Han
sped up the stairs, seeking cover for his advance through the palace
corridors. His boots slipped on the smooth marble, their scuffling
drowned by blasts and alarm sirens.
His
shoulders bruised the walls as he ducked beneath heavy cross-fire.
Focused, he did not feel the burns the near misses left behind. His rage had burned away most sensation long ago.
He slipped
past sealed doors, now blasted ajar, and penetrated the foyer.
Red spilled across the path where the Imperial Guards had fallen.
Han noted the absence of scoring or wounds; their swirling cloaks
the only color among the muted greys and blacks.
His
hands sweated and he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder.
‘Chewie won't be there, stupid,’ he thought.
Chewie was still lost in mourning, along with the remaining
survivors from their home planet. An
entire population 'relocated' to serve the greater needs of an
Imperial labor shortage. The fact
that many perished in the "transfer", the Empire apparently
considered just part of the transactional cost.
There
would be a high transactional cost for the Empire today.
The Rebels planetary siege had ended with this single,
marshaled assault. The
discovery of the force inhibitors gave the Rebellion the last tactical advantage
they needed to break through the Emperor's defenses. But Han had no
need for full-scale attacks or battle plans.
He preferred the clarity of revenge.
He
should have tried something long before Kashyyyk. But he hadn’t, just as he
had not believed the stories that Leia and her operatives uncovered after
Bespin. But now
he knew better. What happened at Kashyyyk was more than evil. It carried the taint of something darker
to it. To Han, it would always be something he could have prevented. If he had
only believed.
He
gripped the thermo device tightly on his belt.
It would take out every living thing within a 50-meter range.
With it, he could not miss. He
would not hesitate.
He
had never planned much before - impulse, intuition and daring had given him
most everything in life. The rest he had stolen or done without.
But if the coldness of this plan had felt alien, it was nothing next
to the coldness he felt when he thought of how he -- how they -- he corrected
himself -- had been betrayed. He
had made certain he'd outpaced the rebel forces pouring past the
Imperial Troops stationed before the
Palace. He'd paid dearly for the Inner Palace schemas. And then again
to keep them out of Leia's hands.
Han
blinked the sweat out of his eyes, moving cautiously through the next
chamber. Leia could have no
part in this. This was
dirty work, and even if she approved of the purpose, she could never
have agreed to his methods. ‘Still the Princess, always the
Princess,’ he thought and
then shut her and her objections far away.
The
inner chamber was frigid, the air clammy against his face.
He slowed his breathing, trying to hear past his beating heart.
He could hear it echo through the barren space, every pulse betraying
his living presence to the dead.
He
continued gingerly past more reddened pools of cloth and bodies, skimming
around the grey crumple that had been an Imperial General. ‘ Where
are your armies, now?’ he mocked
the corpse. He slid into the small access corridor he discovered on the
schemas and knelt.
His
breath echoed harshly in the small space. This was the only way to enter
the throne room without being immediately detected.
Unless the Emperor picked
up on Han's approach. His skin tickled as he worked his work through the
electronic coding. Damn the Force. If he were lucky, all attention would be focused on the
Rebel attack. No need to worry
about this one approaching life form. Han
did not believe in prayer, so he forced his fingers to type in the lengthy
sequence even faster.
The
hatch slid open, and he jammed his body through the opening. Designed for
maintenance droids, he twisted and slithered through the dark corridor until he
entered a cavernous darkness.
He was beneath the Throne Room.
He
moved carefully, keeping his back to the wall. The dark heightened his senses - he could feel the smooth
wall, cool under his hands. Muffled
screams came from above.
Han
touched the outer access door and paused.
The sounds were louder - over and over the same words:
"Please, no. Please, I
followed your orders exactly. Please –“
The voice choked and a sharp wail spilled into the darkness, landing deep
in Han's gut. Using the sound as a
shield, he popped the door open.
The
light flooded his vision. This was
his most vulnerable moment and he quickly fumbled for the thermo device and
triggered the firing sequence. The
dealer had warned him that to be absolutely sure his target should be in sight
and within 15 meters. He held
onto the final switch while his eyes adjusted. The throne
stretched above him to his left. He crouched at the side of the dais, shielded
from view by the arches that stretched into the corners of the room like
inverted stepping stones.
Acrid
burning reached the back of his throat as he edged closer.
He blinked, and twisted his head to find the smell.
The dark robes were hard to see at first -- so well did they blend in
with the grey-black stone. The face
was lined, its green-tinted skin frozen by a life of hate and cruelty.
Even in death, the Emperor could lock a man into icy
stillness.
And
still Han remained, refusing to accept that this enemy had walked away,
slipped past him by the simplest act of death. So still, that Han almost
missed the soft brush of feet near the top of the dais. Han's blaster was
not still, targeting the movement even as he flicked his eyes up.
Luke
stood next to the throne, light saber humming. ‘He doesn’t look any
different.’ Han’s first thought circled wildly, taking him
back to the last time he had seen Luke.
Was Hoth really so long ago? Then
his awareness sharpened. No, this
was not the Luke he knew.
The
saber’s light had been swallowed by the same darkness that had once
nurtured the Emperor. Luke's own darkness -- black fabric,
black boots, blackened eyes, filled with a fierce hunger -- all a pale
echo of the Emperor lying dead at his feet.
The limp body of an imperial
operative Luke had tortured to death made the image symmetrical.
It had been Luke's soft voice questioning his servant.
Just as it had been Luke's
hand that had signed the relocation order for Chewie's planet.
Not the Emperor. Not
some stranger. Han pushed away the hollowness that sprang,
unwelcomed. Grief would not
consume him. His memories would not
betray him. Not here, confronted by his
enemy.
Han's
hand tightened on the trigger. He
closed his eyes and felt the his fingers spasm as he detonated the bomb.
Die, the device sang and he felt it carry the weight of his anger and
fury and loss into the air between them.
The
air grew biting, forcing Han's eyes open. Luke gestured with his right hand and
Han's throat locked, the air bleeding past his lips.
Han's fingers fell from the thermo bomb, numbing cold shooting up his arm
into his chest. The device pulsed against his thigh, and then fell silent.
The blast had been neatly blocked with the impatient flex of Luke's
leather glove.
The
pain unbalanced Han, causing him to sway, choking, forcing his defiance
past his silence. And within that well of pain stood Luke, smiling
triumphantly. Han’s mind
went numb. ‘I was supposed to die
destroying Luke,’ he thought painfully He had never considered any other
outcome. After Luke had turned, he
had known he had no other choice.
