Chapter
Ten
Mon Mothma
stared
at the white walls of the medical centre's hallway. The unbroken white
expanse
was starting to hurt her eyes, so she looked down instead, and saw that
she was
literally wringing her hands. And I thought people only did
that in novels, she thought,
separating her hands from each other and then wondering what to do with
them.
She jumped in
surprise as one of the assistant medical droids appeared around a
corner,
whirring toward her. "Do you require anything?" it asked
metallically, for what must be at least the fifth time.
"No," she
said, "I just want to wait here. Is Admiral Piett's operation still
going
on?"
"The operation
is continuing. You will be informed when there is any change." The
droid
paused, and Mon Mothma had the impression that if it had lips, it would
be
pursing them in disapproval. "You are sure you do not wish to return to
your quarters?"
"Yes. I'm
sure. I'll wait."
The droid
reversed
course and departed, and Mon Mothma leaned back against the wall,
putting her
hands to her face.
She had to call
someone. If she didn't talk to someone, she was going to go insane.
She took a deep
breath. At least the medics had summoned her when Piett was brought to
them.
She wasn't sure whether they'd done that because she was officially the
highest
ranking member of the Alliance and so ought to be kept informed of
everything,
or because they had already heard the rumours about her and Piett that
were
sweeping the base. She didn't really care. She would have been furious
if she'd
only found out about this later. Not that there was anything she could
do to
help him.
Call
someone
now,
she told herself. It won't do anyone any good if the Head of
State turns
into a gibbering maniac.
There was a com
panel
just down the corridor. The question was, who should she call? It was
the
middle of the night. Who did she know well enough that she could drag
them out
of their beds to come babysit a terrified Head of State?
Well, Dodonna
or
Rieekan, of course. But somehow she felt hesitant about calling them.
They
certainly wouldn't resent it if she did, in fact, they would probably
be angry
with her when they found out she hadn't called. But
she just didn't
think she could face their concern right now. They would try too hard.
She
didn't need that, she needed ... someone who would understand, but who
wouldn't
make things worse by trying to mother her. If Admiral Ackbar were here,
she
wouldn't mind talking with him, but he was still with his troops in the
Baxtri
sector.
There was, she
supposed, always the "Admiral Piett fan club". At least with one of
them, she wouldn't have to have to explain why she was so distraught
over the
fate of an accused traitor.
Not General
Calrissian. He was a good man, she was sure, but he was just too
perpetually
cheerful. She had never felt totally comfortable around people who
looked that
happy.
Not Captain
Needa,
she didn't know him at all. She knew he was a friend of
PiettÕs, Piett had told
her they were at the Academy together and served for a while on the
same star
destroyer. But she didnÕt know him and couldnÕt
bring herself to turn up on his
doorstep in tears.
Certainly not
General Veers. Somehow he did not give the
impression that he
liked having co-workers cry on his shoulders.
That left Wedge
Antilles.
She was at the
com
panel, looking up the code for his quarters, before she had time to
change her
mind. In Piett's cell, Antilles had said that he would do whatever he
could to
help. Maybe this wasn't what he'd had in mind, but she definitely
needed help
now.
When Antilles
answered, he didn't sound like he had been asleep. Two minutes later,
the
x-wing commander was hurrying down the hallway toward her. She vaguely
noticed
that he was wearing a short-sleeved reddish tunic and khaki trousers,
and she
thought that she had never seen him dressed so informally. But then,
why should
she? When they encountered each other, they were either in meetings and
he was
in uniform, or he was about to go into battle, and wearing the standard
orange
flightsuit.
Orange,
she thought, whose
stupid idea was that for a uniform colour? And then she
wondered, why
am I thinking about this?
Antilles, after
an
instant's hesitation, took her hands, and it was only when he did so
that she
realised her hands were shaking.
"How is
he?" the Commander asked.
"They're
operating on him now," she told him, startled at how faint her voice
sounded. "Dr. Tomczyk says he should make a full recovery, but if it
had
taken any longer to reach him -- if he hadn't managed to summon help
before he
blacked out -- it could have killed him."
"Did they tell
you what's wrong with him?"
She nodded.
"It's a perforated duodenal ulcer," she said slowly. "They say
he's probably had the ulcer for years, but tonight it must have broken
through
the outside wall of his stomach ... I mean, his duodenum ... and it's
spilling
stomach acids into the rest of his -- his abdominal cavity..." Her
voice
broke off, and she put her hands up to her mouth until she could regain
some
kind of calm. She had only barely stopped herself from bursting into
tears.
She brought her
hands down, crossed her arms in front of her, and said with an unhappy
little
smile, "I must be a bad luck curse. Someone sleeps with me, and he gets
accused of treason and perforates his ulcer."
Wedge Antilles
smiled back encouragingly. "I'm sure he'll forgive you," said the
Commander. "What's a duodenum?"
"I think they
said it's the -- the bit that connects your stomach to your
intestines."
She looked away, a guilty realisation once again threatening to make
her tears
start. "Oh, Heavenly Light," she murmured, "I should have known.
He's complained about his digestion, I should have made him see a
doctor about
it --"
"Hey,"
said Wedge, "you couldn't know. You're not a doctor. If Piett didn't
realise how serious it was, how could you?"
After a moment,
she
nodded. Before she could say anything else, she heard the sound of
footsteps
behind her. She turned. Dr. Tomczyk was walking toward them. There was
a broad
smile on the doctor's face, and his scaled skin was a heartening shade
of rust,
not the pale amber it would be if he were worried.
"Doctor --
" Mon Mothma began.
"The
operation's finished," Tomczyk told her. "He should be fine. We've
got the ulcer closed up, and the acids out of him. We'll need to put
him on a
course of antibiotics, but after that there's every chance that the
ulcer won't
recur."
"Can we -- can
we see him?"
"It'll be
better if you wait, till he can know you're here. We'll keep him under
for the
first day, and he'll need plenty of sleep for several days after that.
He's
going to be in a lot of pain for the first few days, as well. We'll
probably
keep him here for at least five days." Dr. Tomczyk saw the hesitation
on
Mon Mothma's face, and he said, "I promise, we'll call you as soon as
he's
awake."
"All
right," Mon Mothma sighed. She suddenly felt even more useless than
before. At least while the operation was going on, she could worry
about him.
Now, she couldn't do anything but wait.
"You should
get some rest too," said Dr. Tomczyk.
Go
back to my
room and listen to the rain? Not bloody likely.
"Why don't you
come back to my place?" suggested Commander Antilles. "It's not very
luxuriant, but it does have two chairs. You'd be welcome."
"I don't want
to be any bother -- " she began.
"You're not.
Let's go."
The Commander's
room was two levels above the medical centre. Mon Mothma sat perched on
the
edge of his desk chair, identical to every other chair in the base, and
ruefully thought that her reputation was really going to go to
hell if anyone
had seen them walk in here together. Two nights in a row, she had made
visits
to the quarters of two different male colleagues. Well, let them
gossip. She
thought, if Madine dares
to make any snide comments, I'll rip out his
vocal cords and strangle him with them.
