, assigning his own medic at the same time? She stepped forward graciously, intending to find out. "Leia. I'm a friend of Luke's...a close friend."

"Ah," the medic acknowledged. "From the Palace?"

Leia had to fight to hide her frown; how could the man possibly believe that Luke had friends within the Palace? "Do you...you do know who you're treating here?"

The medic raised his eyebrows in surprised response, as if sharing some secret. "Yes...do you?"

Leia hesitated, unsure what to make of that, though her tone remained indignant, giving away none of her confusion. "Of course I do. I just told you, we're old friends."

The medic backed down completely at this. "Of course--forgive me, I'm afraid I'm new to Palace life; protocol and such. Who does and doesn't know."

Bringing her most regal, authoritarian air to bear, Leia smiled graciously as she spoke. If there was one thing she could do, it was stately formality. "I quite understand. How is he?"

Hallin stepped forward, still obviously unsure who she was, but probably recognizing a well-bred upper-class accent and attitude when he heard one, and automatically going into medical-mode. "He's...he's stable now. Comfortable."

Leia glanced down to hide her frown; Comfortable..? Why would the Empire want their number one Most Wanted enemy comfortable? Why would they put him in lavish, extensive private apartments in the Imperial Palace, completely unguarded, doors wide open? She stared at the man for several long seconds, trying unsuccessfully to pull the pieces together.

"I'm sorry...why is he here?" she finally blurted, unable to hide her confusion.

Fortunately, Hallin completely misunderstood, turning to check the medical readouts. "Oh, the Emperor commanded that he be brought back to his own quarters to recover after surgery. I would have preferred that he stay in the dedicated medi-center but...well, you cant' really argue when the command comes down. I'm sure you know that he's been on an extended mission, away from the Palace for some time apparently. I suppose he thought it would be best for the Commander to recuperate in more familiar surroundings, now that the last of his surgeries is complete."

He glanced meaningfully down at Luke's right side and Leia, still thrown from the medic's referral to Luke by rank, only now noticed the perfect prosthetic replacement for his severed hand, a clean white medi-strip wrapped about the point where artificial skin was grafted onto real flesh. She reached tentatively out to touch it; it felt warm beneath her fingers, skin on skin.

"It's the very latest prosthesis, almost as many nerves as the real thing--and the skin is lab-matched. Quite amazing," the medic enthused, completely missing the one real point; he shouldn't have needed it, Leia thought.

"Why did you do this?" she said at last.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, you didn't know? I'm so sorry, the Commander...lost his hand in...a recent...action."

The medic was right; diplomacy wasn't his strong-suit.

"Yes, I do know, and I know who did it. I know everything." Leia couldn't keep the anger from her voice at the medic's carefully modulated reply, as if the Empire had nothing to do with Luke's injuries.

"You know?" he hedged, visibly uncertain how to react to such a direct manner and obviously dubious as to how much she truly knew.

"Vader's many things, but moderate isn't one of them," Leia said.

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"...Yes." Nathan Hallin hesitated as he looked the rather curiously-dressed woman up and down again. He was becoming used to all manner of unexpected individuals here in the corridors of power, though the Commander's sprawling apartments housed only the same few, ever. This was the first new face that he'd seen in here since his arrival...but then ther seemed to be a lot of breaks from routine happening today, with the absent guards and doors which were usually locked and guarded flung wide open. Perhaps she was another 'Military Aide,' as Commander Jade was; she certainly had that edge to her, that sense of no-nonsense competence which was, frankly, a little scary.

Still, he was deeply uncomfortable at the woman's direct mention of Vader. It had been made patently clear to him that Skywalker's parentage, his identity, even his name, wasn't general knowledge within the Palace...and just as clear that the Emperor intended to keep it that way. Yet this woman seemed to know; Hallin wondered momentarily just how close a 'friend' she really was, that she'd know so much about him. In truth he knew nothing of Skywalker's past save what he'd learned over the last few days, mostly from Commander Reece, the ex-Imperial guard who had been assigned years ago as Luke's Adjutant--and even that was guarded. There were, in fact, things which Hallin had been told not to mention even to him, and there was clearly a great deal that he was keeping from Hallin. It occurred suddenly that perhaps this woman who seemed so willing to speak her mind, could enlighten him further. "The Commander's relationship with his father is rather...volatile, don't you think?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Commander Reece chose that moment to come bursting into the room with the towering, blue-skinned Chagrian Chancellor Amedda, no less, trailed by two Imperial Officers.

"Hallin, you're sure that the Commander couldn't have woken this morning?" Reece walked briskly forward, all business, eyes pausing only briefly on the unknown woman, who glanced between them in silence.

"Quite sure." Hallin turned to his medical readouts, activating a screen to check his facts. "Yes, quite sure. He hasn't yet regained consciousness."