Neither
man moved. Han, hating,
filled with impotent remembering. Luke,
light saber at the fore, eyes fixed above Han's head,
looking distractedly past Han,
gazing at something beyond the throne room.
Nothing seemed to register in Luke's eyes.
Not the dead, scattered like bones across somber marble. Not
Han, his heart bleeding from a betrayal he could not and would not understand.
Not even the rebel troops threading their way through the chamber
entrance, weapons drawn and ready, force inhibitors carried like talismans.
Then
Luke wavered, his saber falling. Han followed
the saber’s motion numbly, air suddenly streaming back into his starved lungs.
The first shock troops had been assigned the largest force
inhibitors. They sent up a
tooth-jarring hum that even Han could sense.
Reacting,
Han jerked his blaster from the holster and aimed it squarely at Luke’s chest.
It was only then that he realized the rebel soldiers had poured up
the dais, cutting off Han's
line of fire. Swearing, he lowered the weapon, his eyes tightly locked on
Luke.
More
and more troops plunged into the throne room, almost piling into one another to
reach the heart of their hated enemy.
One veteran, scarred by an Imperial pogrom, lunged recklessly for
Luke's saber. Luke tried to strike back with a Force he longer possessed,
his feet slipping on the marble. Another
soldier took advantage of the diversion to blast the saber out of Luke’s hand. Han swore again, his voice drowned by the weight of men and
women crowding the room. There
would be no chance for him here. He
pushed his way out of the crowd, his fingers frustratedly
tapping the deadened thermo. A
shout went up from the dais. Han
turned back, catching the flash of Luke's derisive smile as the troops
dragged the Emperor's commander-in- chief, and now self-appointed
successor, down to the cold floor. The
smile would twist into Han long after the memory would fade.
********************
"Luke!
Move it!" Han stomped his feet impatiently,
trying not to express more irritation than necessary. The kid needed
cheering up, but even he had his limits.
The
past three nights would have tested the best of men.
The kid must be made of stone -- first, a trip to the Kader to game,
then a three hour jaunt through the Shlomo for several rounds of exotic
performances, and finally a quick shot at the Tertevov Races.
Nothing seemed to work. Nothing could shake Luke back into the
cocky, arrogant, irritatedly self-assured farm boy that had both
annoyed and secretly amused Han.
But
no one was immune to the Manacles Palace. Pleasure -- the ultimate mood elevator -- would do the
trick. Han chortled, leaning
casually against Luke's entryway, letting anticipation build in slow,
waving pulses. Well, what else should
one spend ones reward money on?
Han
waved his hand over the sensor, setting off the chimes again.
What was holding that kid up? He
tried peering though the force field, but it had been opaqued for privacy.
He
sighed. He really should have kept moving. Even after the brief rush
of destroying the Death Star, the embarrassingly enjoyable award
ceremony on the Yavin moon -- he should be gone by now.
"Keep moving or die" -- that was his motto, and he'd never
once regretted it. Yet.
Han
shifted his hip against the force
field, bouncing off the field slightly.
He watched the crowd of fellow visitors stream by -- nothing unusual
there, just the typical hues of races, beings, and droids found at every
large commercial center. The field gave way suddenly and he nearly overbalanced
backwards.
"Damn!"
he swore, grabbing Luke's arm before catching his footing.
"I wait for hours and then you pop up like a womp rat from its hole."
Luke
stood silently in Han's grip. His
eyes were tired and he looked as if, for a moment, he wanted to
retreat back into his rented cubicle. Han tightened
his fingers and pulled Luke onto the moving passageway.
"Never mind. You
won't believe what I've got planned...."
He
kept his hand on Luke's arm until they were out of sight of the rest areas.
He knew he was babbling. Well,
what else was he to do in this silence?
The
Manacles Palace was by invitation only, but Han, with a judicious amount of
preparation and credits, was waved through. He glanced over to see if
Luke was impressed, but the young man's attention wandered again.
He stood in the entryway, blond hair glinting in the blue highlights,
looking at his feet.
Can't
take him anywhere, Han thought and hustled them both into the private room he'd
reserved.
The room was everything he expected. It had been designed
to his specifications -- opulent red walls and bright green recliners matched
the plush blue carpet. A small orange fountain
sprayed fragrances into the air.
Luke
moved into the room, looking uneasy. Han
signaled the menu bar with a flick of his wrist and a holographic image
appeared. "Gentle Creatures. Please select your species."
"Well
Luke. What'll it be? Redarian is
always a classic choice, but I've heard that the Cynthains are
particularly skilled."
Luke
sat down on one of the recliners and jumped up again as it molded itself to
his body. His eyes, a bit wider than before, darted around the room
to fasten on the fountain again.
"M
not sure." Han thought he heard Luke sigh, but the mumbling was hard
to decipher.
"Mansurians?"
the holograph piped in cheerfully. "So sorry Gentle Creatures, but we
do not carry that species. Please
select another."
Luke
had turned an unusual light pink. Han's grin widened.
He could really get into this. "I think we'll try something
more --" Han did not move his eyes from Luke's face, his tense hands clutching
an empty drinking cup from the recliner tray.
"Show us your novice trainer. Preferably humanoid. "
Luke
started and then slammed down the cup.
"Screen off!" he shouted, and the hologram faded abruptly.
"What's'
the matter, Luke? You want to try something more unusual?
This is the place then. They've it all - flaming sex, simi-sex,
twenty-one stands. Hell, I've
got credits. We could even try the musoids."
Luke's
eyes flared blue. "Don't give
yourself airs, Han. I know what a musoid is and you couldn't handle
one even if you were cloned three times over."
He jostled the fountain, causing some of the simulated water to
splash over the edge.
‘Much
better ,’ Han thought. "Your
education is very limited, my boy. But
don't be too hard on yourself. It must have been difficult coming up with
--certain experiences -- on that backwater."
"Well,
that backwater had a lot more going for it that the latest perversion.
I used to--" Luke's face lost all color and the words died. He turned away, studying the shifting colors of the recliner
as if they were a new creature.
‘Damn,’
thought Han. He had had him almost back
to normal. He paused to regroup,
before signaling the holo again.
"Yes,
Gentle Creatures?"
"My
friend and I would like two - no make that four - Duras, extra dark."
Han winked at the horrified expression on Luke's face as he signaled the
holo to close. "Don't worry
kid. It's a drink, not a "perversion" as you call it."