Wedge Antilles
had
located his kettle, filled it with water from the bathroom sink, and
was now
rummaging on a shelf which held several food packets as well as some
promising-looking bottles. "Sorry," he said, "I don't have any
coffee. Or anything with caffeine, actually. I've got some berry tea,
if that's
all right. Or, there's some kahy."
Her first
thought
was, I really shouldn't touch any alcohol tonight, and her
second
thought was, to hell with that. She said
fervently, "the
kahy would be wonderful."
"Right."
Wedge found two glasses, went back to the sink to rinse them out, then
poured
into each of them a sizeable measure of the glowing, reddish liquor.
"Cheers," he said, handing her one of the glasses.
Mon Mothma
smiled,
took a sip from her glass, and reflected that she had definitely picked
the
right shoulder to cry on. She put the glass down on the desk, next to a
small
fluffy toy which, she saw on closer inspection, was a quizzical-looking
dewback
with a stormtrooper riding on its back. Stormtroopers, she decided,
didn't look
all that intimidating when their armour was made of fur.
"Ah,"
said Wedge, with an embarrassed grin, "that's Dewey the Dewback and
Steve
the Stormtrooper. A friend of mine sent them to me, she thought it'd be
funny
for a member of the Rebellion to have a stuffed stormtrooper." Wedge
sat
down on the edge of his bed and took a swig of his kahy.
"Ah,"
echoed Mon Mothma, picking up her glass again and taking another drink.
She
looked seriously at Antilles, all thoughts of fluffy stormtroopers
vanishing
from her mind. "Commander," she began, "do you really believe
Admiral Piett is innocent?"
"Yes," he
said, without hesitation.
"Why?"
Wedge frowned
slightly. "I've worked with him on the Executor. We've been in
combat together. I think he's a decent man. And an honest one. Anyway,
he works
with Lord Vader. If he'd been a traitor, he couldn't have kept it
secret. Vader
would have known."
"Unless you
believe that Vader is a traitor too."
"No. That's
crap. He's fought too hard for the Rebellion. And Luke means too much
to him,
he wouldn't do anything to hurt Luke."
Mon Mothma
sighed.
"How can we know that?"
Wedge shrugged.
He
said, "as a pilot you learn to, well, trust your instincts. Maybe we
trust
them too much sometimes. I guess that's what makes us pilots, not
politicians." He looked at her challengingly. "Do you believe Piett's
innocent?"
"Yes,"
she said quietly.
"On
instinct?"
"Yes."
She took another gulp of kahy, a larger one than she'd intended. She
put the
glass down and gazed for a moment at Dewey the Dewback and Steve the
Stormtrooper. "Did you mean what you said," she asked, "about
wanting to investigate?"
Wedge nodded.
"I don't know how much good it'll do, I'm not a detective. But we can't
just leave it like this."
"No," she
said, "we can't." She shook her head. "If Vader hasn't betrayed us,
then
the traitor probably isn't anyone who's worked closely with him, or
Vader would
have sensed them. Not that that narrows it down much. Do you have any
ideas?"
"Well ... we
should find out whether there've been any similar power drains before
that
message. Maybe this isn't the first time our traitor's struck. Maybe
they used
some computer other than Piett's, or sent a message when Piett couldn't
have
sent it. I guess it won't get us much of anywhere trying to find out
who could
have gotten his code, just about anyone could have."
"If it was
through the security cameras as he suggested, though, it sounds like it
was one
of the ex-Imperials ...?"
"Don't count
on it," said Wedge. "We've been working together for a year. The
crews of the Star Destroyers are pretty thoroughly integrated. Anyone
could
have found out about the cameras, and I bet it wouldn't be that hard to
get
access to them. I don't think the ex-Imps' security's so tight anymore,
now
they don't have to worry about being sent to the spice mines, or
strangled."
"Great,"
sighed Mon Mothma. "So it could be anyone who's stationed on the Executor
or
would have had a reason to be there. Assuming that's even how they got
the
code."
"Yep,"
said Wedge. "So that gives us an initial selection of 37,000 suspects.
Or
so." He eyed her empty glass. "Want another drink?"
Mon Mothma
said,
with feeling, "oh, yes."
The rosy,
blond-haired
doctor beamed at Leia, and said, "it's been lovely meeting you, Your
Highness. If you have any questions or concerns before your next
appointment,
please call me at any time."
Leia nodded,
forcing a thin smile onto her face and thinking that Dr. Mala Vindini
was
pushing her bedside manner a bit too far. No one should look that
cheery when
they worked in the Imperial Palace. Or when they were facing the
prospect of
eventually delivering the babies of a Traitor to the Empire. Though,
Leia admitted,
it would probably be as much as Dr. Vindini's life was worth not to be nice to
Leia, since Palpatine himself had escorted her to the doctor's office
and
ostentatiously announced that the pregnant princess was under his
special
protection.
Great,
Leia thought, this
woman probably thinks Palpatine's the father. I'm going to be sick.
With great
effort,
Leia stopped herself from asking again whether her babies were all
right. Dr.
Vindini had already insisted several times that there was absolutely no
sign of
anything being wrong, and Palpatine had assured her, in his odious
avuncular
way, that his "future apprentices" had come through his attack on
them unscathed. Leia didn't know what to think. Had Palpatine even
attacked
them at all, or had it all been a bluff, to make her think the babies
were at
risk, and stop her from fighting him? If they had suffered
damage --
and oxygen deprivation certainly couldn't be good for them -- could
Palpatine
have already healed them? And if it was their brains that had been
hurt, would
she even know it until after they were born? Was there any way Dr.
Vindini and
her machines would be able to tell?
For that
matter, if
the babies were "strong in the Force", it probably wasn't good for
them to have their mother committing murder during pregnancy, either.
Wonderful.
Stay
away from alcohol, have just the right vitamin intake, exercise
regularly and
practice your breathing, and don't use the Force to tear people's limbs
off
with.
Leia thanked
Dr.
Vindini as civilly as she could manage, and left the doctor's office,
to be met
outside the door by the two soldiers who'd been detailed to escort her
back to
the guest quarters. Their faces were carefully blank. Leia supposed
they had
probably seen weirder things in their time than Emperor Palpatine
escorting an
outlawed princess to the obstetrician's. Palpatine hadn't stuck around
while
Leia had her appointment, and she wondered whether that was him
respecting her
privacy, or whether pregnancy just wasn't among his favourite topics of
conversation.
She wouldn't have been at all surprised if he'd wanted to be around for
every
step of this process. Her babies, after all, were his future
apprentices.
Dream
on,
Palpatine. They are not
your apprentices, and if you think you're going
to be anywhere near me while I'm giving birth, you can just bloody well
think
again.
In the lift on
the
way back up to the top floor of the palace, with the two soldiers
standing like
statues on either side of her, Leia forced her thoughts away from her
unborn
children. If Palpatine had hurt them, there wasn't anything she could
do about
it now. She had other members of her family to worry about.
She left the
soldiers at the door to the guest quarters, and went straight to Luke's
room.
