Chapter Eight
Luke leaned
against
the window, his forehead pressed against the cold plastisteel surface. Outside, the lights of Imperial City
sparkled like the jewels to which Coruscant was so often compared.
He felt sick. It was odd that he hadn't felt sick
before,
when they were watching the report of the accident.
Anakin's injuries were certainly appalling, but he
supposed he
had been almost prepared for that. Certainly
he'd known they must have been pretty horrible. What Leia had
said on awaking from her dream had been indication enough, and anyhow,
people
didn't go around with the sort of life-support equipment that Darth had
to wear
just for the hell of it. But
this --
gods. No, he hadn't been
prepared for
anything like this.
An Obi Wan or
somesuch cut off his hand with a lightsaber.
Because of Anakin's wife.
He tried to
tell
himself that it wasn't possible, it had to be a mistake. Maybe the medic had heard Anakin's
thoughts
wrong. Maybe --
No, it wasn't
any
good. Why try to deny this? All of the other awful things he'd
found out
about his family had turned out to be true.
Why should this be any different?
He turned away
from
the window and walked dispiritedly back to the bed.
He slumped down, sitting there for a moment, then he lay
back,
staring at the ceiling.
He heard
Darth's
voice in his mind, saying "Obi Wan never told you what happened to your
father."
No, he sure as
hell
didn't.
Luke was
suddenly
furious at himself. Why had
he never
talked with Darth about this? Why
did
he have to be such a damned coward, that he couldn't even talk with his
father?
He wished
glumly
that when Darth had said that to him, he'd behaved like a mature human
being. Instead of shouting
"no" and flinging himself into a bottomless -- well, almost
bottomless -- pit, why couldn't he have stuck around and had a sensible
chat? Okay, so it was pretty
hard to imagine the
two of them sitting around on the Cloud City maintenance deck while
Darth
related the story of his life, but you never know.
Stranger things had happened.
Luke held up
his
own artificial hand, staring at it as he moved the fingers one by one. He remembered the rush of white-hot
pain
when Darth's lightsaber had cut off his original hand.
He closed his eyes, imagining that same pain
attacking Darth -- no, Anakin, this time.
Obi Wan cut off
his
hand with a lightsaber, because of Anakin's wife.
What about Anakin's
wife? Luke wondered
desperately. He thought of
the cheerful
young woman he had seen in the holo of the award ceremony. The obvious suspicion crept into his
mind,
and he tried to push it away. No,
he
wasn't even going to begin to think about that.
Obi Wan Kenobi
and
Admiral Talassa -- Luke realised with shame that he still
didn't even know his mother's
first name.
He sat up
again,
tensing with anger. He
thought of the
last time he had spoken with Obi Wan, and heard himself demanding,
"Ben,
why didn't you tell me?"
Yeah. Why didn't you tell me. Why didn't you tell me you cut off
my
father's hand. Why didn't you
tell me
that -- oh, gods, that something was going on between you and my mother.
For a moment he
had
a sick, horrible fear that Darth, or Anakin, wasn't his father at all.
Oh, no. No, no, no, absolutely not. No way. No,
damn it, he'd had too many godsdamned traumas about who his father
was already. He was just
starting to
come to terms with Darth, he was not going to find
out now that he had a
different father to worry about. Once
upon a time he might have been glad for Obi Wan to be his father, but
not now.
He wished
viciously
that the old man wasn't dead. He
wanted
to find out what had happened with Obi Wan and Admiral Talassa -- and
when he
had found out, he wanted to hurt Obi Wan. A
lot.
You bastard, he thought. I trusted you. And what did you do?
Ever
since I met you, you lied to me.
"Luke."
Luke's heart
jolted. He whirled around to
face the
source of the voice, over by the window.
Obi Wan Kenobi
stood there, his form outlined by the usual faint blue glow. Luke wondered if he was imagining
it, or
whether the Jedi's facial expression was a bit less placid than usual.
Luke stood up. He realised that he was trembling
slightly. He wasn't sure what
his
emotions were. The automatic
happiness
that he would usually feel at seeing his old friend was fighting
against his
suspicion and anger. Suspicion
and
anger were winning.
"Luke,"
Obi Wan said quietly. "You
want to
talk with me?"
No, thought Luke, I
want to smash your damned face in.
He struggled to calm himself. He
said, his voice sounding harsher than he'd expected, "I need to
know what happened."
"We've talked
about it before." Did he
sound as
patient as always, or was there an edge to his voice that hadn't always
been
there? "Your father had
turned to
the Dark Side. I had to
confront
him. There wasn't any choice."
Luke demanded,
"did you have to sleep with my mother?"
Obi Wan Kenobi
stared at him, looking shocked. "What?" The dead Jedi swiftly collected
himself. He said urgently,
"no,
you're wrong. It wasn't like
that."
"What was
it like?" Luke's anger was
making
him reckless. At the moment
he didn't
care about anything else, just about finding out the truth.
"He'd become a
dangerous man. Violent. Your mother wasn't safe with him. No one was safe.
She had to leave. It
was
the only way, to protect her and to protect you."
"What did he
do that was so dangerous?"
Painful
memories
darkened Obi Wan's face. "He
killed one of the students in my school. And
he had killed others. He and
Palpatine were already planning the destruction of the Jedi--"
"Were they?"
Obi Wan blinked
at
the question. "Yes, of course
--
"
Luke rushed on,
"maybe they weren't planning that. Maybe
he meant what he said. Maybe
he really believed the Jedi were wrong. Maybe
they were wrong. Maybe
the galaxy didn't need them."
"Luke,
millions of innocent people were killed. That
was the Dark Side, working through your father."
Luke snapped,
"fuck the Dark Side. And the
Light
Side. I don't believe in
them."
For a moment,
Obi
Wan didn't have an answer. Then
he said
gently, "that's your father talking, Luke. Not
you."
"No,"
said Luke, "it's me." He felt
a wave of despair. His anger
was seeping
away, and he desperately wanted it back. He
also wanted to crawl into bed, hide his head under the pillow and
never emerge into the real world again. He
wanted to trust Obi Wan, and he wanted to trust his father, and he
also wanted both of them just to leave him the hell alone. He said wearily, "Obi Wan, I have to
know. Just once, you have to
tell me
the truth."
"I haven't
lied to you, Luke. Ever."
Luke quoted
sneeringly, "everything you said was true from a certain point of
view."
Obi Wan looked
surprised, and Luke took a step toward the glowing blue form. "All right," Luke went on in a
threatening tone, though what was the point of threatening a dead man,
he
really didn't know. "So tell
me. From your certain
point of view,
what happened the night my father lost his hand?"
Hastily, in a
voice
that was teetering on the edge of panic, Obi Wan said, "you're angry. I understand that.
You're not thinking calmly. When
you're calm, we'll talk about this -- "
"No!"
Luke shouted. "We'll
talk about
it now!"
He took another
step toward Obi Wan, and suddenly Luke realised that he was using the
Force in
a way he had never used it before. Somehow,
he had reached into Obi Wan's mind. He
felt the old man's amazement and disbelief, that were rapidly
growing into fear. He felt
Obi Wan try
to pull away from him, and Luke took firmer hold, with a sensation as
if his
fingers were digging like claws into Obi Wan's thoughts.
"Luke,"
he heard Obi Wan whisper, "don't do this. Please."
Luke said, "I
have to know."
The Jedi tried
to
twist away, and Luke flung himself deeper into Obi Wan's mind. Some distant portion of Luke's own
mind was
surprised that Obi Wan hadn't managed to break free from him. But, after all, he
reminded himself
mockingly, the Force is strong in my family. He realised, with vicious elation,
that Obi Wan was not going to
be able to get away.
He wasn't sure
what
he was doing. He just felt
that he was
diving down into Obi Wan's memories, and swimming deeper and deeper
into them.
He had lost his
sense of sight, he could no longer see Obi Wan's shocked and frightened
face. Then, abruptly, his
sight was
back. But he was not looking
at Obi
Wan, or the bedroom in Palpatine's guest chambers.