Luke
blushed again, moving back to the recliner.
He muttered something, just out of Han's earshot and remained there
until the drinks arrived.
Han
carefully portioned the drinks to weigh heavily in favor of Luke.
After the first taste the young man would be barely standing. By the
time he had taken his third cup,
he'd be feeling no pain -- and hopefully no inhibitions.
Han congratulated himself on his staying power -- clean living got you
nowhere. He could at least still
tell his colors apart.
"So
what'll be," he asked Luke. "Ready
for some perversion?"
Luke
barely raised a flush at this. "I
didn't call it perversions," he answered, sipping his drink slowly.
"Did
too. I heard it." Han nettled.
"I
meaned," Luke was starting to
slur a bit, "those weren't my words. They were someone else's".
His eyes looked lost and wandering.
"Whose
were they? That crazy old fool? Damn Jedis always did have a purity streak
to them."
Luke shut his mouth and shook his head.
"Ah,
your Aunt and Uncle. Well, no
wonder, what else do you expect living on a moisture farm in the
middle of nowhere? Smiling was
probably a perversion." Han was getting warm under the vest, angry
at all the narrow minded stupidity in the universe. Particularly when it tried to interfere with his
pleasure.
Luke
shook his head again and swallowed. His eyes watered a bit.
"Well,
it couldn't be your friend, Biggs? He didn't
seem too planet bound. Don't find too many of those fighting a
rebellion."
Luke
looked up at this, his eyes fading under
the lights, washed away in a face lined with pain.
He breathed softly, "Biggs wasn't ‘planet bound."’ He
gulped the rest of his drink and stood quickly.
Swaying,
Luke would fallen through the fountain if Han had not caught him.
Flipping the man over on the recliner, Han checked his pulse.
Duras wore off quickly -- that's what made them such great
icebreakers.
Dammed
if he could figure out what was bothering the kid.
He was acting like he'd lost his pet fullat.
Han disposed of the rest of his drink into the trash slot.
His eyes were still watering in reaction.
Damn side effect of the Duras -- made you look like you were crying.
Han
took a sharp gulp of air and turned around to look at the resting figure.
He'd been a fool. Of course, Luke had been acting like he'd lost a pet. He'd
lost enough for twenty pets. Family,
friends, teacher -- all dead in a matter of days.
No medals could make up for that. No grand words could cancel
those debts.
Han
shifted himself uneasily back into his brightly colored recliner.
He didn't understand how to handle this.
He shouldn't have to handle this.
He really shouldn't be there.
Luke
moved and spoke. "Biggs. Don't go. Biggs..."
He was crying, his face pale as the Duras removed the last of his
barriers.
Han
swore to the gods of his family and their forgotten honor.
He could have the Falcon ready in a matter of hours.
He could sling Luke into his cubicle, leave him
sleeping it off and get back to his life. Pay off his debts.
Luke
rolled limply as Han lifted him off
the recliner. Then he jerked,
throwing his arms around Han, embracing him. The warmth of Luke's body sent shocks through Han's
middle, his cock thickening in response.
Not now, he told it, struggling with a Luke gone akimbo.
Han reached behind, trying to untangle Luke's arms.
The Duras should have worn off by now.
Luke's
hands kept moving. Han felt a
feather touch on his face, followed by the softest kiss.
His cock lifted inside his pants,
the pressure building. Han steadied himself against the recliner
and started to pull away.
"Han,"
Luke whispered and his mouth opened confidently, tasting Han, sliding his
tongue beneath his defenses. Movement flared into light, building into a
flow that carried Han with it. He pulled
Luke closer, slipping his fingers beneath the white tunic, soothing the
tension away. He kissed Luke
again, seeking the flesh between the neck and shoulder.
He filled his mouth with sensation, savoring.
So
this is what he needed, Han thought and then jerked when Luke rolled
off the recliner, hands reaching into Han's pants, the cool fingers pressed
hard against his cock. "You
better know where you're going, farm boy," he hissed.
Luke,
bent down on one knee, glared up at him. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not the first" he
said, and then took the tip of Han’s cock into his mouth. Han leaned
back, thanking gods he no longer believed in.
As Luke's lips and tongue pushed him higher, he remembered to send a
brief thanks to Biggs too. Then, the demands of the moment took charge
and he pressed his hands over Luke's ears, thrusting his cock deeper and
deeper into Luke.
The
room circled in on itself, the colors and light spinning Han into a web of
pleasure until his senses combusted. He shuddered, clutching Luke's
shoulder's fiercely as every muscle arched and then released.
He felt the coolness of air as Luke rose and seated himself on the
recliner. Struggling against
the torpor, Han peeled open an eye and grinned.
Luke's
face was flushed, his lips held firmly between
his teeth. His breathing came fast
and his eyes glittered. Han
shut his mouth quickly. He was
never one to not return a favor --
particularly when it had been so generously given.
His
hands found Luke's cock, and he stroked it. Luke trembled, and his body flushed a dark red.
He buried his face into Han's chest,
biting and licking. He
tried to push Han away and then, with the next movement, tried to pull him
closer. He came quickly,
pulsating over and over.
Han
leaned back, satisfied. Luke curled
up against him, drifting into a light rest. Han leaned over, signaling the hologram.
"Yes,
Gentle Creature?" The ever-present politeness could grow grating. But
Han was in a forgiving mood.
"Three
more rounds of Duras. But add a stim."
Han waved the creature off, but it raised one limb before he
finished the gesture.
"Any
preference?" the holo asked.
Han shook his head, again waving the creature away. He didn't
need any further distractions.
Luke
stirred, moving the recliner. His
face was clear, his breathing slowed into a deeper slumber.
His hair, moistened with sweat, stood on ends.
Han smiled and brushed it flat.
You can take the boy off the farm...." he thought and chuckled. Maybe he'd stick around a bit longer, after all.
Jabba could wait.
********************
Three
months later, Jabba was the least of his worries.
Shaking
the hair from his eyes, Han sneered back at his interrogator.
Amateurs all of them. The
room was bare, the colorants used on the surfaces ten years out of date.
His captor's methods were equally outdated.
His
head rocked back as the Hadden's fist connected with a painful snap.
He let the blow roll through him and spat blood back.
"Tz-where
did you hide the cargo-li?" Out
of the corner of his eye he saw the second blow coming and braced for it.
His arms were tied firmly behind his back, wrists now numb.