For form's sake, she pressed the entry bell, but as she'd expected, she
did not
get any response. The droid, which had been standing switched off by
the dining
table, revived itself and announced in what seemed to be a more subdued
voice
than usual, "Mistress Leia, Master Luke is in his room. The medical
droid
departed approximately fourteen and one half minutes ago, and left
these pills
for you to administer. They are sedatives and a fever-reducer."
"Thank
you," Leia said warily, accepting the packets of pills that the droid
was
proffering and wondering whether she dared give Luke anything that had
been
left by Palpatine's medical droid. Although it was probably too late to
worry
about that now, since another of the Emperor's doctors had already
administered
one sedative to Luke shortly after Palpatine's attack.
Leia opened the
door and walked into Luke's room. Luke was huddled on the bed. He
wasn't under
the covers, but at least being on the bed was a step in the right
direction.
Before the sedative, he had been crouched on the floor instead, trying
to hide
behind the bed. He hadn't said anything, but the fear on his face, Leia
thought, had been more disturbing than any fevered ranting.
Leia put the
pills
down on one marble bedside table, and clambered onto the huge bed to
sit beside
Luke. He was facing away from her, and when she tentatively put her
hand on his
shoulder, he winced further away, putting one arm up to shield his face.
"Luke,"
she said quietly. "It's me. It's Leia. It's all right, Luke, I'm
here."
He whimpered,
"don't."
"Don't
what?" she asked, cautiously taking her hand away again.
His muffled
voice
replied, "don't sound like her."
She was
thoroughly
confused now, but she tried again. "I just want to help -- "
He moved,
sitting
up abruptly and crawling over the pillows to get away from her. When
he'd
reached the head of the bed and couldn't go any farther, he turned back
like a
trapped animal and yelled at her, "you're not my sister!"
Leia stared at
him.
Slowly she held out her hands, palms up, but the gesture wasn't
non-threatening
enough for Luke. The instant she started to move, he grabbed one of the
pillows
and clutched it in front of his body like a shield. Then he moaned
again,
"don't, donÕt ..."
"I won't hurt
you," Leia began. She didn't try moving any closer to him. His fear was
rolling out of him into her, and it took all her strength not to give
in to it.
What had
Palpatine
done to him? What was he seeing, instead of her?
"Luke,"
she asked patiently, "if I'm not your sister, who am I?"
He shook his
head,
and his face crumpled like a little child's as he started to cry.
"You're
not here," he said, clutching the pillow tighter. "You're not
real."
"Luke, I am
real. I'm Leia."
"No," he
insisted, hugging the pillow as if it was the last real thing in the
universe.
"Leia's gone."
He couldn't
move.
No, I
take that
back.
I can just about manage to turn my head.
That was it,
though. He was flat on his back and lying on some hard surface, and if
he was
interpreting the sensations accurately, his wrists and his ankles must
be fastened
to whatever he was lying on. Maybe more than just the ankles and
wrists, there
were probably restraints at several points on his arms and legs as
well. His
arms were raised above his head. The image came to him that he was
pinned here
like some collector's specimen, a rare Carmellian spacefly proudly put
on
display.
Display. Yes,
he
realised, that was exactly what he was. He could see now that there was
some
sort of transparent partition above him, and on either side. Probably
it was at
his head and feet as well, but he couldn't see. He squinted, trying to
make out
the details beyond the partition, but whatever was out there seemed to
be
darker than where he was. Were there lights in here with him? Not above
him, at
least. Maybe they were on the same surface he was on, and he couldn't
see them.
There was something weird about his eyesight, anyway. What --
Oh.
The realisation
rushed in at him, with a shock, that his eyesight was weird because it
was just his eyes. He
wasn't wearing his mask. Or the rest of his helmet. He suddenly noted
that he
could feel the surface he was lying on, smooth against his skin,
against the
back of his head. He hadn't noticed before, because the temperature was
the
same as it usually was inside his helmet.
For a second,
he started
to panic, thinking that if his mask and helmet were gone, the breathing
mask
must be too.
No.
Calm down. It was still
there. When he looked down, he could see the dark angular mass of it,
beyond
the out-of-focus blur that was his nose. No, he was breathing normally.
Something else felt strange, though, wrong, but he couldn't quite grasp
what it
was.
Palpatine,
he thought, you
predictable little bastard.
He'd been
expecting
something like this. If he got caught -- and he'd known there was a
good channce
that he would -- Palpatine would never kill him straight off. The
Emperor liked
exploiting people's worst nightmares. Having captured an old friend who
had
phobias about paralysis and hospital beds, naturally Palpatine would
have him
immobilised and trapped on his back.
Only, Palpatine
would know that Vader could just use the Force to break loose --
No. He couldn't.
That was what was
wrong.
Wonderingly, he
prodded at the sensations in his mind, trying to pick up some hint of
the
Force. His mind ought to be open to everything. He ought to be able to
sense if
there were any living beings nearby, even feel hints of their emotions.
He
ought to be able to see in his mind the restraints that were holding
him, and
he ought to be able to open them.
Instead, his
mind
felt closed, and stiflingly small.
He thought, it
feels like having a cold.
Well, he was
pretty
sure that it felt like that, anyway. It had been twenty-five years
since he'd
had a cold, so he couldn't quite remember. It must have been about like
this,
though. The same closed-off feeling, the same heavy thickness of
everything
around him, the same sense that he was cut off from reality.
How
the hell -- ?
A voice broke
through
the wall around him, although he wasn't sure if it was coming through
his
hearing or his mind. It said, "are you feeling better, Anakin?"
For that moment
the
voice seemed free of all mockery. But it wasn't a voice from
twenty-five years
ago. Too much had changed.
Vader closed
his
eyes, and said, "I'm not Anakin."
"Oh, I beg
your pardon," and suddenly the voice belonged to Emperor Palpatine
again.
"Lord Vader."
Vader didn't
open
his eyes. It was a pointless gesture, he knew, since Palpatine could
make
Vader's eyes open any time he wanted to. But just now the Emperor
seemed
content to let them stay closed. Palpatine's voice seemed to be coming
closer,
as he asked in a casual tone, "what do you think of my new
Force-suppressant drug? Much better than the first one, don't you
think? I've
been working on it, in preparation for your return. Getting rid of the
nasty
side-effects. We wouldn't want you to have any problems, while you're
on
display. You have to look your best for the tourists."
Vader wondered
how
long he could manage to ignore Palpatine's babbling. Even if he didn't
have
access to the Force, he still ought to be able to meditate. He started
to turn
his senses inward again.
"Oh, no,
Anakin," laughed Palpatine, "I can't let you do that. You're not
going away."
Everything
lurched,
and Vader felt as if his soul had been wrenched out of him and was
sitting now
in Palpatine's hand. His eyes snapped open. He had the feeling that
Palpatine
was stroking him, as if he was a small, furry pet.
Vader gritted
his
teeth, and tried to still the shudders that were rolling through him.
"We are going
to have fun," Palpatine told him. "For one week. And then, alas, I
will have to let you go. Because, of course, nothing lasts forever.