He seemed to be
standing in a much darker room, lit by one floor lamp and the
street-lighting
from outside the large window. A
living
room, it looked like. Instead
of Obi
Wan, he was staring at Anakin Skywalker, who was sitting on a couch in
front of
him and glaring at him like some predatory animal.
Luke heard a
voice
asking, "what do you want?" He
thought at first that it was his own voice, but no, he realised, it
was Obi Wan's.
Anakin answered
in
a quietly dangerous tone, "an explanation."
"About
what?" asked Obi Wan.
Anakin leapt up
and
was suddenly right in front of Luke -- or in front of Obi Wan, Luke
supposed. Luke had the
sensation of
being grabbed by the clothing at his chest and shoved back against the
wall. He heard a sudden
humming sound, and
realised that Obi Wan must have ignited his lightsaber.
Anakin grated,
"I want to know whether you have an explanation for why you told my
wife
to leave me."
It was like
watching another News of the Galaxy interview,
Luke thought -- and then
again, it wasn't at all. In
the News
of the Galaxy, he hadn't been able to smell the alcohol on
Anakin's breath.
"Tell me, Obi
Wan Kenobi," Anakin went on, "is there a reason why you ruined my
life? Or did you do it just
to spite
me?"
"Let go."
There was a
sudden
twinge of surprise and anger on Anakin's face, and Luke realised that
Obi Wan
must be using the Force to try and make him let go.
Anakin's eyes narrowed. Luke
wasn't sure how he knew, but he could tell that Anakin was fighting
back -- using the Force himself, to make Obi Wan drop his lightsaber.
"Stop
that!" Obi Wan gasped.
Anakin
grinned. "Make me."
Obi Wan's power
flung Anakin backward. Anakin
fell over
a chair, knocking it over and sprawling onto the floor.
He started to laugh.
"Beware the
Dark Side of the Force," he mocked, sitting up.
"Anger, aggression, the Dark Side are they."
The humming of
Obi
Wan's lightsaber stopped. Obi
Wan
walked to a low table at the centre of the room and sat down on it. There was a broken mug on the
tabletop, and
Obi Wan picked up a piece of it and started turning it around in his
hands. He said heavily, "do
you
still need an explanation after that little demonstration of yours?"
Anakin
struggled
back up to his feet, staggering a little as he did so, then stared at
Obi
Wan. "What do you mean? You told my wife to leave me because
I was
going to attack you in the future? Did
you have a vision with this in it and decide to make it come true?"
Obi Wan looked
up
at him. "Do you really think
that?"
"Why can't you
give a clear answer?" Anakin exploded. "Damn
it! You act like
you're a fucking oracle! I think
I can get your drift, but it doesn't give you the right to mess up my
marriage!"
"You are a
dangerous man," Obi Wan insisted. "Anger
and hate are the path -- "
"My marriage
is still none of your business."
"Shura came to
me and asked me, that makes it my business."
The pain that
washed over Anakin’s face took Luke by surprise. Anakin demanded, almost in a
scream,“why did she come to you
and not to me?”
The perspective
of
Luke's vision changed, and he realised that Obi Wan had stood up. He was still dwarfed by Anakin
Skywalker.
Obi Wan
hesitated. Then he said
quietly,
“Anakin, she’s afraid of you.”
“Why?”
“How
could she not
be? She sees you using the
Force to
hurt people. To kill. How long will it be before you use
the Force
against her?”
Obi
Wan’s words
seemed to jolt Anakin, almost as if he’d received a physical
wound. He stared at the Jedi,
as though he couldn’t
believe that he’d heard what Obi Wan had said. Nearly in a whisper, Anakin
protested, “I wouldn’t hurt her.
Ever. She knows
that.”
Obi Wan
prodded,
“does she? How? Do you know it?
Without any question?”
“Yes,”
said
Anakin. “I
know.” He still
looked shaken for a moment, then an
unpleasant smile twisted Anakin’s mouth.
“You’re lying,” he said. “This
isn’t about me, is it? It’s
you. You still
can’t forgive me for walking out
on your precious school.”
“That’s
not it.”
“Do you
know
it isn’t?” Anakin challenged, throwing back Obi
Wan’s words. “Without
any question?” Anakin
grinned. “I spoiled
your dream, didn’t I. You
can’t be the great Jedi teacher as long as I’m
around to remind
people that sometimes your pupils leave. If
I’m doing well, it proves you can be wrong.
You don’t have all the answers.”
“I
never said --”
Anakin
didn’t let
him finish. "But if my life gets ruined,” he continued,
“you can say it’s
all because of the Dark Side, and everybody’ll think
you’re perfect again.”
“Anakin,
please,
you’ve had too much to drink. Just
go
home.”
“Did
I prove that you
can't teach? Is this your
revenge?"
"No!”
Obi Wan
insisted. “Not
revenge. I just thought it
would be safer if Shura
left. Safer for both of you."
Anakin’s
voice had
suddenly turned very cold. "It's
not safer for you."
The blade of
Anakin's lightsaber hummed into life. It
was blue, and Luke realised with a shock that it must be the first
lightsaber Luke himself had used. The
one that Obi Wan had told him his father wanted him to have.
"Anakin,"
Obi Wan was saying. "You
don't
want to do this. You're
drunk."
"Yeah. So what."
"Anakin,
there's still time. If you
attack me
now, your fate will be on the Dark Side forever.
This is your last chance to return."
Anakin said in
a
strange, flat voice, "now you tell me. Now, when it's too late. My Master, you have failed."
He raised his
lightsaber and struck at Obi Wan. Obi
Wan's own lightsaber was suddenly in his hand again, and the glowing
blades hit
each other, blue against blue.
"You cannot
defeat me," Obi Wan said, a note of pride in his voice.
Anakin
answered,
"we'll see."
As they fought,
Luke was starting to feel dizzy. It
was
bizarre, being dragged along like this seemingly in Obi Wan's body, but
unable
to direct any of the moves that Obi Wan made.
He watched the lightsabers strike against each other again
and
again. Anakin was still
enraged, that
much was obvious. He was also
obviously
drunk, and Luke was terrified for him. Surely
there was no way that a drunk and angry man could stand a chance
against a Jedi Master who was sober? Luke
wanted to scream at Anakin to run away, to leave now while he still
could. But of course there
was nothing
he could say that Anakin would hear.
Anakin's
lightsaber
barely missed Obi Wan's shoulder, and sliced instead through the top of
a chest
of drawers. Obi Wan gave an
incoherent
yell, and his next strike passed barely an eighth of an inch above
Anakin's
head.
Anakin laughed
again. "Are you going to kill
me?" he asked.
Obi Wan struck
at
him, and managed to cut the table in half.
A pair of
chairs
were decapitated by Anakin as he struck at Obi Wan's legs. Anakin stumbled a bit regaining his
balance,
standing now beside the wicker screen that divided the kitchen from the
living
room. Anakin taunted, "I
think, My
Master, you're only afraid that people might learn you're
human after
all."
Obi Wan's
lightsaber severed the base of the floor lamp, sending it crashing to
the
floor. In the suddenly
darkened room,
Anakin's thoughts caught at the shards of the glass lampshade, and
flung them
into the air at Obi Wan's face. As
Obi
Wan jumped away, Anakin pressed on, "maybe you just insist being a Jedi
is
the greatest thing in history because you haven't found anywhere else
you
belong. You need to feel
superior to
the rest of the galaxy because you don't have any kind of life!"
With the Force,
Obi
Wan seized at a large ornamental plate and hurled it at Anakin. Anakin cut it in half.
"Perhaps,"
sneered Anakin, "you're just jealous. Because
I've found a woman who can bear to live with me, and you
haven't."
There was a
weird
wrenching sound from the kitchen behind Anakin.
Luke saw Anakin glance back, then dive at the kitchen
floor. Some dark shape was
flying at him, and Luke
realised that Obi Wan had torn loose the refrigerator.
The rectangular bulk swooped at Anakin, who
was now scrambling away over the debris of the floor lamp. Then Anakin's own Force managed to
catch the
refrigerator. He sent it
upward again,
sailing toward Obi Wan. Obi
Wan twisted
out of the way, and the refrigerator's momentum carried it onward,
sending it
crashing through the window and plummeting out of sight.