They had even used rope, instead of DuraNeb. Lucky for him. At least the rope's numbness would fade.
He
peered dumbly at the Hadden, emoting stupidity
with enough effort to convince the greatest simpleton.
Some times you really had to work with them to get them where you wanted.
The
Hadden snorted in frustration, then turned and shuffled out the open door.
They didn't even bother to lock it.
Han would have smiled except the situation was already embarrassing.
Bad enough to have been caught by amateurs.
But to have been caught on the return trip of a smuggling run
-- that was even more embarrassing. There was no cargo.
Or credits. Luke had insisted that the funds be wired directly to the
rebellion as soon as the sale was completed.
Han
licked the blood from his lips. The
kid really was taking this rebellion too seriously. And the rebellion was taking
the kid too seriously. Let him blow up one
death star, and they would have had him on every skirmish run till he dropped.
The
side trip with Han was supposed to be relaxing. Han could hear shouting as someone -- or something -- clattered against the walls.
He hoped Luke was doing allright.
He
shifted, working the ropes a bit looser. It
was too early to stage a break.
Darkness would be only a few hours away.
And Chewie would know to hold off his takeover of the Falcon until then. It was just a matter of waiting.
Han
shifted again. He wished he could
have had time to clue Luke in on the plan before they'd been separated.
A
sharp scream caught his wandering thoughts and he strained to listen.
Could have been human. Maybe a young male.
Suddenly
the whole experience did not seem
that funny.
He
almost missed the entrance of the new interrogator. A sleek droid, half his height, moved silently across the
room. It had been refurbished -- a
few after market attachments added that Han knew were not legal. Even in this
territory. The stakes suddenly
rebalanced.
He looked around for the operator and then swallowed hard.
It was fully automated. Which
meant it wouldn't stop until it had what it wanted.
"I
have completed my identification and interrogation of your partner.
Please confirm your identity." A soft whirring began as the droid
switched to recording mode. Han
remained silent.
"Your
cooperation is requested, but not required.
Your name is Han Solo, you operate several smuggling entities.
Currently a death marker has been placed against your name by a
Tattoine lord, Jabba the Hutt. You
have been recently engaged by
rebellious elements for fund raising efforts.
Please confirm."
Han's
estimation of the programmer inched up a notch. Recent intelligence was expensive. Correct intelligence was even pricier. He twitched slightly as the first needle
slipped into his shoulder. A
faint buzzing swirled around his ears.
"Your
partner initially refused to
cooperate. But remarkably, he was
easier to turn. No drugs were necessary. The
Force-sensitive are easier to persuade to the rightness of one's cause."
The droid raised another mechanical limb, and prepared the next
injection.
Han’s
thinking grew more muddled. ‘The
Force. Always back to the Force, Luke’d
be okay if it wasn’t for the crazy old Jedis.’ The second needle slid home.
"Luckily
for us, he feels extreme loyalty to his cause.
Which is more easily
transferable. Of course, he wishes
you would share the same degree of commitment.
But he understands. He has
great caring for you."
Han
blinked. His eyes felt large and papery raw.
His head weighed heavier than before.
He shook it roughly.
"Understand
then, that when he decided to cooperate, he felt badly that he could not give us
everything we needed. Which is why
we are here. "
Han shook his head again, more in denial than in an effort
for clarity.
"I
see you do have doubts. Your friend
assured us you would. So he
told to us to tell you that
in spite of what Biggs may have thought, he does not consider it a perversion.
Not any more."
Han
jerked himself upright. His heart pounded painfully. "What the hell..." he muttered before he forced his
mouth shut. The drugs had thrown
him off balance. That was all. No
way would Luke have cooperated. Force or no Force.
The
droid continued, its monitoring lights intensifying. "We have taken a break from his interrogation. It became
clear that you were the one who held the transaction codes for the credit
transfers. Please confirm."
Han
felt his stomach roil. This was not
a dumb cargo interception. Someone had credits to gather intelligence and fund
the droid. Someone who could detect
a 3 million credit transfer, even through unsanctioned channels.
"Please
confirm." The droid hummed
expectantly into the silence. Han
twisted hard against the ropes, but his muscles had slackened.
'Oh Luke,' his mind whispered. 'What
have you done?' The room titled slightly. He
closed his eyes against the next needle.
The
droid made a sharp crackling noise and then fell silent.
Breathing heavily Han tried to focus.
The warm hands that tugged at the ropes felt odd, unreal.
The hand that brushed the hair out of his eyes did not fit the cold
sterility of an interrogator.
It
was only when he heard Luke whisper his name, that clarity returned.
Shoving himself to one knee, he leaned on Luke's shoulder for support and
tried to stand. He fell, the painful contact with the cement a distant
experience. He shoved again and felt the floor spin.
"Hold
still, Han. Let me try something.
It worked for me." Luke sat
cross-legged, curling his arm around Han's shoulder. Han relaxed into the
embrace. He felt weightless, his
every motion disconnected. He heard
Luke take a deep breath and then one hand was placed on his chest.
Heat radiated away from the contact, seeping through his torso, then his
arm, and finally reaching his face. Cold,
sharp clarity flooded in its wake, and a welcome sense of well being.
Even his arms gave off their complaining.
No numbness. Only crispness
and the warmth between Luke and his chest.
Han
shuddered. "What did you
do?" His voice trailed
hoarsely.
Luke
shrugged. "When they started
with the drugs, at first I started babbling.
Luckily, it was just personal things. Nothing about the mission. And then
I found I could clear the effects away if I just did this --"
Luke
reached out with his hand again. Han
pulled himself abruptly up off the floor. He
swayed briefly, before feeling the firmness in his limbs.
"What
the hell are you talking about!" His
voice sounded clearer. He scanned
the room for the droid, and saw it
smoking next to the interrogation chair. "What's
going on here?" He suddenly
wanted to get away, as far away as possible.
Luke
looked at him bleakly. "I
*was* explaining --". He bit off his
words and sighed. "Han, we've
got to get moving now. Chewie will
be waiting for us."
'But
I didn't have time to tell him about Chewie,' he thought before shifting his
gaze away. "Right, kid.
Explanations are for later."
Without pausing for a response, he hustled into the corridor.
And ignored the motionless guards, the
unlocked doors, and Luke's silent presence until well after they returned to the
Rebel base.
*******************
Luke tested the strength of the force inhibitor outside his cell using familiar force pathways.
The give increased, but not enough.