Except
eternity, and you will be joining it soon. I will give you a fine state
execution, my friend. No expense spared." He laughed, sounding
immensely
pleased with himself. "Maybe your eternity will
be spent in the
company of Obi Wan Kenobi. Won't that be nice? Eternity of debating
morality,
and cutting off each others' hands."
Vader focused
on
the clear partition above him, and thought that a more appropriate duo
for
eternity would be Obi Wan and Palpatine. They'd be perfect for each
other. They
ought to move into a nice little retirement cottage together. Palpatine
could
torture Obi Wan, and Obi Wan could lecture Palpatine on how evil he
was. And
they'd both be as happy as sarlaccs.
He heard
Palpatine
laugh. He thought, this will be a very long week.
So now
what? wondered Leia. Do
we sit here all night and stare at each other, while Luke tells me I'm
not
real?
Luke hadn't
budged.
He was still huddled there with the pillow clutched up against him.
Maybe he
thought that if he didn't move, she wouldn't see him.
She glanced
over at
the pills on the bedside table, then bit her lip and shook her head.
Even if
she could manage to make Luke take them -- and she probably could,
though she
might need the help of the droid and the medical droid to hold him down
-- she
didn't think she wanted to risk it. Who knew what might be in them?
Maybe she
was being paranoid, but with Palpatine around, paranoia seemed
justified. She
wasn't going to use drugs supplied by Palpatine to solve a problem that
Palpatine had caused.
But she
couldn't
leave Luke like this. And every attempt she made to calm him, seemed to
just
frighten him worse.
The Force.
Could
she send Luke calming feelings? Obi Wan Kenobi would have been able to.
Darth
probably could. But she? All she had done so far was kill someone. Did
she dare
try to touch Luke's mind, when for all she knew she might just hurt him
more?
Well, she had
to
try, didn't she? She didn't see what else she could do.
She hoped this
was
something which came to one instinctively, because she certainly didn't
have
any idea how to do it.
She thought
back to
when Palpatine had shown her how to push aside her nausea -- Gods,
that was
only this morning. In the same
way, she tried to move aside her own fear
and anger and tension, closing them into a compartment at the back of
her mind,
where they couldn't touch Luke. Then she focused instead on feelings of
warmth
and support, and tried to broadcast them to him.
Everything's
all
right. You're safe. Nothing's going to hurt you. It's safe for you to
go to
sleep.
At first she
thought
it wasn't working. Then Luke blinked a few times, and reached up to
smudge his
tears away with the back of his hand. He let the pillow fall. Luke
gulped back
a sob, then, to Leia's astonishment, he crawled over to her and hugged
her,
burying his face against her chest.
"Aunt
Beru," he whispered, holding on to her as tightly as he had clutched
the
pillow. "I thought you'd gone away."
Oh, my
Gods. Leia was almost
jolted away from her calming thoughts, but she somehow managed to hang
on to
them, and to keep sending them to Luke. "No, Luke," she told him
softly, starting to stroke his hair, "I'm here."
He sniffled,
then
said, "I dreamed that everybody was gone. And then I woke up -- and I
was
all alone -- "
"Ssh, Luke,
ssh. We're all here. We won't leave you."
He started
crying
in earnest again, sobbing brokenly against her.
She said,
"Luke, baby, we love you. We're not going to leave."
When his sobs
finally stopped, he started to hiccup instead. He pulled away a little
to look
at her, and Leia almost began crying herself when she saw the innocent,
trusting look on his face.
"Promise?"
he asked.
"Yes,"
she said. "I promise. Go to sleep now, Luke."
Fear leaped
back
into his eyes. He grabbed her hand. "Don't go!"
"Will you go
to sleep if I stay with you?"
He hesitated,
then
nodded. "Yes."
It wasn't easy
tucking him in to bed while he was still holding on to her hand, but
she
managed. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, then wondered how she
was
going to get to the light switch without letting go of his hand.
Well, that was
what
the Force was for, wasn't it? She got into bed beside him, then cast a
thought
at the lights, and they winked out.
"Goodnight,
Aunt Beru," came Luke's whisper out of the darkness. "I love
you."
"Goodnight,
Luke," she whispered back. "I love you too."
The protocol
droid
C28L bowed slightly as Moff Nevoy stepped into the front hallway, and
said,
"good evening, Sir. The General is in the garden room and gave orders
that
you were to be sent up to him immediately if you visited tonight."
Nevoy nodded
his
thanks to C28L and marvelled, as usual, at the skill with which General
Mulcahy
always managed to predict what Nevoy was going to do.
If he didn't know
better, he'd suspect that the General had a touch of the Force. But of
course,
the more likely explanation was just that, after one has worked with
someone
for thirty-seven years, they begin to be predictable. After all, Nevoy
reminded
himself, it was a good bet that he knew precisely what Mulcahy was
doing right
now. He would be playing solitaire, with a glass of Thurian mint punch
close to
hand, and with the door to the terrace wide open so he could make the
most of
the spring air. And, thought Nevoy,
he will offer me a drink, which I
will accept, and I will sink into the comfy chair and bitch about work,
and he
will look wise and make sarcastic remarks. Just like every other time
that I've
come to visit in the past four years.
Ah,
what an
exciting life I lead. What a dazzling social whirl.
He followed the
familiar path up the marble staircase -- Mulcahy didn't believe in
having lifts
in one's house, and had frequently stated that if his guests weren't
willing to
climb to reach him, he didn't want to see them anyway -- and started
along the
corridor toward the garden room.
His prediction,
he saw
as he reached the doorway, had been accurate to the letter. General
Xavier
Mulcahy, who had been scowling down at the gleaming jet pieces of his
Chandrilan solitaire set arrayed on the table in front of him, raised
his bushy
white eyebrows in greeting to Nevoy and said, "there you are. Fix
yourself
a drink."
Nevoy obeyed.
He
walked over to the liquor cabinet, which stood flanked by the two
potted
ssenkra fern trees from Alderaan, and mixed a gin and qavva juice, his
usual
spring drink. He eyed his usual chair, but decided there was no point
in
sitting down. Today's events were still boiling inside him, and would
just send
him to his feet again in a moment, to start pacing. He walked toward
the
terrace door instead, and looked out at the spires of the city, tinted
rose and
lavender by the evening light. The moons were just starting to rise. He
sighed
quietly, wishing he could just enjoy the view and the evening. How long
had it
been, he wondered, since he'd been able to simply enjoy what he was
doing, without
anxieties and regrets creeping in?
Don't
be
melodramatic, he told himself. He shook his head and then
took a drink.
He wondered
what
was going on at the Palace now, what Palpatine was doing. Gloating over
his
prisoner, probably. Despite himself, Nevoy shuddered. The Dark Lord's
treachery
notwithstanding, Nevoy hated to think of Vader in Palpatine's clutches.
Vader
seemed like something eternal, undefeatable, like the Force the Dark
Lord still
worshipped. The thought of him being tortured and humiliated made Nevoy
feel
almost ill.
Damn Vader. Why
in
all the Hells had he come back?
"I should
retire," Nevoy muttered.
"Retiring
again, are you?" inquired General Mulcahy. "What's the matter this
time?"
"He's
insane." Nevoy scowled, then took another drink of his gin and qavva
juice.