Panting with
exertion, but still laughing, Anakin gasped out, "I'm right, aren't
I? There is
a human being under
your sanctity. A human being
who's
occasionally ruled by hormones."
Luke heard a
snarl
from Obi Wan, and the Jedi Master struck at Anakin, still on the floor. Anakin's blade caught the blow, but
there
was pain on Anakin's face. Anakin
somehow managed to regain his feet, but Luke suddenly realised that he
was
about to lose. Obi Wan's
anger had been
loosed, and Anakin was not strong enough to stop it.
Luke caught a
glimpse of Anakin's shocked, disbelieving face, then he heard Obi Wan
scream in
rage. Obi Wan's lightsaber
made a
gleaming arc through the air, cutting through Anakin's wrist and deep
into the
floor.
Luke heard
Anakin's
scream blend with Obi Wan's. The
younger man fell to his knees, clutching at his wrist which was pulsing
out
blood. Then Anakin looked up,
and there
was new terror on his face. Luke
realised to his horror that Obi Wan wasn't stopping.
He was about to strike at Anakin again.
Anakin jumped
up. He threw himself against
Obi Wan,
dove under the descending lightsaber and hurled Obi Wan backward. Obi Wan toppled over one of the
upturned
chairs.
When he
struggled
up again, Anakin was gone. Obi
Wan ran
into the entrance hallway, to be met by a shattered front door. Anakin must have used the Force to
smash
straight through it. The hall
lights of
the apartment building were on, and through Obi Wan’s eyes
Luke saw splotches
of blood on the hall carpet. Obi
Wan
started to run again, following the trail of blood.
Before long the
blood stopped appearing, but Obi Wan seemed to know where he was going
now. He lunged up a
staircase, taking
the steps two or three at a time. At
the top of the stairs, Obi Wan flung himself through a door that had
opened in
front of him, and suddenly he and Luke were outside, on the roof. The wind was howling, tearing at
them. At the other side of
the roof, Luke could
see the hunched-over form of Anakin, running for a c-wing which was
parked on
the landing platform. The
door of the
c-wing flew open, and Anakin lurched into the cockpit, nearly falling
over. Obi Wan started running
across the roof
toward him. Luke wanted to
scream a
warning, then the c-wing jolted upward and started an erratic course
above the
rooftops.
Obi Wan's pace
slowed, then finally stopped. He
lowered his lightsaber. And
watched, as
the little c-wing soared vertically into the air.
Its pilot was trying to drag it into a steadier course,
but
overcompensated. The c-wing
now dived
toward the city once more.
Obi Wan
whispered,
"oh, no. No, please!"
There was no
doubt
of it now, Anakin's c-wing was heading straight for one of the
neighbouring
buildings. Luke heard Obi
Wan's
anguished tone again, as he yelled out at no one, "no!
Don't let it happen!"
The c-wing
plunged
into the building. A huge
fireball
sprang up, and Obi Wan squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again, he was staring at a building
from which the
top two storeys had been sheared as if with a gigantic knife. Flames were leaping into the air.
Obi Wan stood
frozen for another moment, then he turned away and ran.
The next thing
Luke
saw was the blue-outlined Obi Wan Kenobi, crouching huddled against the
window
of Palpatine's guest room. Luke
himself, he realised, had fallen to his knees, against one wall.
He saw that
there
were tears on Obi Wan's face.
Slowly, feeling
that he must be a few million years old, Luke clambered to his feet. Obi Wan was still crouched there,
staring up
at him.
Luke choked out
painfully, "I think you ought to leave."
Even after
everything he'd seen, he still winced at the disbelief and hurt on the
old
man's face. "Luke," Obi Wan
began, "please -- " The dead
Jedi also struggled to a standing position.
"Please, Luke, you've got to understand.
I never wanted it to happen -- "
Luke said
flatly,
"I don't care what you wanted. I
care what you did."
"You saw
everything. You've got to
know, I
wasn't in the wrong -- "
Luke shook his
head
and turned away. Oh, gods, he
felt so
desperately tired. Any second
now he
was going to burst into sobs. He
said, "go
away. Please. Don't come back. I don't want to see you."
The worst of it
was, that he knew in a sense Obi Wan was telling the truth. He'd been angry, yes, but he hadn't
wanted
what happened ... But, damn it, who cared? He'd
still done it anyway.
"Luke, I
understand your feelings. But
you've
got to understand -- "
Luke turned
back
toward him. The pain he saw
in Obi Wan
made him want to take everything back, say that everything was fine
again. But it wasn't. Luke said, "you've hurt my family. You've hurt us too much. I won't let you hurt us again."
Obi Wan's
glowing
form seemed to shudder. For
another moment
he held Luke's gaze. Then he
slowly
faded out of sight.
Luke gasped,
and
sank down onto the bed once more. He
wasn't crying, though he didn't know why. Surely,
if he stuck to his usual behaviour patterns, he ought to be
sobbing and screaming "no!"
He leaned
forward
and rested his head on his hands instead. He
felt horribly cold.
He and Leia had
to
get out of here. They had to
go home.
Admiral Grigori
Piett struggled to maintain a neutral expression on his face. This was more than most of the other
people
seated around the conference table had managed to accomplish.
At least he had
a
new and improved selection of hostile faces to contemplate. After nearly three hours of tense
and, as
far as he was concerned, fairly pointless conference with the highest
ranking
Alliance leaders, it was something of a relief to see that the current
hearing
was being attended by a larger group of stressed-out command staff.
The others from
the
previous, middle-of-the-night meeting were still there: Captain Faren
and
Commander Narita, leaders of the joint Security forces, and Generals
Dodonna,
Rieekan, Madine, Calrissian and Veers. And
of course Mon Mothma, but Piett was doing his best not to look at
her. Now they were joined by
the
commanding officers of all the ships that were in port, and of the
squadrons
assigned to them.
Piett glanced
around, noting the large number of officers who looked swiftly away
rather than
meet his gaze.
Only
a tiny minority
dared to lock eyes with the accused traitor.
General Calrissian was one; he cast Piett an apologetic
attempt at a
smile, then scowled around at the rest of the room.
Captain Angus Needa,
Piett’s old
friend from the Academy and their days serving on the Annihilator,
was
another. Needa looked in a
terrible
temper, and Piett hoped that he’d keep his mouth shut. All they needed now was for Needa to
go on
one of his tirades and start denouncing the Rebellion or something.
Veers, another fellow ex-Imperial,
met
Piett’s glance steadily. The
speculative, measuring gaze he was turning on Piett was not
particularly
comforting, but then Piett had never really felt comfortable around
Veers at
the best of times. The
General's
efficiency was of the type that got on Piett's nerves, as it always
seemed to
imply that everyone else was so much less efficient than Veers.
A fourth officer who didn't look
away
was Wedge Antilles, commander of the x-wing squadron stationed on the Executor. Antilles was looking frankly
miserable; his
expression had been getting increasingly unhappy as the hearing
progressed. In front of him
on the
conference table was an electronic notepad on which he had either been
taking
notes or doodling. Piett
rather hoped
that the contents of Antilles' notepad might be unflattering cartoons
of the
rest of the officers.
Particularly,
he
thought, of General Madine. Madine,
who
was in the seat to Piett's left, would make a good subject for a
cartoon just
at the moment, with the outraged look on his face and his increasingly
reddening complexion as he fulminated about something -- Piett suddenly
realised that he'd stopped paying attention to what everyone was
saying, and he
forced himself to listen again. Somewhere
in the midst of this idiocy, there might be something he
ought to be responding to.
Madine was
urging
that Piett's case should be brought to trial, and that if convicted, he
should
be subject to the full wrath of the law. What
law, Piett wondered. Some
might say your whole bloody Rebellion is illegal, so you know,
I'm not very impressed ... he was somewhat startled to notice
how quickly
he'd gone back to thinking of it as "their" Rebellion, and not
his. He was glad that, on
reflection,
he had decided to put on a clean uniform. It
was, however, probably a good thing that he had not worn his
"silly little hat", as Rilla always insisted on calling it. The hat was one item of Imperial
uniform
that he had stopped wearing almost as soon as he realised that the New
Alliance
did not have a strict dress code. He
had considered wearing it today, but was glad that he had not. Going out of his way to look like an
Imperial officer was not a stunningly good idea.