He
circled the room again -- small, stark white walls, no windows, no opening
in or out except for the heavily shielded door. A small rest area with
not much else. They'd
stripped him of all insignia and weapons.
They thought they'd left him with nothing.
Except his dulled sense of the Force and a simmering rage.
When
his operative had planted the force inhibitors in the Emperor's throne
room, Luke intended to be far away when he finally struck down the
Emperor. And he had been - buildings away, sensing
the Emperor's feebleness increase under the relentless pulsing of
the inhibitors. By the time
Luke attacked, it had been too late for Palpatine. A perfect plan. The
death of the Emperor would be blamed on the rebels, with the presence of the
inhibitors providing the necessary physical evidence.
But
they had miscalculated the strength of the rebel attack.
Luke stifled the urge to reach out with the Force now, knowing that
he'd only find a vestige of his potency.
Maybe he shouldn’t have entered the throne room.
But the risk had seemed so slight. Once his operative had disabled the
force inhibitors, it was a simple step to kill
the only witness. Besides, his
presence was necessary. Who else
could have verified that the Emperor had really died?
No, it would have worked perfectly, if the rebel troops had not broken
through. And that was not his
miscalculation. It was Palpatines.
He
touched one smooth wall. They'd
kept him here for three days. Hadn't
even tried to interrogate him. No point in dealing with the condemned.
The
hatch unsealed and Luke turned to meet his visitor.
A thin Argonian walked through the multiple field layers, glancing
nervously behind it. Its brilliant greens and blue scales had faded under
stress. The hatch closed quickly, stranding the creature between the white walls, floor and ceiling.
Luke
leaned against the back wall, his arms folded against the grey prison
coverall. The Argonian looked
for a place to sit. There was none.
"Acgehm."
The tongue flicked in irritation." I am your Advocate."
It paused, waiting for some sign.
Luke gave him nothing.
"As
I was saying, I am your Advocate. Your trial is tomorrow and we have much
to cover." The being
called up a holo. It was a
re-creation of the Death Star raid.
"We
will begin with your greatest contributions to the rebellion."
The soft voice hissed slightly.
"That, coupled with other mitigating factors-"
"What
are the applications against me," Luke interrupted.
The muscles in his right arm began twitching.
The
Argonian blinked, its flat mouth gaping. "You want me to state all
766 applications?"
Luke
smiled insultingly with his bared teeth. "Not
necessary. You are, after all, my
Advocate." He crouched down
against the wall. Now his left arm was twitching.
It still felt phantom pain, even after being synthetically replaced.
The creature was risking a lot by irritating him.
The
Advocate shuttered its double eyelids in agitation.
"Of course, I am. As such it
is my duty to bring all
evidence before the Senate. Not
just the favorable. We are,
after all seeking the truth." He raised his arm again, bringing up
another scene: Hoth. "Your
next contribution to the Rebellion...."
The
words grated on Luke's nerves. The force inhibitor had thrown him badly off
balance. He felt the darkness
pressing against him every moment now. His hold on himself weakened every passing day.
The key to being a master of the Dark Side was not to let the dark
side master you. Even when he possessed all
of his skill, it had
been difficult to keep the Emperor at
bay. Now, with Palpatine dead by Luke's own hands and the inhibitor......
Luke
leaned his head back against the cell wall. Hoth swam fuzzily in the center of the cramped room.
The Advocate kept talking, his soft whistles slicing into Luke's
brain. He had a headache.
"...there
is more to show on the positive side. However, in the interest of time, I will
need a complete statement of the last three years. Why you betrayed
the Rebellion after Bespin, the acts committed as the Emperor's Counselor of War and then
Counselor of Reeducation, and, of course, your recent proclamation of
yourself as the new Emperor." The
Argonian swung another jointed spur and a different holo appeared, a scribe waiting to
record Luke's statement.
Luke
stood slowly, feeling his bones crack. He stared through the holo, through
the Advocate, focusing his gaze inward. He had had enough. They had no
idea of what they were up against. They had no idea of
the power of the Force.
The
room grew colder. Luke strained
against the inhibitor, channeling all of his rage, all of his pain,
all of his disgust and contempt. The temperature fell again and then again.
The Advocate's voice faltered, its movements growing sluggish.
Luke pushed harder, feeling the ice grip his skin, press against his
eyelids. The Argonian hissed
and turned towards the door. He
fell before he could reach the seal. Luke's
own body was shivering, but his internal defenses still protected him
against any serious harm. The
reptile was another matter.
The
seal split and two armed guards entered the room, scooping up the Advocate.
They kept their blasters trained on Luke.
He gathered the remaining strands of the Force and pulled against their
minds. Their blasters did not
waver and before he could try again, they shut the seal, leaving Luke
trembling in the frigid cell. He
sank back on his haunches, letting it all slough away from him. He
felt so weak. But it had shown him enough.
Enough to know that he was not as helpless as he feared.
As the Emperor had so often told him -- nothing could stand against
a Dark Knight of the Force.
He
let his head rest against the wall for support. The walls seemed whiter in the cold. His eyes flickered, then
slid closed.
The
sound of the seal startled him, but he forced himself to remain motionless.
Another Advocate so soon?
A
man, his face distorted through the security fields, sauntered past the guards,
dismissing them with a nonchalant wave. Han
would never be mistaken for an Advocate. He
had been on the wrong side of the law far too often.
It showed.
Luke
narrowed his eyes and rigidly repressed the snarl that flared at the studied
casualness. Han
could not fool him. His fear --
doubt - and hate -- could be read
even through the inhibitor fields.
Han
nodded once and then looked around at the bare walls. "It suits you."
Luke
waited. Han shifted, the cramped
cell clearly forcing him closer than he would have he preferred.
Luke smiled inwardly at the evident discomfort.
"Cold,
bare of life. The perfect end for
someone like you. With luck, you'll
be able to stay conscious until the very end."
Luke
decided to play along. After all,
nothing else to do until he made his move.
"So how's Chewie doing? "
Han's
face flushed, then paled with the painful draining of blood.
"He'd be here if he could. But
don't worry. I'll be taking good notes for him. And his people."
Luke
shrugged in disinterest. Well maybe
he wouldn't play along. Han could be too predictable.
Sudden
movement swirled. Han's fist
cracked into Luke's face, forcing him back against the wall. Luke swallowed blood as he slid down the smooth surface
For a heartbeat, Luke wagered the
possibility of another assassination attempt.
But Han only stepped away, his eyes intense, his
lowered hand empty of any
weapons.