"My dear
friend," said Mulcahy, "will you please promise to give me a couple
hours of warning if you ever plan to say something unexpected?
Otherwise the
shock will kill me."
Nevoy turned to
look at the General, who seemed to have all his attention focused on
his game
of solitaire. "I'm sorry?"
Mulcahy moved
one
of the jet playing pieces, nodded at it in satisfaction, and then said,
"you inform me that our beloved Emperor is insane each time you set
foot
in my house."
Nevoy's mouth
twisted
into a reluctant smile. That was probably true.
General Mulcahy
abandoned his game for the moment, picking up his glass of mint punch
and
taking a long drink from it as he leaned back in his chair. He set the
glass
down again, reached up to make sure that none of the punch had got into
his
moustache, and began twirling one end of the moustache. He asked, "what
new proof of insanity has His Majesty given?"
"You haven't
heard?"
The white
eyebrows
rose in inquiry.
"He's arrested
Lord Vader."
"Oh. Yes, I
heard about that."
Nevoy stared.
"And that's all you have to say?"
"What is there
to say? It's not unexpected. Our Emperor doesn't let anyone get away
from
him."
Nevoy sighed
and
shook his head again. "I really thought Vader would manage it."
"You hoped he
would," said Mulcahy.
"Maybe."
Mulcahy went
back
to his game, still tugging on his moustache as he surveyed the
solitaire
pieces. "I fail to see what's insane about Palpatine capturing
Vader," the General remarked. "He could hardly allow a traitor like
that to go free."
"I know. Did
you know he's had Vader put on display?"
The General's
gaze
did not leave the playing pieces. "Has he? Sounds like his usual
style."
Nevoy started
pacing, his hand tightening around his glass. "He had me supervise
Vader's
instalment in the Great Hall. And I've had to supervise the press
release as
well. All loyal citizens are expected to visit the exhibit, employers
are
encouraged to give their workers paid leave so they can attend, all
government
employees on the planet are required to visit at least once." He
angrily
knocked back the remainder of his drink. "Palpatine's ordered his mask
and
helmet removed, so everyone can gawk at him better. It's a wonder the
poor
bastard hasn't been stripped naked."
Mulcahy made
another move in his game, which he seemed to be winning. He said
reasonably,
"Vader decimated the fleet, thumbed his nose at the Empire and brought
the
Rebels within an inch of victory. You didn't expect Palpatine to be nice to him?"
"No. No. But
-- " Nevoy stared at his friend, then said quietly, "Xavier, he's
ordered Vader's execution."
Mulcahy's hand
fell
away from the game board. He said, "I see."
Nevoy went on,
"a week from tomorrow. It hasn't been announced yet. It's to be
announced
in three days' time, so it can raise the visitor figures. Palpatine
thinks
they'll probably be down after the first flurry of interest."
The General
snorted. "Our Emperor, ever the master of public relations. I take it
he's
got something special planned for the execution?"
"Of course.
Public holiday. Everyone encouraged to attend. Full coverage on all the
networks. All religions required to hold services of thanksgiving.
Fireworks.
Palace banquet in the evening." Nevoy sank into the comfortable chair,
still keeping a death-grip on his glass. "Sweet Gods. It'll be a
miracle
if I get through the banquet without vomiting."
Mulcahy shook
his
head, turning a sympathetic gaze on the younger man. "Osheen," he
said, "you had to know this would happen. I'll grant you it's
tasteless.
That's Palpatine for you. But it had to happen. He can't leave Vader
alive."
Nevoy stared at
the
empty glass. "I know. It just -- it just looks bad." He looked up
desperately. "Don't you see it? Vader's been the face of the Empire,
from
the beginning. What's going to happen to our credibility if the whole
galaxy's
forced to see that he's mortal? Won't they see that the Empire's mortal
too?"
Mulcahy smiled
wryly. "You shock me. Everyone knows the Empire is eternal." He
picked up one of his solitaire pieces, idly tossing it into the air and
catching it in his hand. "Like the First Republic. And the Second. And
the
Third." He put down the game piece again. "I imagine Palpatine thinks
a public execution will help forestall any rumours of Vader's survival.
There'll always be people claiming he's still alive, using him as a
figurehead."
That ought to
make
sense, Nevoy knew. But his uneasiness wouldn't go away. He knew it was
dangerous even to think the thoughts that were forcing their way into
his
brain, let alone to say them.
He said them
anyway. "This is Vader. Killing him
is like -- killing the Empire
itself."
For once
Mulcahy
did not give an immediate answer. The two friends held each other's
gaze, and
Nevoy suddenly thought that the evening felt cold.
He wondered if
Mulcahy
was thinking what he was thinking. That perhaps the Empire had died
when Vader
had left it. Or perhaps even before.
Perhaps the
Empire
had been dead at birth.
Faint heat on
his
face woke him. His eyes opened automatically, then they squeezed shut
again in
protest at the light that had poured in at them. More cautiously this
time, he
tried again, starting with his prosthetic left eye, that was marginally
less
sensitive than the surviving original eye. Having allowed the
prosthetic eye
time to grow accustomed to the pale glare, he slowly opened his right
eye once
more.
Sunlight, he realised. That's
what it is. He didn't know how long it had been since
he'd looked at sunlight
without the mediation of the viewscreens in his mask. And it must also
be
sunlight, he reasoned, that was warming his face. That fact made a
rather
ludicrous thought occur to him: if he was positioned so that the sun
shone on
him for any appreciable length of time, he was going to get sunburned. Oh,
wonderful. No, he probably wouldn't, he decided, the
windows probably had
ultra-violet screening. At least, he hoped they did. Maybe the scar
tissue on
his face wasn't susceptible to sunburn, it wasn't a question to which
he'd ever
given any thought. But the grafted skin, and the few remaining areas of
normal
skin tissue, hadn't been exposed to sunlight for the past twenty-five
years. It
wouldn't take long for them to be fried. He grimaced. Great,
just great. So
I'll be spending my last week alive with a peeling, sunburned face.
Perversely, he
had
slept well. That was a surprise, as it was two decades since he'd
attempted to
sleep lying down. Perhaps, he thought, he owed his undisturbed sleep to
being
cut off from the Force. It would certainly be ironic if it was the
Force that
had kept his nightmares alive all these years. Perhaps Palpatine's
famous
Force-suppressant drug was doing him a favour. Although if he could
regain his
links to the Force, he would be more than happy to accept the
nightmares.
He wasn't
suffering
from lack of sustenance, so he must be hooked into some sort of
intravenous
feeding system that approximated his usual dietary infusions. Probably
that was
how the drug was maintained at a sufficient level in his body, as well.
His limbs
felt numb, almost non-existent from lack of movement. For the hell of
it, he
tried to lift his right hand, and was rewarded by the tug of a
restraint on his
wrist, which at least assured him that the wrist was still there.
The only sound
that
reached him was the familiar wheeze of his breathing. He wondered if
there was
anyone nearby, and was frustrated at his inability to tell. At least
Palpatine
didn't seem to be around -- not that Vader would necessarily have known
if he
was, but he couldn't imagine that the Emperor had self control enough
to remain
nearby without indulging in a bit of gloating.