As Madine
worked up
to a new peroration, Commander Antilles slammed his notepad down on the
table,
causing the officers around him to jump, and managing to throw Madine
off his
stride long enough for Antilles to interject.
"General, you've made your point," said the x-wing
commander. "I'm still not
convinced the evidence we've got is more than circumstantial..."
Madine glanced
for
support at Security Captain Faren, who recapped the evidence. "The message was sent from the
terminal
in Admiral Piett's office, using the Admiral's own access code. Piett admits that he was in the
office half
an hour before the message was sent, and he cannot account for his
whereabouts
at the time of the message -- "
Piett snapped,
giving up for the moment on his attempt to remain calm, "I can account
for them, you just don't believe me!"
General
Calrissian
pointed out, before anyone could jump on Piett for his outburst, "it
isn't
usually considered a crime not to have proof of where you were at 1.30
in the
morning."
"Anyway,"
added Captain Needa, "we still can't prove Admiral
Piett sent the
message. No offense to
Security, but it
wouldn't be that tough for any of us to find out someone else's access
code, or
get into their office. With
the kind of
facility this is, and the amount of people we've got running around
here all
the time, there's no way of making sure everyone's where they're
supposed to
be." Needa shut up at that
point
rather than talking a blue streak, to Piett’s grateful
surprise. He would have
expected Angus to keep talking
till he got them all into even deeper shit.
Their fellow
ex-Imperial Veers took up the argument. "That's
correct," Veers agreed. "If
the message was sent from one of the Star Destroyers
then we'd know who sent it, the security cameras would have picked it
up. If someone's trying to
frame Piett, they
must have known that, and decided to send it from the Base instead."
"That same
reasoning would work if Piett had sent the message himself," observed
General Dodonna, sounding weary and sorrowful.
Veers' mention
of
the security cameras had made another thought occur to Piett. He threw himself back into the fray,
saying,
"look, speaking of the security cameras, I use the same code when I'm
in
my office on the Executor.
The
cameras there could be adjusted to focus on my computer, so
theoretically,
anyone who can get access to the security recordings could know my code. Or any other officer's.”
Various
officers
eyed each other warily or shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Captain Bailey of the Shador
asked,
"why are the security cameras still operating at all?
They may be standard procedure in the
Empire, but not in the Alliance. We
believe in the right to privacy..."
General Veers'
voice sliced coldly across Bailey's declaration.
"At no point during the Endor negotiations were we told to
disable our security systems. Is
there
anything else you'd like us to change? Shall
we dismantle the Star Destroyers' gymnasiums because they're not
standard features of Mon Calamari cruisers?"
"Gentlemen,"
interrupted Mon Mothma, "this is not the issue."
General Dodonna
sighed, "I agree we don't have proof of Admiral Piett's guilt, but we
certainly have justification for detaining him while the investigation
continues. Sometimes the
simplest
explanation is the still the best. We
may
have a different traitor who is also stealing access codes, or Admiral
Piett
may have sent the message himself."
Piett tried to
say
something, but gave up as everyone else was talking at once. The one who succeeded in being
loudest was
the Calamari Captain Ifar, who opined, "surely if the Admiral intended
treachery, he wouldn't be stupid enough to use his own computer and
access
code!"
Commander
Narita of
Security was frowning and shaking her head.
She replied, "the message was sent the night before the
Chandrila
meeting. Whoever sent it may
have
thought their first priority was speed, so it could reach the Imperials
in time
for them to plan their attack. In
that
situation, he might not have taken the time to camouflage his message."
"Look,"
objected Commander Antilles, "I think we're forgetting something pretty
crucial. Admiral Piett's the
main
reason the attack on the Chandrilan station failed. If he sent the stupid message, why
would he
work his butt off to stop the Imps from getting to the station?"
"We can't know
that," General Madine said primly. "That
may have been the plan arranged between them.
A feigned attack by Imperial ships to
provide distraction while Commander Skywalker and Princess Leia were
kidnapped,
with Piett fighting off the attack as insurance against his treason
being
suspected. He did realise
very
swiftly the nature of the Imperials' tactics ... "
Commander
Antilles
muttered, "oh, for fuck's sake ... "
Captain Needa
observed, "any officer who remembered his Shield Technology could have
realised that just as swiftly. In
fact,
General," he went on, with a not-very-pleasant smile
at Madine,
"you were at the Academy, weren't you? Did
you take Shield Technology before you defected?
Come to think of it, you could be the
traitor too."
Madine opened
his
mouth to respond, but Mon Mothma cut him off.
"Please!" she said sharply. "We're
not here to trade wild accusations."
"Really?"
murmured General Calrissian. "I've
heard nothing but wild accusations all morning."
Some of the
other
officers cast disapproving looks at Calrissian.
Before the debate could pick up again, Piett asked with
asperity,
"should I just go back to my cell? You
obviously don't need me to contribute to this discussion."
Mon Mothma
turned
on him a glance that might have held some attempt at apology, but Piett
did not
acknowledge the look. General
Dodonna
asked, "is there something you want to say, Admiral?"
"Yes. It'd save a lot of time and argument
if you
just put me through the lie detectors."
"You mean a
mind probe?" Mon Mothma asked quietly, a note of horror in her voice.
"That, or use
a truth serum, or both."
Piett's
suggestion
was clearly not going over well with most of the long-time Rebels. Mon Mothma said tensely, "Admiral,
you
may not be aware that Imperial mind probe techniques are among the
abuses named
in the Articles of Rebellion. For
us to
use such technology now would be an ultimate hypocrisy -- "
"I am
aware
of it, Ma'am," Piett snapped back. "Surely
it's only an abuse when used on an unwilling subject.
I am not only willing, I demand the
right to prove my innocence."
Dodonna said
tiredly, "we can't allow this, Admiral. The
Alliance banned the use of mind probes and truth drugs because of
the health risks involved. There's
too
much risk of brain damage to make the procedure acceptable -- "
Piett
exclaimed,
"I'll risk the brain damage, if it'll make all of you stop looking at
me
like I'm a damned child molester!"
General Madine
observed to no one in particular, "only an Imperial would advocate the
use
of such immoral technology ... "
Mon Mothma
turned a
furious glare on Madine. She
yelled at
him, "shut up!"
Commander
Antilles'
voice broke out over the general upsurge of shouting.
"This is crazy! We're
not thinking! Why
would Admiral Piett betray the Rebellion now?
There've got to be a lot more important secrets he could
have sent to
Palpatine before now. Why
this?"
"We don't know
that he hasn't," said Captain Faren. "This
could simply be the first time that he's gotten caught."
You little
shit, Piett thought. I'll
bet you're really getting off on
insulting an Admiral like this. But
meanwhile, Madine was speaking again.
"The simplest
explanation," he began, with a nod at Dodonna to acknowledge the
borrowing
of Dodonna's phrase, "is that Piett is acting on the orders of Darth
Vader."
Needa groaned. "Oh, now we really
don't have
any evidence -- "
Madine smiled. "It all holds together, though,
doesn't
it. Attack, kidnapping, the
disappearance of Vader and Solo. If
Vader orchestrated the attack and the capture, what makes more sense
than that
he would rely on the assistance of his usual lackey?"
Piett jumped to
his
feet. Before he could manage
to speak,
General Rieekan objected, "General Madine, there's no need to be
insulting
... "
Madine ignored
him. "You'd do anything Vader
told
you to, wouldn't you?" he asked, standing up and speaking directly to
Piett. "You're too afraid of
him
to do anything else."
Piett felt the
blood rushing to his face. "Of
course I'm afraid of him!" he yelled. "If
you weren't such an idiot, you would be too!"
The sight of
Madine's smirking visage was more than he could stand.
Instead he looked around in appeal at the
assembled officers. "Madine's
wrong about Vader," he said urgently. "He
wouldn't betray you."
"Then where is
he now?" Madine prodded. "Why
isn't he here?"