"But
there's one question they'd never want answered." Han bit the words out,
clipping them of all emotion. "One
that no one will ask. Probably
'cause they don't give a damn. They
don't want your explanation or
justifications. They just want you dead."
Han moved fractionally closer, the light glinting off his dark hair.
“And
you don't?'’ Luke asked sarcastically, moving his jaw against the swelling.
Then, with careful calculation, he made his next play.
"So you're the only one who wants to know why?
That's why you're here?" He
glided to his feet, boosting his movements with a trace of the Force.
It would give him a ghostly, almost viper-like appearance.
Luke
stretched, watching Han react uneasily through lowered eyes.
"Interesting that you would ask the question now," he
continued. "When you weren't
interested before." He relaxed briefly against the wall before
straightening. "I mean, did
you really think you could take me down?"
"I've
done better than that against worse odds." Han was playing a dangerous game. "You should know that.
You were there." ‘ Needling a Dark Lord was never wise’, Luke
thought, then dismissed the idea as a distraction.
Han
plunged on. "And not even the Emperor could survive a thermo blast. And you
were never more than Palpatine’s apprentice."
He squared his shoulders, relaxing the hands that had involuntarily
curled again into fists.
Luke
responded instinctively. “And I
am the man who killed Palpatine. Which makes me the Emperor, now doesn’t
it?” He shifted against the wall
and changed his line of attack. “But
what kind of man are you Han? One
who did not even attempt to rescue his friend from Vader’s torture cells. Not
that I minded that much. How
else would I have been introduced to my father? Or take my rightful place?"
The
words strummed though Han, his hand blurring into a blow that never came.
"Leia
and I had no idea you were on Cloud City." His voice grated harshly.
"No idea that they had succeeded in luring you there. And after I
had been placed in carbon freeze -- well, what was she supposed to do, leave me
there to die?" Han stopped, breathing heavily.
"Nice
try, Luke," he continued after catching his breath.
"But even if it had been you that Vader had strapped down and
punctured full of needles, nothing
changes the fact that you *chose* to follow him. And by the time I got out of
carbon freeze—well there wasn’t much point to rescuing you.
We’d all heard about your personal involvement in hunting down the rest
of the rebel cells on Mon Calarami .Oh, yeah, you made your choice pretty damn
clear. And nothing that Leia or I did -- or did not do -- will ever change
that."
His
speech made, Han stepped back. Luke
allowed a sad smile to play across his face.
"Well Han, we'll never really know will we?
How it would have been if Ben had not lied to me about my father
How it would have been if Leia
had come back for me after I called and called for her. Instead
of Vader. How if would have been if you had come for me – well, maybe even
Kashyyyk might have been spared." he
calculated the pause, waiting for a few seconds before continuing.
"But as you said, Han, none of that really changes anything."
The
words had the desired effect. He could almost feel Han’s guilt growing, the
harsh edges of his intent blurring. This had been the first lesson he had
learned from his father. How to use
words to break the will. No need
for violence or direct action. Not
when you could use love as a weapon.
Luke
paused, carefully controlling his expression. He had tried to put his past
behind him after Bespin. But Han
had been his final weakness, as the Emperor called him. Palpatine used Han to mock
Luke almost daily. Until one winter’s morning, Luke
found himself scanning the daily intelligence packet on Han’s movements and
found himself curiously aloof, finally desensitized.
Luke had released the memory
of Han then with gratitude. His
feelings had become a deep, excruciating burden,
but the teachings of the Emperor finally smoothed away the last painful
edges of remembrance, leaving a honed, polished surface behind.
Like a rock, Luke knew he would never be moved again.
Nodding
slightly, Luke prodded Han again gently, almost sadly .
“None of it changes anything now,
does it, Han?” And waited,
watching with satisfaction as Han’s
eyes widened. The man’s expression had grown opaque, the lines around his
mouth and forehead deepened. 'His
hair has gone grey,’ Luke thought
and then nudged Han’s mind with the Force.
It
was too much, too obvious and Han reacted stepping further back, his hand
reaching for the gun belt he did not wear.
Then his arm dropped. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Guilt had been replaced by a surge of palpable
hate and rage. Emotions that Luke knew too well. They had covered him for
many years like well worn clothes.
"See
in you hell," Han snarled and then signaled the guards.
Stiffly, he jerked his way through the seal. Luke watched him leave, a
feeling of dissatisfaction settling.
Not very impressive after all these years. How many times had he played
this scene in his head? So many, and yet the reality was left wanting.
He
coughed against the bitter air. It
was colder than he thought. He
doubted his captors would try to readjust the temperature to accommodate
him. As he struggled to warm the cell,
he remembered the last time he had felt this cold.
A sudden image flared in his mind --
Han standing over him on Hoth, the winds stripping away their breath,
leaving them both numb.
The
memory gave Luke enough anger to pull the temperature up another few marks.
But the anger could never shield him from the pain, even after these many
years. And pain would not give him the will to warm the room
further. Grimly, he reached deeper, immersing himself in the bitterness that had
become part of his life.
********************
The
tent was small, barely enough to hold the two bodies close together.
Luke fumbled against the arms that enlaced him, relaxing only when
Han breathed his name.
"Stay
still kid. This thing isn't holding together."
Han's hands made small circles, the warmth bleeding through to
Luke's frozen muscles and skin.
Luke
shifted his legs, hoping for some sensation.
They felt cold and distant, the sensation pulling at his
consciousness. It was so cold, even with
Han's body pressing life into his side. The roar
of the wind echoed inside his chest, each gasp hurting worse than the next.
His lips became numb.
"Wake
up. Come on kid."
Han's seemed to have moved away, his voice coming from the other side
of the tent. Luke relaxed into the voice, letting himself drift.
The
grip on him tightened, shaking him back. "Damn you Luke, stay with
me." Luke tried to speak,
but his lips had frozen. He felt
his chest convulse with effort.
Softness
brushed against his lips, warmth and breath flowed from Han's kiss.
"Luke," Han whispered, then his mouth covered Luke's.
The taste -- smoke and hint of ice -- filtered through the
mind-numbing cold. Han's
kissing me, Luke thought. His
arms struggled, trying to return Han's embrace. The kiss deepened, spreading the warmth into his
core. I must be alive.
If alive, then Ben must be a dream. He
felt a sharp stab of relief.
"Ben,"
he whispered. Han shook him
again.