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Leia had retreated a step as The Emperor's chancellor, Mas Amedda, had entered the room, knowing that her chance for any further information was lost. She turned back to stare at Luke, mind swimming in a sea of confusion, still trying to fathom the meaning of the medic's question, so casually spoken, The obvious conclusion to draw was that Luke and Vader...but that was wrong, of course. He was wrong, or she'd misunderstood. Yes, misunderstood; the whole morning had been strangely surreal. The conversation carried on about her, distant to her ears.

"I'm telling you, Chancellor Cordo said that he'd been in here this morning, speaking to him," the older officer said, his tone that of someone being asked to validate the same question over and over.

Amedda frowned at that. "The Emperor's Aide?"

"Yes. He said the Commander was awake and had ordered Leia Organa to be brought up here. I'm just doing as I was told by--forgive me--the ranking officer present."

Strangely, this seemed to make the Chancellor hesitate for long seconds, his eyes turning to Luke again. Finally, he made up his mind. "Well the ranking officer isn't awake, and I'm telling you to take her back down. If the Commander wakes and asks to see her again, which I seriously doubt, I'll have her brought up again."

Finally, it permeated through Leia's shocked thoughts...the Commander... the Commander. They were speaking about Luke! There was no second Commander who had issued the order to bring her here. They were speaking about Luke as if he could give out orders...as if they knew him!

The officer bowed his head and clicked his heels together in military acknowledgement, then started toward Leia. Her eyes remained on Luke in shocked silence until the officer took her arm and hauled her away, leaving the medic to watch in confused alarm as she was practically dragged from the room.

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Bewildered, Nathan Hallin turned to Mas Amedda as he too made to leave, "I'm sorry, is she not a friend of the Commander?"

The Chagrian turned icy eyes on him. "She was. She's not anymore," he said simply, not bothering to wait for a reply.

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As ordered, Mara had waited outside the apartments for Amedda before returning to the Op's Suite two stories up, where the Emperor stared at virtual screens showing Skywalker's quarters from various viewpoints, with Hallin now tending to his patient, oblivious.

"Your timing was impeccable as ever, Amedda," Palpatine rewarded as they entered, bowing to his back.

"It remains to be seen whether she'll believe it, Excellency. She only has the medic's word for it--and that obscurely," he replied, studying the images...and Leaving Mara to narrow her eyes, sure that something was being kept from her.

Why bother making Amedda curtail the Rebel woman's visit when Mara could so easily have returned and broken up the discussion at the relevant moment?

"She'll piece it together. She was always an intelligent young woman." Palpatine smiled as he scrolled through images on another virtual screen until he found her whereabouts, scowling in confusion as she was marched down long corridors towards the Main Palace and the Detention Center far below, with rare white-armored stormtroopers before and behind her. One of the officers reached out to grab her arm as she walked too far ahead and she jerked free, turning to deliver some unheard diatribe at her captors.

"I thought we would have to wait forever for the medic to tell her," Palpatine murmured at last, amused.

Mara turned again from the screen; tell her what? Hadn't this been to persuade the Rebel Princess that her precious Jedi was actually an Imperial agent, sent by Palpatine to infiltrate the Rebellion...though why exactly that was important escaped Mara. He was gone from them now...why bother to sully his name there?

She was still uncomfortable that she'd been ordered to hide all the guards and unlock all the doors to his apartments, presenting them as genuine quarters rather than a heavily-fortified prison. What if he had woken? It would have been her who would have been responsible for containing an irate Jedi rampaging through the PalaceTowers. Hallin said he had woken twice onboard the Executor when he was supposedly drugged with custom-developed sedatives.

"You worry too much, child," Palpatine said without turning, not hiding the fact that he was listening to her thoughts, as he always did.

She never hid them, not from him--which was why he trusted her. Not that she could anyway; he had taught her everything she knew about the Force, taught her to put up shields about her mind, to hide knowledge and intent even from Lord Vader. But he had not taught her one fraction of what he knew...which was also why he trusted her.

"This way was better," her master added. "A little spontaneity goes a long way. She'll find no artifice in the medic's actions because there was none. You had your task and Amedda had his...and I'm sure neither of you would ever disappoint me."

He didn't look to her as he issued the last, confidence and demand both, as subtle yet as crystal clear as ever. Mara didn't react; she'd heard the same abstruse threats since childhood, when she'd first been brought to the Palace, her rare abilities making her an ideal candidate for her master's exacting requirements.

"But is it enough to make her believe that he's an Imperial agent?" Mara worried. Intelligence suggested that Organa knew Skywalker well; had done so for years. She wouldn't be easily swayed.

"Will she tell the Alliance leadership everything?" Amedda added at last, bringing Mara's inquisitive gaze to him; everything?

The Emperor smiled confidently, his answer vague enough to reply to both Amedda and Mara's questions equally. "Oh, I'm sure she'll find countless reasons not to at first. But I'll give her equal reasons to question that. She'll believe eventually, and tell her precious Rebellion. She's too loyal not to. And the truth has a way of outing...Skywalker is proof of that."

Mara nodded, confident that her master's plans--whatever they really were--would come to fruition at his designated pace. They always did.

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To be continued...

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