"You bloody
moron, he's looking for his son! Surely
some of you humane Rebels can understand that!"
The meeting was
dissolving again. Without
paying
attention to whether anyone else was listening to him, Madine continued
to
Piett, "you're a good servant, aren't you, Admiral?
Vader couldn't ask for better.
Did he tell you to keep ingratiating
yourself with the higher echelons while he's away?
You've made a fine start, I'm sure Vader would be proud of
you."
"I beg your
pardon?" Piett asked, thinking, I'm going to kill him.
"Well, I mean,
sleeping with the Head of State. Can't
get much more ingratiating than that."
Almost before
he
himself realised what he was doing, Piett's right fist connected with
Madine's
jaw. Amid the yells of
everyone –
including a shout of “yes!” that Piett recognised
as the voice of Angus Needa
-- Madine stumbled backward and tripped over his chair.
The chair skidded away and bounced off the
wall, while Madine landed on his buttocks with a pronounced thud.
Piett grated,
standing over him, "if you must have such unworthy thoughts, at least
have
the decency to keep them to yourself."
General Dodonna
was
bellowing, "quiet! Be quiet, now!"
As something
like
order was regained, and a bland faced General Veers helped Madine back
into his
retrieved chair, Dodonna said coldly, "thank you.
I think this meeting has accomplished
everything it can. The
investigation
will continue. But first we
must put to
a vote whether there is enough evidence for us to continue detaining
Admiral Piett."
No one looked
very
happy at the prospect -- except Madine, who was clutching his jaw. Once again, Piett seemed suddenly to
have
become invisible, for all the eye-contact he was afforded.
Of the
assembled
officers, three voted for Piett to be released.
General Calrissian, Commander Antilles, and Captain Needa.
General Veers
abstained,
as did Mon Mothma.
Piett looked at
her
questioningly as she stated her abstention, but her glance shied away
from his.
He sighed. It wasn't fair of him to be angry at
her for
not voting to release him. Abstention
was as far as she could go, he knew that. Anyway,
what right did he have to expect anything from her?
So she'd slept with him once. That
didn't mean she could know that he
wasn't a fiendish traitor.
A fiendish
traitor
who'd used her to further his plans, just as Madine had said.
What a fool
he'd
been to think that things could be different for him.
To think his life would change if he joined the Rebellion. To think maybe he could make a
difference.
Terrorised
Imperial
officer or would-be Rebel, he was just as irrelevant.
His gaze passed
over Mon Mothma again, who this time seemed to be pleading with him to
meet her
eyes.
Piett looked
away.
Leia groaned.
She'd been
feeling
pretty foul since the moment she woke up, but the smell of coffee
brewing as
the droid prepared their breakfast was the final straw.
She staggered out of bed, looked around
blearily for her robe, then realised that she wasn't going to have time
to
search for it. She'd be lucky
if she
even made it to the toilet. Her
bedroom
door slid open in front of her and Leia dashed across the living room,
nearly
colliding with the droid as it bustled around the table. She made an abrupt detour to avoid
the
droid, skidded into the bathroom almost slipping on the tiles, and
somehow
managed to fling herself down over the toilet just before it was too
late.
She'd certainly
thrown up the few bits of salad she'd eaten last night, and there
couldn't be
anything left in there, but for some reason her stomach thought it
ought to
continue heaving. She kept
retching in
agony, the harsh taste of stomach acids burning at her mouth. Just when she thought it might be
over, her
guts once again tried to turn themselves inside out.
"Fuck,"
moaned Leia. "Fuck, fuck,
fuck."
Maybe her
stomach
was finally calming down. She
gasped
weakly, put her elbows up on the toilet rim and propped her forehead on
her
hands. Her hair was clinging
sweatily
to her face, and she tried to shove it away.
She thought, when
I see Han again I'm going to kill him for this. Leia wondered if things had settled
enough inside for her to risk
leaving the toilet. If she
didn't clean
herself up, and get this taste out of her mouth, there was no way she'd
be able
to go on living. She glanced
toward the
bath, and then shrieked.
Crouched with
the
toilet between her and the bath, with one hand clapped to her mouth and
her
heart thudding like it was going into hyperdrive, Leia stared at the
black-robed figure that was sitting on the marble steps leading down
into the
tub. Then she screamed at him
in fury,
"don't do that!"
Emperor
Palpatine
looked infernally chipper for this time of the morning.
He beamed at her placidly and said,
"good morning, my dear."
"It's
not," Leia muttered sullenly. "It's
a terrible morning. Get out
of here." There was
a sinister twisting in her stomach, and she had a very bad feeling that
the
puking was going to start up again. Palpatine
continued to smile at her, and she glanced down to make sure
that the nightgown she was wearing was covering all essential areas. Gods, she must look hideous. The only slight hint of comfort was
that
Palpatine almost certainly looked worse than she did, but then, he
always did.
"I'm sorry
you're unwell, Leia," Palpatine said conversationally, sounding almost
like a human being. "You
don't
have to go through this, you know. I
can help you."
"You're an
expert on pregnancy?" Leia grated.
"No," the
Emperor admitted. "I am,
however,
expert in the use of the Force."
"Great."
He gave his
weird
frog-like grin. "I assure
you," he remarked, "it can be very useful."
"I'm
sure," she said warily, standing up and edging one cautious step closer
to
the door. She wondered
whether there
was any chance that Palpatine would let her get out of the bathroom. Though where one could hide from
mind-reading emperors who could teleport, she didn't have any idea.
Her stomach was
still twisting. Her glance
flicked over
to the toilet for one longing moment, then she looked back at Emperor
Palpatine. Maybe being
pathetic would
work better on him than being hostile. Certainly
her hostility seemed to be bouncing right off him, leaving him
as insanely cheerful as ever. Leia
said
softly, allowing a forlorn little quiver to enter her voice, "I don't
think I can take this right now. Could
you go away? Please?" She hated saying "please" to the
bastard, but if it allowed her to do her puking in peace, it was worth
it.
Palpatine
chuckled
and stood up from his perch on the bathtub steps.
He moved a few paces closer to Leia, and involuntarily she
backed
away, finding herself plastered up against the towel rack. She glanced around wildly and saw
absolutely
no possible weapons of defense, not unless she managed to wrench the
towel rack
out of the wall. She didn't
reckon that
the towels themselves would be very useful at keeping Palpatine away.
When he smiled
at
her, closer now, she could see his crooked and blackened teeth. She winced, wondering which was
worse to be
a prisoner of, Palpatine or Jabba the Hutt.
"Leia my
dear," Palpatine purred, "you mustn't be afraid of me.
I am your friend. I
can help you. I can
teach you the things you've always wanted to know."
"Like what?"
she asked tensely, her fingers closing around the towel rack.
He reached out
his
right hand toward her and made a tiny gesture with it, a barely visible
flick
of his fingers.
Leia gasped. The writhing misery in her stomach
was gone.
Palpatine's
face
was wreathed in his best avuncular smirk.
"Did you do
that?" Leia hissed.
He nodded
slowly. "You can learn it
yourself. Let me show you." His eyes narrowed for an instant,
and
suddenly her nausea was back.
"What did you
do?"
"Leia, my
child, you know what it is that you want. You
must merely learn to put your desires into practice."
She glanced
with
increasing desperation at the toilet. "Oh,
is that all?"
Palpatine took
another step forward. Leia's
entire
body tensed, then she felt a sensation as if cold fingers were stroking
across
her mind. She drew in her
breath and
clutched the towel rack tighter.
She whispered,
"what -- "
All of her
senses
jolted, and seemed for an instant to have been switched off. Then they were back.
Her head jerked and collided jarringly with
the cold tiles of the wall. Through
the
dull ache at the back of her head, she felt something else. She couldn't quite grasp what it was. Nothing seemed different -- vision,
hearing,
touch, smell, all seemed to be the same. But
she still felt that something had changed. As
if another light had been turned on, making her realise for
the first time how dim the room had been before.
"Try it,
Leia," urged Palpatine. "Try."
"Try
what?" she snapped.
"Think your
nausea away. Put it aside. Don't try to stop it, just move it
to the
background. You know it's
there, but
you don't need to feel it. Move
it
away."