"That
old man is dead. Give it up,
Luke." Han's anger battered against his nerves and he flinched.
No, it hadn't been a dream. Ben
wanted him to leave. Wanted
him to leave Han.
"No,"
he croaked pushing back against the arms holding him down.
"Stay
still. This shelter won't hold.
Shhhh." Han's soft breath smoothed away the fear.
Han was there. It would
be allright.
He
woke inside the bacta tank, fluid surrounding him, deadening all
sensations. The procedure was
painful, his lungs coughing uncontrollably as the oxygenated fluid drained from
his lungs.
Wrapped
in the heat sealing blankets afterwards, he stretched his aching muscles.
They had very few resources on Hoth -- but the medico-droids had
been the best they could acquire on the after market.
His body ached, but the healing was well underway.
But
the fragmented dreams weren't healing.
He knew he had to leave for Dagobah.
Knew with that queer certainty
that had led him away from his home after his aunt and uncle were
killed.
The
door whooshed open and C3PO clattered into the room, followed by R2-D2 and
Leia. Listening to the droid's mindless chatter was a welcome distraction. He
didn't have to leave this minute.
He had to heal first, didn't he?
Leia
smiled in greeting, letting C3PO speak. She
wore her white thermal suit, almost blending into the cool walls.
Han
swaggered into the room, Chewie at his heels. "How're you feeling,
kid?" Han leaned over the
edge of the bed and peered loudly into Luke's face.
Luke felt a silly smile spread, stretching the new scar tissue.
"You don't look too bad to me. You look strong enough to pull
the ears off a gundark."
Luke
had long given up asking Han if the creatures
he referred to were real. Too many
farm boy jokes had worn that line of thought down. Over Han's
shoulder he could see Leia's frown of displeasure. Luke relaxed letting
their familiar banter flow past him.
Chewie’s
loud hooting caught his attention Han
had turned to face the Wookie. "Laugh
it up, fuzz ball,” he offered. Keeping
a close eye on Luke, Han moved over to Leia and put his arm around her.
"You didn't see us alone in the south passage.
She expressed her true feelings to me."
Han beamed as his arm encircled Leia.
Luke
felt a stab beneath his ribs. He
rubbed the spot, but the ache remained.
Leia
shoved Han. "What?
Why -- Why-- you-- stuck
up -- half-witted -- scruffy looking--- nerf herder!"
Leia sputtered as Han sauntered back towards Luke.
The ache grew deeper.
"Who’s
scruffy looking?!" Han exploded with righteousness.
In
one step, Han bent down towards Luke. "Must have hit pretty close to the
mark there to get her all
riled up like that, huh, kid?"
His breath warmed Luke's face. Luke
looked down at the floor, depression tugging at him. Han never spoke to
Luke like that.
Leia
nodded her head silently and approached the two men. Her
teeth were clenched as she glared at Han.
Luke felt irrelevant.
"Well,
I guess you don't know everything about women yet,"
she said and pulled Luke's face towards her lips.
The kiss was pleasant, but Luke felt tension roiling in his stomach.
As she moved back, Luke peered up at Han expectantly.
But Han had no eyes for him. Only Leia.
And only after she left the room, did Han seem to remember Luke.
By then, Luke had pasted a smug grin on his face.
As Han looked distractedly down at Luke, his mind was still clearly
on the princess. After a few
seconds, he finally muttered, "Take
it easy," and then walked hurriedly away.
Luke
leaned forward, watching Han leave. He sank back dejectedly as Han passed though the
bacteria seal. Who was he kidding?
Han had never promised anything. But lately, he had been careful to avoid even the appearance of commitment. To him. To the Rebellion.
And a thousand snow rescues would never change that.
But
what made it all worse was that whenever Leia
was around, Han had started acting different.
Ever since Luke had used the Force to get them out of the interrogation
cell.
His
chest started to throb, echoing the painful pulses in his face.
The medico droid was busy elsewhere, otherwise he'd ask for a painkiller.
But then again, given his latest string of hallucinations, maybe
not.
He
closed his eyes, feeling with his senses. The faint presence that he'd
always associated with Ben was not there.
But the dream -- or vision -- was still fresh in his memory. Luke
pushed the drink dispenser next to his bed and perused the recommended list
of drinks. He selected
alebe, more out of homesickness than anything else.
So
who could he talk to about this crazy idea? And what a bright idea.
Wandering through the star systems, searching aimlessly for a mythical
Jedi master. Han would laugh
at him. Leia would talk about the urgent need for men to support the rebellion.
Neither would understand. They
couldn't feel the Force, could not appreciate its existence. Not like he did
anyway. Luke sipped the drink,
barely registering its floral taste.
He
didn't understand it either. All
he ever wanted to be was like his father.
Since his family's death, all he could think of was destroying
the Empire. It wasn't like he was
abandoning his friends He
swallowed again. And Dagobah
was really only a short trip -
more like a detour. That couldn't hurt.
And well, --- Luke sipped the rest of his drink.
Han would do allright. Anyway,
Han'd made it clear that he wouldn't be staying around for long.
Luke
tossed the cup into the recycler. Come to
think of it, maybe it was best that Han didn't stick around.
Leia could be very convincing.
He
caught up on the missed briefings after he left the infirmary.
Pausing only briefly, he collected his few personal belongings
before heading to the flight area. The fighter's engines whined as
they were prepped for battle.
He
ran over to Chewie, busily welding the Falcon.
"Chewie." Luke called out.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" Smiling, he turned to leave, but was caught in
Chewie's arms. Luke returned the hug,
wishing, not for the first time, he could understand what Chewie was
saying. Another thing to learn
after the Rebellion.
He
moved away, peering up at Han. He stood, braced against the Falcon, his body leaning causally
again the upper deck. "Hey
kid," he shouted. Han was
gesturing to a servo droid. "There's gotta be a reason for it.
Check it out at the other end.
Wait a second." Dismissing
the droid, Han glanced down at Luke.
There
was an awkward pause.
"You
all right?" Han asked. Luke
stared back, fumbling for words. "Yeah,"
was all he could muster. The
somber expression on Han's face surprised him.
Suddenly wanting to add more, Luke began to speak.
Han smiled instead, a gentle tug at the corner of his mouth and Luke
fell silent. Luke nodded back and turned to leave.
He heard Han's voice rising. Be
careful." Warmed, Luke turned back and managed to reply.
"You too." He
tuned away quickly before he could embarrass himself any further.
What
could he say to Han that he would -- could -- hear?