Vader sighed.
Not
being able to sense his surroundings, and with no sound penetrating the
case
around him, he was going to have to rely on his eyes.
He blinked, and
tried to turn his head so he could focus on something other than the
distant
sunlight. At first his muscles didn't want to obey, but he managed to
get
through to them, and his head turned slightly to the left. Just
like old
times, he thought, sourly amused at the lengths to
which Palpatine had gone
to approximate the conditions of his hideous months in hospital. Come
to think
of it, he was surprised that Palpatine hadn't gone farther, and cut off
his
senses completely, so he actually believed that he was paralysed.
Perhaps that
would come later. Perhaps, too, the Emperor was planning on
entertaining
himself by playing with Vader's mind, making Vader believe that he was
truly
back there, in the hospital on Alma Serena, trying so desperately to
die.
His eyes were
trying to make sense of the images visible beyond his partition. Pale
blue star
marble. Pillars. Stairs. A long balcony.
Slowly, the
elements resolved themselves into a room he had been in innumerable
times
before.
The
Great Hall.
I'm on display in the Great Hall.
The Hall seemed
empty for the moment, except, as he saw when he concentrated on the far
distance, for the tiny forms of guards standing at either side of the
balcony
doors. He presumed there were probably guards at the other doors as
well, but
he was at the wrong angle to see them.
He was quite
sure,
however, that the Hall would not be empty for long. He had not
forgotten
Palpatine's comment that he had to "look his best for the tourists".
And there wasn't much point in setting up a display if no one was
around to see
it.
He wondered how
long Palpatine had been planning this. Probably since Vader's
defection, if not
before. The display case with its feeding system, and the drug, must
have taken
some time to plan. It would, he thought, be just like Palpatine to have
been
designing this for years, even while Vader was still serving him
loyally.
Palpatine liked to be prepared.
Vader supposed
that
the Imperial publicity machine must have been working at light speed
since his
capture. Darth Vader the Tourist Attraction. See the Traitor
Unmasked.
Marvel at the Loathsome Features of the Fiend who Betrayed our Beloved
Emperor. Vader wondered, does
Palpatine actually think this will hurt me? He's a fool, if he does.
I've got a
few more important things to worry about than the fact that the
population of
Coruscant is going to be staring at me.
A week.
Palpatine
had told him he had a week. Of course, that could easily be a lie. His
execution could be scheduled for today, or for years from now,
depending on
what Palpatine thought would prove most entertaining.
But, assuming
for
the sake of argument that Palpatine hadn't lied ...
A
week. One week
to figure out how the fuck
to get out of this.
Easier thought
than
done. Hell and damnation, he thought, how
was I stupid enough to allow this
to happen? Why risk everything on one reckless attempt that was almost
certain
to fail?
I'm as
idiotic
as Luke and his friends. Thinking I can just blunder in heroically,
rescue
everyone, and miraculously get out again. You'd really think I would
know
better by now.
But, of course,
the
heroic idiocy of Luke and his friends usually seemed to work. Somehow.
Vader
was just going to have to convince himself that it would work again
this time.
Oh, hell, hell,
hell. He wished he could sense his children. He knew they'd been hurt
when they
tried to fight Palpatine, but he had no idea what the Emperor might
have done
to them. Surely he wouldn't have damaged them too badly. It would spoil
Palpatine's fun if he no longer had them alive and conscious, to toy
with.
Knowing Palpatine, he probably wanted them as his "young
apprentices". It would ruin everything if they were vegetables, or dead.
But Solo and
Chewbacca -- what about them? Palpatine had no such reason to keep them
alive,
except to use them as tools for controlling Leia and Luke. Vader felt
cold fury
coiling inside him. It would be his fault if Solo and the Wookiee were
hurt or
killed. He had brought them into danger, and he had failed to protect
them.
I will
get out
of this, he promised himself. So what if it was
impossible. He and his family
seemed to excel in accomplishing the impossible.
He would get
out of
this, and somehow, he would have the satisfaction of tearing Palpatine
apart.
Movement to the
left of his case drew his gaze to that side again.
So, he thought,
it's starting. He wondered how the traffic flow would be
organised, and how close the
tourists would be allowed to get to him. He supposed he'd find out soon
enough.
He had an unpleasant vision of snotty-nosed kids plastering their faces
up
against the partitions, and decorating his display case with chewing
gum and
spit wads.
Instead of the
repulsive children he was envisioning, the first people to approach his
case
were four men in the black uniforms of the palace guards. They
positioned
themselves at each corner of the case, blaster rifles resting on their
arms. Good,
thought
Vader, at least they should be able to fight off the kids
with the chewing
gum. He glanced up at the guard standing to the left
of his head, and caught
the guard's gaze on him before the man was able to look away. The
guard, a
young man with black hair, a spotty complexion and a thin attempt at a
moustache, visibly started when he realised that Vader was looking at
him. A
guilty blush darkened his face, then he quickly looked away, staring
into the
distance.
Well, Vader thought, looks
like Wispy-moustache isn't much happier to be here than I am. If only he had
even a fraction of his usual powers, he'd be able to convince these
guards to
set him free in moments. He tried again to break through the wall
surrounding
his mind, but precisely nothing happened.
He couldn't
move
his head enough to get a good look, but the Hall seemed to be filling
with
people. The pale blue marble was disappearing behind a sea of uniforms.
There
were ranks of the palace guards, and beyond them the green of the
regular
forces, and here and there a splotch of white that must mark the
presence of
stormtroopers.
Another figure
stepped up to Vader, and stood at the foot of the display case. The man
had
determinedly not looked at Vader as he walked past, but Vader was sure
that he
recognised the dark red hair and stocky build of Nevoy, the Moff of
Coruscant.
Nevoy was
almost
out of the range of Vader's sight, but he seemed to be speaking,
probably
addressing the crowd. Vader idly wished that he could hear what the
Moff was
saying, although he knew he was probably not missing much. No doubt
poor Nevoy
was being compelled to declaim some hyperbole-laden example of
Palpatine's
prose.
The Moff
stepped
away and was lost to Vader's sight. And the procession began. The
palace guards
had apparently been chosen as the first lucky souls to have a view of
the
captured arch-traitor. They started filing slowly around his case,
circumnavigating
it from left to right. A memory came to Vader of a planet he had been
to once,
where the embalmed corpse of some particularly famous ruler was kept on
permanent display, and visitors had trooped around it just as the
guards were
doing now. Vader tried to remember the ruler's name, but couldn't
dredge it up.
Queen Someone-or-other, that was as far as he could get. He hoped that
Queen
Someone-or-other's spirit was happily bopping around eternity
somewhere,
instead of being stuck in her body as Vader was. Although, being dead,
perhaps
she would at least be able to hear what people were saying about her.
That
might serve to slightly lessen the tedium.
Vader knew he
would
very soon get bored with watching the succession of faces. But for now,
it was
interesting to watch them, and gauge their reactions.
Weird, he thought, not
being able to feel their responses.