Oh, sure. As simple as that, hunh? Why didn't I think of that before?
He purred
coaxingly, "try."
Humour the
bastard,
she
thought. She tried to do as
he'd said,
focusing all her attention on her complaining stomach.
The nausea soared up, for a moment almost
taking her over. She imagined
herself
taking hold of the sensations, folding them up and shoving them away to
some
distant region of her mind where they couldn't cause any trouble.
Her eyes
widened. She stared at the
smiling
Palpatine. "I don't believe
it," she murmured.
"But you did
it, my child. Whether you
believe it or
not."
Leia shook her
head
stubbornly. "No. It was you
again
-- " The wonder of her
perfectly
calm stomach seemed like the most amazing of miracles.
She thought, it had to be
Palpatine. There's no way I
did that --
"See for
yourself, Leia," said Palpatine. "Experiment. Learn. You
will understand." The focus
of his
eyes moved off of her momentarily, then out of nowhere some white
garment
appeared in his hand. Leia
realised it
was the robe she had commandeered after her bath yesterday. She reached for it gingerly as
Palpatine
handed the robe to her, trying not to cringe at the thought that the
Emperor --
and worse, the Emperor's mind -- had touched it.
Palpatine said,
"I know you'll want some time alone. I
hope we can continue our discussion later? Perhaps
over lunch?"
She eyed him
with
dislike, then nodded. "All
right," she said. "We'll
talk. Later."
He was beaming
happily again. "That's all I
ask." Like a holo-image
switching
off, the Emperor abruptly disappeared.
Leia stared at
the
space he had occupied. She
muttered,
"shit."
She looked down
at
the robe in her hands. Then
she turned
her feelings inward again. All
right,
she would experiment. She
sought out the
nausea in its distant mental box and imagined that it was breaking
free, oozing
back into her again.
It was.
She clutched
her
hands, and the robe, to her stomach. This
couldn't be real! She
had to be imagining it. But
it certainly felt real. Taking
a deep
breath, she thought her nausea back into its box, and shut the lid.
"Damn,"
she whispered. "I don't
believe
it."
Well, the
nausea
might be gone, but she was still soaking with sweat and had a mouth
that tasted
like she'd been taking a swim in the Death Star's garbage compactor. She threw the white bathrobe onto
the floor
and walked over to the sink to brush her teeth.
That accomplished, she contemplated having a bath, but the
memory
of Palpatine sitting on the bathtub steps was too unappealing. Besides, the tub seemed too exposed,
even
with the bathroom door closed and locked. Of
course, the Emperor could no doubt teleport into the shower cubicle
too if he wanted to -- gods, no, don't think about that. If she went on having thoughts like
this
she'd be too paranoid to ever take her clothes off again.
She strode to
the
shower, picking up towel, soap and shampoo on the way, and trying to
convince
herself that she wasn't afraid. The
fear wasn't letting itself be moved aside as easily as the nausea had
done. Reluctantly she took
off her
nightgown, forcing herself not to look around and check that she wasn't
being
watched.
As she shut the
cubicle door behind her and started the shower, an idea occurred to her. She eyed the pink orb of soap, on
the shelf
where she had placed it. She
concentrated on the soap, imagining it floating upward and into her
hand.
At first
nothing
happened. Then the soap gave
a little
jump, rising to hover half an inch above the shelf before settling down
again. She tried to think at
it harder,
and the soap rose again, first vertically, then changing its path to
float in a
leisurely manner toward her.
Leia yelped and
jumped away from the soap, which plummeted to the shower floor.
Oh, gods.
Palpatine could
have arranged this little demonstration, she supposed.
He could have tuned in on her thoughts and
made the soap fly, so she thought that she had done it.
But if he had, he was even more of a sad
bastard than she thought he was. She
swallowed nervously, then knelt down to pick up the soap, determinedly
not
thinking at it this time.
Leia did not
linger
in the shower. She tried to
keep her
nakedness to as brief a duration as possible.
She left the robe on the bathroom floor and hurried across
their suite
wrapped in a towel instead. In
her room
she dressed swiftly in black trousers and a dark brown blouse, then
hesitated
over whether to put her own jacket on again.
She was being stupid, she thought, to cling to this
bloodstained piece
of cloth as if somehow it could help her.
But, damn it. So she was being stupid. Who cared?
She shrugged the jacket on. Maybe
it would be some sort of talisman for her. She needed all the help she could
get.
She wondered
how
Luke was this morning. She
was, in
fact, surprised that she hadn't seen any sign of him yet. He was usually an early riser. Maybe he'd had trouble getting to
sleep last
night. She certainly had. Leia delved into the well-stocked
wardrobe
and found a pair of tall black boots made from some kind of soft
leather. She put them on,
gave her hair a brief
brushing, then left her bedroom to check on Luke.
As she pressed
the entry
bell beside Luke's door, she heard the droid whirring up behind her. She turned to face the droid as it
announced
in its metallic tones, "Mistress Leia, Master Luke is not in his
room."
"He's
not? Where is he?"
"In His
Majesty Emperor Palpatine's Entertainment Centre.
I escorted him there. His
Majesty Emperor Palpatine has left orders that you are to be granted
access to
the Entertainment Centre at any time. No
other areas are open to you except at His Majesty's command."
Leia felt a
twinge
of anger. Oh, fine! She was having
mind-wrenching
encounters with Emperor Palpatine in the bathroom, and her brother was
watching
holo-vids. She said to the
droid,
"I would like to visit the Entertainment Centre as well."
"Of course,
Mistress Leia."
The droid led
Leia
to the room where they had watched News of the Galaxy the
night
before. As she stepped
inside, Leia
realised that the room had no windows. In
the absence of any daylight, the purple furnishings of the room took
on a claustrophobic intensity. Leia
walked toward Luke, who was sitting on the sofa and didn't seem to have
heard
her come in.
"Hey,
Luke."
He glanced
briefly
toward her, nodded distractedly and then turned his gaze back to the
holovision. Leia looked at
the image,
and saw what seemed to be a press conference, with an array of grey
uniformed
officers. One was Anakin
Skywalker, and
another, standing beside him, was Admiral Talassa.
Leia forced herself to look away, and turned to Luke again.
"Luke, can we
talk? It's important."
For a moment
she
thought he hadn't heard her. Slowly
he
reached for the remote and froze the holo-image.
He looked silently up at Leia.
She sat down beside him.
"Luke -- how
are you this morning? Are you
--"
"I'm all
right." His voice was flat.
She wanted to
tell
him about Palpatine's visit -- and the floating soap -- but somehow the
words
weren't coming out. She bit
her lip as
she studied his face, seeing the exhaustion that was written on it.
"Luke,"
she said urgently, "we can't stay here. How
are we going to get out of here?"
He shook his
head. "I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure
out."
"By watching
holo-vids?" she asked, not quite able to keep the irritation out of her
voice.
He gave another
slow shake of his head. "No. But until we do figure out
something, we
might as well learn everything we can. About
our parents. We may not
get another chance."
Leia thought
that
she would willingly give up the chance, if it meant getting away from
her
"friend" the Emperor. She was
about to tell Luke that, then she frowned and looked at him more
closely.
She thought, something
... something feels wrong about him.
Wrong how, she
didn't know. But it was as if
--
She drew her
feelings back from him and shifted further away on the sofa. It was as if it wasn't just him
sitting
there. She thought she could
feel
another presence besides his. And
at
the touch of that presence her mind saw an image of Emperor Palpatine.
Leia shivered. "All right, Luke," she said,
forcing herself to reach out and squeeze his hand.
"We'll keep working on it. I'll
talk with you later."
She stood up,
and
Luke didn't bother to reply before he started the holovision up again.
Leia watched
him. She didn't look again at
Anakin
and Admiral Talassa.
She wondered
whether His Imperial Majesty Emperor Palpatine would mind taking an
early
lunch.
Han Solo said,
"this isn't gonna work."
Darth Vader
answered in an exasperated tone, "your doubt is distracting me, son-in-law. Please shut up."