Almost the
worst
part of those months after the accident had been having to feel how
everyone
reacted to him. Before he regained control enough to shut off his
senses, he'd
been swamped by the horror, pity and disgust of the people surrounding
him.
Now, he
couldn't
feel anything from them. There were only faces.
He could read
some
disgust, but not as much as he'd expected. He supposed that really, he
probably
didn't look too disturbing any more. As soldiers, these men should
certainly
have seen sights worse than one scarred bald man with no ears.
Some of the
guards
were staring at him with open curiosity. Some seemed afraid, not quite
convinced that he couldn't currently incinerate them with a thought. A
very few
looked amused, although Vader noticed that when one man made some
presumably
joking comment, the man behind him turned a furious glower on the joker
and
looked ready to punch him.
The majority of
the
expressions that met Vader were variations on embarrassment and unease.
And
perhaps also disappointment.
Vader's mouth
curved into a smile, though he realised the smile must be largely
hidden by his
breathing mask. Good thing, too. If these men saw him smiling, some of
them
were likely to faint.
I'm
sorry, lads, Vader thought. I
regret that I don't have a face worthy of my legend.
Of course he
was
familiar with the rumours which had accumulated around him over the
decades. He
rather enjoyed them. He was some sort of alien, or a cyborg, or some
undead
ghoul. He'd been hideously deformed since birth, or his face had been
melted
off when he was submerged in a pit of lava. How he was supposed to have
survived such an experience was anybody's guess, but perhaps that
scenario went
with the undead theory. Regardless, the theories were inevitably
over-the-top.
And now here he was, just a middle-aged human being whose hair, ears
and
eyebrows had been burnt off. What a let-down.
Vader spotted
one
particularly uncomfortable-looking soldier trooping past, and winked at
him. A
look of horror washed over the guard's face, and he abruptly pushed his
way out
of the queue and fled.
Shit, Vader
thought.
He'd certainly just earned that guard a dressing-down, and probably
worse. No
doubt the officers had strict instructions that this little party was
to go off
without a hitch. Mustn't be any disturbances at Palpatine's pet
exhibition.
Stop
making
trouble, Vader ordered himself. It's not their
fault you're here. It's yours.
He sighed, and
once
more gazed through the roof of his case, to the distant ceiling. He let
his
mind float, imagining that he was drifting through the ceiling, and the
sky, to
the stars beyond. The sun had moved past the window, or had gone behind
a
cloud, and his face was no longer warm.
He's
awake.
Leia nervously
tried to probe the feelings of the man in the room next to her. She
realised
that she was holding her breath. She couldn't sense the horrible chaos
that
she'd felt in him last night, before the Aunt Beru incident. There was
an
undertone of confusion, but mainly his aura was calm. And that, she
thought,
was probably not a good sign.
What
am I going
to do? she thought. If I walk into that
bedroom and he calls me Aunt Beru,
what am I going to do?
She was pacing
beside the table, which was currently laden with another lavish and
varied
breakfast buffet. The droid had kept getting in her way as she paced,
until she
ordered it to shut itself off, or face being melted down.
She had been up
for
hours already, as it had only been early evening when she and Luke went
to bed.
She sighed now, remembering the feeling of his hand clinging on to hers.
Oh,
Luke. What's
happened to you? What have I done
to you?
How am
I going
to get you back again?
She had just
decided that she should go and check on him, when his bedroom door slid
opened
and Luke appeared.
He was fully
dressed, except for his boots, which he held one in each hand. He was
wearing a
white tunic and beige trousers from the clothing Palpatine had
supplied. His
hair wasn't brushed, and looked even more haystack-like than usual.
With a
worried expression on his face, he said plaintively, "why didn't you
wake
me up? I'm gonna be late for school."
It was all Leia
could do not to break down screaming. Oh, Luke, no, she thought, don't
do this to me! Somehow she managed to force her voice into the
placid tone she imagined
Aunt Beru as having, and said, "no, Luke, there's no school today.
Remember?"
Luke looked
puzzled
for a moment, then he said "okay." He dropped his boots on the floor
-- Leia wondered if she should nag him to pick them up, but she didn't
have the
heart -- and walked over to the table, where he sat down, reached for a
bowl
from the centre of the table, and then for the crystal container
holding
Astroflakes cereal. As she watched her brother dump a large proportion
of the
cereal into his bowl, and then pour in milk from a carved jade jug, she
thought, only Palpatine would keep Astroflakes in crystal.
This
is so
weird, she thought, watching Luke. Really,
incredibly weird. How does it
work? What's he seeing? She supposed
he must probably be seeing the house on
Tatooine, or something like it. But he was able to interact with his
actual
surroundings -- his clothes, and the cereal. Maybe he was seeing the
Tatooine
house and the palace superimposed on each other. She wondered what
would happen
if he couldn't find something that was supposed to be in his house?
Would he
imagine that something else was it, or would she have to explain why
everything
was gone?
Oh,
Gods. Should
I try to bring him out of this? It's my damn fault.
Or --
is it
better to give him more time? At least he seems happy enough. That's
more than
he was before.
And if she did
try
bringing him out of it, how did she know what would happen? She'd been
trying
to help him last night, too, and look where it had got them!
Luke was eating
the
cereal with his hands, plucking the Astroflakes out of the milk one by
one. He
was probably playing a game to see how many flakes he could get without
his
fingers touching the milk. She wondered again if she ought to tell him
off, but
then, she didn't know what kind of table manners Aunt Beru had allowed
when
Luke was six, or whatever he thought he was. And maybe cereal was
finger food
on Tatooine.
Well, he was
going
to notice if she kept staring at him like he was some sort of monster.
So what
could she do instead? She imagined that Aunt Beru had spent most of her
time
doing housework, but there didn't seem to be much of that available
here, not
with the droid around to keep things spic and span. Awkwardly, Leia sat
down
across from Luke, and poured herself a cup of tea.
"Where's Uncle
Owen?" Luke asked.
"Um, he's gone
out already," she improvised. She ought to find out more about what
Luke
thought he was living. Whether it was his real life, and he'd been
thrown back
into some actual period from it, or whether it just worked like a
dream. She
asked brightly, "how's school been lately?"
"Fine,"
said Luke, looking happy. And that was all she was going to get from
him about
school, because he went on, in a rush, "Biggs got a remote control
AT-AT
for his birthday! He brought it in for show-and-tell. He says if I'm
really
careful he'll let me give it a test-run. It's got lasers and
everything!
Well," he added, apparently feeling compelled to be truthful, "the
laser bits in its mouth light up, anyway."
"That's nice,
Luke," Leia said lamely. Terrific. He's going to want me to
buy him a
remote control AT-AT. Hell, if we asked nicely, dear Uncle Palpatine
would
probably give him a real one, complete with live stormtroopers! A gloomy
vision
entered her mind of Luke being stuck like this. Would he grow up all
over
again, or would he just stay six years old? Oh, Gods, she could
eventually send
him to school with her own kids. Except that all the other kids would
pick on
him for being too tall and having to shave. What a nightmare.
Luke finished
up
his cereal, and asked hopefully, "can I go out and play?"