Han sighed and
subsided for a moment into his pilot's seat, then he objected again,
"look, Darth, I know you're great with this Force shit, but come on,
we're
too far away! How do you know
it'll
work from this distance?"
"It won't work
at all with you oozing disbelief. Can't
you just think optimistic thoughts?"
"Yeah,
right," Han muttered. He
slouched
down once more, trying to stop himself from thinking predictions of
doom and
gloom. Chewie roared at him
that they
were about to come out of Hyperspace, so he'd better think something
jolly.
Han grimaced. He'd bet that Chewie was really
enjoying
this.
They had set
their
exit from Hyperspace for just outside Coruscant's orbiting perimeter
defenses. If Darth's memories
of the
defense system were right -- and they had sure as hell better be --
they should
emerge right in front of one of the manned stations.
Han still wasn't sure that he got what Darth was planning,
but
the basic idea was simple enough. Simple
and crazy. Oh, sure,
Darth Vader thinking "we're not here" was going to make an entire
ship invisible. Apparently it
would
only work on living observers; if they approached within the range of
the
automated defense units their presence would be picked up and they'd be
fired
on automatically. Living
beings should
be easier to fool. Theoretically.
Han bit back a
groan as he watched the Hyperspace star trails that would disappear any
second. Think
optimistic thoughts,
he told himself. How? How was he supposed to be
optimistic, when
the people he cared about most had been captured by some idiot Emperor
--
probably, if they were even really here -- and he barely had a mynock's
chance
in sunlight of rescuing them? And
when he was flying straight into a hostile defence system without
taking any
evasive action, because his loony almost-father-in-law believed he
could make
them invisible?
I can't believe
I'm
doing this.
Chewie barked
that
they were emerging from Hyperspace now.
Think something
jolly. In
desperation he turned his
thoughts back to the subject of babies. Thinking
about his unborn kids was not really a good idea, as it made
him imagine the dangers that they and their mother might be facing. He tried, instead, to imagine some
point in
the future, when they were born and alive and safe.
The entire Rebellion would go mushy over his kids, talking
baby-talk at them and vying for the honour of babysitting. Han grinned as he pictured Lando
changing
diapers. And C3P0 knitting. And Generals Madine and Veers, each
with a
baby throwing up over their uniforms. Yeah,
he could really get into this fatherhood thing.
The Hyperspace
trails were gone. Han caught
his breath
as the defence station appeared, seemingly right on top of them. He braced himself for the inevitable
demand
to identify themselves, and then the equally inevitable attack.
Oh, shit! Gotta think optimistic thoughts! As he continued to manoeuvre them
along their
slow, cautious course that would take the Falcon
below the station, Han
conjured up a vivid image of his toddlers getting into Threepio's
hypothetical
knitting basket. Yeah, and
wrapping the
droid up head to foot in the yarn, while he was switched off
replenishing his
energy. Way to go,
kids, he
thought, as he imagined Threepio waking up and struggling to escape the
cocoon
of multi-coloured yarn.
The defence
station
filled their entire screen. Han
could
even see figures moving beyond the station's viewports, they were close
enough
for him to pick out that the people beyond those windows were wearing
Imperial
uniforms. Most of the
station's
inhabitants seemed to be bustling about in a purposeful manner, but a
few of
them were looking out of the windows. Nobody,
however, seemed to be staring at the notorious enemy vessel
which was flying straight at them.
Han was humming
nervously to himself as the Falcon dipped beneath
the station. Ahead of them on
the viewscreen lay nothing
but Coruscant. And a few
million other
enemies. Think
about something else
... Leia. He was going to have to buy her a
present. Or get her to leave
the base with him for an
evening so he could take her out for a really nice dinner. It was their anniversary in a couple
of
weeks. Almost two years, now. Of course he'd spent a good part of
that
first year frozen in carbonite, but they still dated their relationship
from
the first time they'd gotten together, at Cloud City.
No way would he ever forget the date, not any more. He had forgotten, last year -- or
rather, he
hadn't even thought about it -- and he'd had to work overtime at being
a
devoted boyfriend to get Leia to stop looking at him like he was Public
Enemy
Number One. The date of their
anniversary was now at the top of his "things never to forget on pain
of
death" list in the Leia Handling file he kept on his computer back
home. He wondered what Leia
would do if
she ever found that file. Would
she
kill him, or would she think it was sweet? It
was hard to tell, with Leia. Hence the file, with its additional
lists of "things she likes" and "things never to do/say if you
want to keep your private parts intact". He
reckoned he'd never get Leia completely figured out; when their
fiftieth
anniversary came along he'd probably still be making additions to the
file. At least their
relationship
wasn't likely to get boring.
Han eyed the
rapidly approaching planet, wondering if Leia and Luke were even down
there at
all.
He heard Darth
Vader's voice, sounding distant and strained, "take us in to the city
centre. I'll keep the
illusion going
till we're out of Imperial Spaceport's airspace."
"Yes,
sir," said Han, shaking his head in wonder.
Good gods, could this really, actually, be working? There was still no hail from the
Imperials,
and still no laser canons opening fire on them.
As Coruscant
grew
to take over the screen, Han scowled, wondering why he disliked this
place so
much -- apart from the obvious fact of it being Palpatine's stomping
ground. Han wouldn't have
thought he'd
mind the planet being one big urban sprawl; he had never been a
passionate
admirer of Nature. Metal and
concrete
and plasisteel were fine by him. But
there was something weird about Coruscant, all the same. Maybe it was the tiny pockets of
original
planet surface still remaining, pathetic bits of scrubland surrounded
by
massive layers of city. It
made him
feel claustrophobic to think of them. He
could imagine himself standing in one of those scraps of wasteland,
watching helplessly as the Imperial City's skyscrapers tumbled down on
top of
him.
Oh yeah, very
cheerful. He'd better get off
this
train of thought before he blasted Darth's concentration to hell. They were into the atmosphere now
and almost
to the City surface; another thousand miles or so and they'd be into
traffic. They cruised past
Imperial Spaceport, Han
having to alter course a couple of times to avoid other incoming ships. Still no one seemed to have noticed
them. Han grinned suddenly. This sure beat the hell out of
bopping
around in stolen Imperial shuttles. He
wondered whether Darth had ever considered a career in smuggling. With his personal built-in cloaking
device,
he'd be a natural for it.
They slipped
into
the upper layers of traffic flow, and Chewbacca gave a tense growl. "Yeah," agreed Han, swearing
internally as he speeded up to avoid being rammed by the ship behind
them. A moment later he
swerved, this time
swearing aloud, to avoid an oncoming city wing which had moved into his
apparently empty space in overtaking the ship ahead of it. "Uh, Darth," Han began, "any
chance you can make us visible again?"
"Drop us into
the slow lane," Vader ordered. "At
those traffic lights."
"Right." Han obeyed, cautiously lowering the Falcon
through four layers of traffic. He
thought, this is gonna give me a heart attack. Twice they nearly collided with
other vessels. Beside him,
Chewie was quietly whimpering.
The slow lane
was
all but empty. Han eased them
up to the
traffic lights, currently on "hold", wondering how many of his fellow
pilots would notice the battered Corellian freighter appearing out of
thin
air.
There was a
gasping
sound from Vader, more desperate than the Dark Lord's usual wheezing. Han risked a glance back and saw
Darth
leaning forward in his seat, his gloved hands held out in front of him. The hands were shaking.
Han asked,
"are you okay?"
Vader closed
his
hands into fists and sat up straighter. "Yes. The light's
changed. Go."
The Falcon
continued on its way. "Everyone
can see us now?" Han asked, though the answer was made obvious by the
sudden lack of ships trying to run into them.
"Yes. You've got the address of our
destination."
Han nodded,
checking again the address co-ordinates that Darth had programmed in
before
they left Hyperspace. They
didn't have
far to go. They were at the
right level
already, the slow lane being the lowest level at which flying was
possible. The address was in
one of the
poshest areas of the city, only ten blocks away from the Imperial
Palace. They'd be hiding the Falcon
right
under the Emperor's nose. Han
wondered
who Darth's acquaintance who owed him some favours might be, but he
doubted
that asking would get him anywhere.
"There,"
said Vader. "To the right."
They left the
lane
and turned toward a large, flat rooftop, which Han saw was one big
docking
door. The Falcon
hovered over
the closed door. "What now?"
Vader reached
forward to the com panel and punched in a nine digit code. The door slid open beneath them.
"We'll be
descending through five layers," Vader informed them, as Han slowly
manoeuvred the Falcon downward.
Sure enough, by the time the ship was settling onto the
docking bay
floor, five doors had spiralled shut above them.
"Okay,"
said Han, "so we're here." He
suspiciously eyed the scene that was visible through their viewscreen. It seemed like basically like any
hangar,
except for the absence of technicians. Usually
there'd be ground crew running around everywhere.
Han couldn't see anyone, not even any
droids. "Where's the
welcoming
committee?"
Darth Vader
ignored
his question. The Dark Lord
stood up,
then paused for a moment, leaning with one hand closed around the top
of the
passenger seat. Then he
strode out of
the cockpit. Han and
Chewbacca looked
at each other, then Han shrugged and followed, with Chewie just behind
him.
As they
followed
Vader down the boarding ramp, a door swooshed open in the wall ahead of
them,
revealing a brightly lit corridor that glowed in contrast to the dingy
hangar
bay lights. Outlined darkly
against the
corridor was the figure of what seemed to be a tall humanoid male, but
Han
couldn't see any further details.
The figure gave
a
happy-sounding yell and hurried toward them, holding his arms out to
the Dark
Lord of the Sith. As Han
reached the
bottom of the ramp, he watched in astonishment while the man clasped
Vader's
upper arms in an almost-hug, and Vader reached out and did the same to
him. Han supposed that they
couldn't
really hug, or something awful might happen to Darth's chest box.
"Lord
Vader!" the man exclaimed, sounding gleeful.
"Firelord, it's good to see you!"
"And
you," Vader agreed. The Dark
Lord
disengaged himself from the man's grasp and turned to glance at the
cautiously
approaching Han and Chewie. "Colm,"
said Vader, "I'd like you to meet Han Solo and
his co-pilot Chewbacca -- "
The
introduction
was interrupted by Han's involuntary cry of, "I don't believe it!"
Vader's friend,
now
fully visible, cast a wry grin at Darth. "I
guess we can dispense with the pseudonym," he said.
"It looks like Mr. Solo's recognised
me."
Han was staring
helplessly at him. He knew he
was being
an idiot, but his brain just didn't want to shift back into gear. Not when he was standing face to
face with
one of the most famous -- and theoretically, one of the most dead --
crimelords
in recent galactic history.
"Baccara
Chovitza," the man introduced himself, shaking hands with the
still-staring Han. "Nice to
meet
you. I've heard of you two,
you've got
quite a reputation. Good to
see you've
had the brains to join up with Lord Vader."
"Yeah,"
Han managed. "Nice to meet
you
too."
Chovitza had
been
dead -- or not, Han reminded himself -- since long before Han had got
into the
smuggling scene, but he still enjoyed near legendary status. Jabba the Hutt was a shoplifter
compared to
him. And just as famous was
Chovitza's
supposed appalling death. The
destruction of Chovitza's territory at the hands of the Empire was the
sort of
story that mama criminals told their junior criminals so they'd go to
bed
without whining. Shut
up and go to
bed or you'll die like Chovitza.
The master
criminal's formerly golden hair and beard had gone grey, the hair being
chopped
off at ear level instead of reaching to his waist as it did in his
famous
images, and the beard trimmed short instead of being chest-length and
braided. But it was still the
same guy.
Baccara
Chovitza
grinned at Han. "You just
stick
with Lord Vader," he advised, "it's a good career move.
He can even bring you back from the
dead."
The door to the
corridor opened again, and a slender woman hurried out to join them. Han was so flummoxed already that
the new
apparition did no more than slightly jolt him.
Sure, if Chovitza was alive, then why not his equally dead
mistress? Han couldn't
remember her
name, but he knew there'd been a roaring trade in pin-ups of her, in --
or out
-- of her dancing girl costume.
She
still looked good, her purple skin barely wrinkled and her hair the
same deep
blue as in the pictures, though Han wasn't going to speculate on how
much hair
dye might have been enlisted to accomplish that.
The silvery dress she was wearing was a lot more modest
than her
outfits in the pin-ups.
"Lord
Vader," she said, "I'm so glad you're alive."
It was the sort
of
meeting, Han thought, in which one usually plants a chaste kiss on the
cheek of
one's friend's wife, but as that was not possible for Vader, the Dark
Lord
simply clasped her hands instead.
"Melna,"
Vader acknowledged her warmly, "how are you?
And the children?"
Melna the
former
pin-up gave a rueful little grimace. "They're
not children any more, as they keep reminding us.
Bryam's married now, his wife's expecting
their second son. Vinda's
expecting
too. A girl this time, so
Colm will
finally have a grand-daughter to fuss over.
And Camar's just starting at the University of Coruscant. She's coming home for the weekend
tomorrow
night, will you still be here? I
know
she'd love to see you." Han
listened to the domestic details in silence, marvelling at the concept
of Darth
Vader the Old Family Friend.
"I don't think
so," Vader said quietly. "I'll
be sorry to miss her. We
won't impose on you long. We'd
like to keep the Falcon here, possibly overnight. We should be off-planet tomorrow. If not -- " he shrugged.
Baccara
Chovitza
frowned. "Is there anything
else
we can do? You know I don't
have much
of an organisation anymore, but if we can help -- "
"No. Thank you.
I'd like to rest before we set out; an hour of meditation
should be
sufficient. Perhaps General
Solo and
Chewbacca are hungry. After
that, we'll
be out of your way. The less
you know
of our intentions, the better."
"We still owe
you, My Lord," Chovitza persisted, sounding unhappy.
"If there's anything --"
Vader said
dryly,
"if we don't get out of this, you can attend our executions. It will be nice to see some friendly
faces."
Osheen Nevoy,
Moff
of Coruscant, wet his lips, swallowed convulsively, and straightened
his
uniform jacket for the third time in the past minute.
He still had about twenty seconds, he reckoned, before the
Emperor grew impatient of waiting for his arrival.
He used that time to think a very swift prayer, bid a
mental
goodbye to his daughters, and reassure himself that yes, the most
recent update
of his will was perfectly fine and there wasn't any way he should have
improved
it.
He was going to
make himself ill, he knew, if he kept carrying on like this every time
Palpatine summoned him, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Not after he'd seen what had
happened to his
predecessor.
Deciding that
his
twenty seconds must be up, he turned the corner and strode the few
steps down
the corridor to the door of Palpatine's audience chamber. The red-masked Imperial Guards
admitted him
in silence.
Palpatine, he
saw
with a shock, was not waiting at his desk on the upper level. He was standing at the base of the
stairs,
only a few feet away from Nevoy. The
Emperor looked immensely pleased with himself, and was rubbing his
hands
together.
Nevoy knelt. "You sent for me, Your Majesty."
"Yes, my
friend," said Palpatine, and Nevoy wished that the Emperor wouldn't
call
him that. He seemed to
remember that
those were the last words Palpatine had spoken to the late Grand Moff
Ormrod.
"I want you to
arrange a little reception ceremony," the Emperor continued. "We will be having visitors."
Nevoy waited.
"An attempt
will be made to take two of my guests from me.
I want our visitors admitted to the Palace without
difficulty. Let them reach my
apartments. They are,
however, not to leave. I will
discuss the details with the Captain
of the Guard. Meanwhile, I
want you to
speak with Dr. Hayashida. He
is to
supervise the installation of a life support unit in the Great Hall,
that will
double as a display case. He
will know
the design I mean."
I'm glad he will,
thought
Nevoy, because I don't have the first clue what you're
talking about.
Emperor
Palpatine
chuckled, "oh yes, my friend, we are going to enjoy ourselves. An old acquaintance is coming to
visit."
"Yes, Your
Majesty?"
"Oh yes. My friend, we will soon be graced by
a visit
from Lord Vader."
Go to Chapter 9
Return to The
Adventures of Darth Vader
Return to Front Page