Out where? Into
the
hallway? Somehow she didn't think that would make a very convincing
Tatooine
moisture farm. "Uh, no, Luke, I don't want you going outside today,"
she said, rapidly trying to invent some plausible reason. "There's
supposed to be a sandstorm coming, so you just stay in here with me,
okay?"
"Okay,"
he said, smiling at her. "Can I go back to my room?"
Oh,
shit. What
if he does go back, and finds out his toys are missing? Or will he just
play
with invisible toys?
Stalling, Leia
said, "in a minute. Will you wash the dishes first?"
Amiably enough,
Luke picked up his bowl, her tea mug and the plate from which she'd
eaten a
muffin and some talfa berries earlier, and walked off with them toward
the
bathroom. Of course, all he was going to find there to wash them with
was hand soap,
shampoo and bath lotion, but Leia wasn't going to quibble. At least
this meant,
again, that he had some contact with his real surroundings, as he was
heading
for the only sink in their quarters. Determined to have a fall-back
position,
in case Luke did indeed discover that his toys were gone, she strode
over to
the droid and flicked its re-activation switch. The droid lit up
immediately,
and Leia questioned, "is there anywhere one can purchase toys in the
palace?"
"Yes, Mistress
Leia. There is a toyshop in the Imperial Arcade."
"Good. I want
you to bring us -- a set of building blocks, three different colouring
books, a
selection of crayons -- the biggest selection they've got -- and, um, a
model
ship. An x-wing, if they've got one." No, that was stupid, of course
the
toyshop in the Imperial Arcade wouldn't be selling model x-wings. Not
unless
they came packaged with TIE-fighters, and the x-wings blew up. "Or, a
skyhopper," she amended, "something like that." She added
maliciously, hoping this would work, "put it on His Imperial Majesty's
bill."
"Of course,
Mistress Leia. Right away."
As the droid
departed, Leia could hear clattering from the bathroom sink, and she
wondered
if Luke was breaking the crockery. Not that it mattered much, she was
sure that
Palpatine could spare a few table-settings.
Even as she was
thinking this, the door to their quarters whooshed open again, and
Palpatine
himself appeared.
Leia tensed,
grabbing the back of one of the dining room chairs for support. The
Emperor
seemed his usual cheerful self, and said mildly, "good morning, my
dear.
May I come in?"
She answered
him
with an icy nod -- well, there wasn't any point in refusing, was there?
-- and
hoped that Luke would stay in the bathroom.
There came
another
crashing sound from the direction of the sink, and Palpatine asked,
"how
is your dear brother this morning?"
"Fine,"
Leia lied. She stepped away from the chair, toward Palpatine, and
demanded,
"where is our father? What have you done with him?"
"He's quite
safe, Leia. For now."
"I want to see
him."
"Later,"
said Palpatine, and Leia thought that the smile with which he
accompanied the
word was even more peculiar than usual.
Since the
Emperor
could probably read her mind anyway, Leia supposed she might as well
put all
her cards on the table. What few cards she had. She asked, "Palpatine,
what do you want from me? What do I have to do to stop you from hurting
my
family?"
"Ah, my dear,
that's just what I wanted to talk with you about."
Before
Palpatine
could elaborate, they were interrupted by Luke. He was standing by the
bathroom
door, staring suspiciously at the Emperor. "Who's that man?" Luke
asked in a hostile tone. "I don't like him."
"Everything's
all right, Luke," Leia said, her voice obviously giving her the lie.
"Stay over there."
Luke did just
the
opposite, stomping over to them and taking a stand next to Leia. He
glowered at
Palpatine. Although he was the same height as always, Leia almost
thought she
could see him as the little boy he imagined himself to be. His stance
at the
moment was just how he would stand if he were indeed a six-year-old,
scowling
up at an adult he didn't trust. "Go away," said Luke. "I don't
like you. You smell funny."
Well,
he may be
six years old, but he isn't stupid.
"Good morning,
Luke," said Palpatine. "I've brought something for you." He held
out his hand, palm up, and an instant later a brightly-painted model
x-wing
appeared in it.
Leia grabbed
Luke's
arm. "Don't take it," she ordered him.
Luke didn't
seem
inclined to take it. He was eyeing the x-wing as if he expected it to
bite.
Then he turned to Leia, asking belligerently, "what's he doing here?"
"This is Mr.
Palpatine," Leia said, trying to sound as if everything was fine.
"He's ... a business partner of your uncle's. He's come to talk about
the
farm." Oh, bad choice of lies, Leia realised. Now, with her luck, Luke
was
going to be worried that "Mr. Palpatine" would buy up the moisture
farm from under them and kick them out.
To her relief,
at
this moment the droid re-entered the guest quarters, one of its
retractable
arms extended and a shopping bag hanging from it. Palpatine stepped
aside and
watched in amusement as the droid trundled up to them. "Here you are,
Mistress Leia," it reported.
"Thank
you," she said. She took the bag, then shoved it at Luke. "Here are
your toys, Luke," she said. "Why don't you go to your room and play
now? Mr. Palpatine and I have to talk."
Luke clutched
the
shopping bag to his chest, still looking warily at Palpatine.
"It's all
right, Luke, I promise," Leia urged. "Go play."
Finally Luke
nodded, and trailed off to his room with the bag of toys, several times
looking
back. Palpatine watched Luke's departure, then he turned back to Leia.
He was
idly stroking the x-wing in his hand.
"Children,"
said the Emperor, smiling at Leia. "It's so difficult to know how to
make
the right decisions for them. Do you tell them the truth, or do you lie
to
protect them?"
"Luke's not a
child," Leia snapped.
"Isn't
he?"
Leia's anger
was
rising in her. Clenching her fists, she hissed, "what did you do to
him?"
"Oh, my dear,
I think it's you who did this."
"All right. I
did this. But you hurt him. You -- "
"Very well, if
you really wish to know. Luke attacked me. In his attack he used all
the anger
he had. I merely threw it back at him. I'm afraid it was too much for
him, and
it ... short-circuited his brain. So you see, dear, in fact he did this
to
himself." Palpatine chuckled. "It seems that Obi Wan Kenobi was right
after all. One's anger can be one's
destruction."
Leia forced
herself
not to scream at the evil old bastard. She insisted coldly, "I'm going
to
help him. And you're going to show me how."
"Of course I
will, my dear girl. I'm very fond of you and your sweet little
brother."
He gazed at the model x-wing, and it disappeared. "Leia," said the
Emperor, "I have a proposition for you."
Oh,
shit, Leia thought. If
he's going to try and make me marry him ...
"Oh, no, my
dear, nothing like that. I don't think that would be terribly
appropriate."
Appropriate?
Since when has Palpatine been worried about what's appropriate?
"Not that you
are not very charming. But no, that isn't what I had in mind. You see,
Leia, I
feel so close to you and your brother. I feel there is already an
understanding, let us say a ... family feeling, between us. I merely
wish to
make it official."
She was
starting to
get a bad feeling about this. She asked him, "how?"
The Emperor
said,
"I am going to adopt you and Luke. Leia, I want you to be my heir."
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