Not much room for tenderness there.
Not many more words that Luke could speak into the space between
them except good-bye. Feeling the
ache again, he turned away, boots sliding on the iced floor. He was acting childishly.
It wasn't as if he was leaving forever. He just had to follow a path that had been laid before
him long before he had ever met Han.
With
his back turned, he could not see Han's eyes reflecting the growing sense of doom
that iced his heart.
***************************
"Bring the accused before the tribunal." Luke rose smoothly, facing the pompous charade of the
republican court. He'd presided over enough Imperial sessions to know that
the decision had already been made. The
Rebellion didn't know it, but they had very much in common with their hated
Empire. They had even elected to
use the Imperial Tribunal protocols. They must have reasoned its
impact carefully. The
symbols had once been the cornerstone of the Old Republic. Now the
Rebellion would cleanse the ancient trappings of the Empire's taint.
He
kept his eyes forward while the jurist began reading the 766 applications.
His use of the Force had almost completely returned. The inhibitors
only blocked one path to the Force. The mind, with its flexibility and agility,
was engineered to seek out new connections.
He sensed the life forms about him, the crushed spirit of
the carved wooden decorations forced into the Imperial
insignia, the fading impressions of stone quarried into a monument to the
Empire. A smile
twitched on his lips.
Leia
was there. Not inside the court,
but within the Cloud City. Power
brokering again, no doubt. Hiding their blood connection would be key to
her political survival. She
was .... Luke pushed harder against
the force inhibitors. She was
negotiating for a marriage. A
key alliance with the Royal House of Kara.
How farsighted.
Luke's
right knee began to ache as the jurist reached the 257th charge.
He smoothed the Force around the muscle and into the
bone. The guards had
indulged themselves a bit before bringing him into the public.
Nothing that would show, of course.
They would be the be first, Luke decided.
The
jurist droned on and Luke listened to the soft coughs and hisses from the
onlookers. He wanted this to
be over. But it suited him - it suited
the Force's purpose -- to allow the conviction.
So he stood, counting off each application like a
grim checklist to the execution.
Luke's
knee stabbed without warning. Han had
to be there. Han had to be sitting three paces behind, his eyes burning
into Luke. Leia could coolly
broker her own marriage while Luke stood condemned. But Han had carried his
hatred into the tribunal. Han had to make this personal.
Luke
could see Han clearly in his mind's eye. His hair slightly shaggier, his clothes
even more ragged. The dark circles under his eyes.
The empty blaster holster where he had to surrender his weapon
to enter the tribunal. Luke could even see the faint twitching in his
neck.
Poor
Han, Luke thought. He'd be discarded by Leia soon.
Well at least he'd have Chewie to keep him company.
The jurist's voice seemed to waver in the distance.
Application 633 -- the willful destruction of Khashykk, the forced
resettlement of an entire planet, the near genocide of the Wookie
race.
Luke
shut his eyes. They had no idea
what really happened. The
choice had been either the complete destruction of the planet or relocation
to the labor camps. At least
some of them survived.
His
eyes shot open. Who was he to care about
the fate of a technologically backward race? This was the kind of weakness
Palpatine had warned him against. The
same kind of weakness that had caused his father to turn against Luke and Palpatine.
The man who had been Anakin Skywalker had surfaced only briefly
before dying. His features
haunted Luke's dreams -- when he was allowed to have them.
The Emperor controlled the influences on his young protégé very carefully.
The
room started to clear. Luke brought his attention back to the podium.
His new Advocate, a Legite, tugged at him.
'They're taking a brief pause in the readings of the Applications.
Please relax." This Advocate had volunteered, even after learning
of the fate of his predecessor. His yellow eyes reminded Luke of the clouds surrounding
Bespin -- light and air, mixing together, to form a new world.
Luke
glanced at the delicate creature, seeing the fragile bones and tendons
through the being's upper layer. Palpatine
was wrong -- it wasn't a being’s nature to be only be controlled or
broken. There was more to it than even the Emperor could understand. Luke
had caught a glimpse of it in Palpatine’s mind before he died.
Something dark -- something heavy and deep, more powerful than he had
ever been led to believe.
Luke's
legs felt weak as he sat down. The
air had grown chilly again and he shivered.
Soon this would be over. Closing
his eyes, he breathed deeply, keeping his mind focused.
There could no room to doubt the truth of the visions offered by the
dark side of the Force. He had seen the path the dark side promised.
More power than Palpatine could ever imagine.
And freedom. Freedom from a life shaped by others.
Freedom from the influences of others. From being guided by visions that were not his own.
Old Ben, Leia, Yoda, his father,
Palpatine. And Han.
Luke
breathed again, deeply. He needed
clarity once this silly masquerade ended and he took his leave of them
and their foolishness. They had no real
hold over him. No one had -- not
for a very long time. Luke
began the meditations that would regain mastery of his thoughts.
Han
watched the tribunal reach the verdicts in quick succession.
The fact that there could be no other decision did not make a difference.
The fact that justice served, what little there was, did not silence the
memories. The fact that Luke
was sentenced to die -- to be taken to a place of immediate execution --
could not erase the past. Han had very few expectations from the universe.
And even fewer from Luke.
Han
stood up with the rest of the crowd and slipped out of the tribunal
before the crowd began to move.
He did not wait to see Luke's expression. Nothing had penetrated
the chilling face, relaxed the dead eyes into any semblance of humanity.
The boy he had met on Tatooine was no more. The friend he treasured had
died within the dark twisting they called the Force.
As far as Han was concerned, the Force had brought only grief
into their lives. The Force and the
Jedis.
He
moved quickly down the corridors, ignoring the excited babble of
excitement. The Empire was finally dead.
Evil was defeated. There would
be a new tomorrow.
Han picked up his pace. He
needed to reclaim his blaster and get out of here.
Bespin held too many memories.
His
quarters were already cleared of most of his belongings. He keyed the
command to send a time-delayed message to the Princess.
He paused to look over the room.
She had risked much to rescue him from Jabba and Bobba Fett. The
memories of the carbon freeze still gave him nightmares.
He could never repay her. But Luke had been right about one thing.
Han may not have know that Luke had reached Cloud City. But Leia had
known. And had made the cold, rational decision of a military leader.
Cut your losses and save those who could be saved.
He wondered if the decision haunted her as much as it did him.
He pressed the exit button and started towards the docking bay.
He
was getting tired of thinking about friends who had failed him. Lando. Luke,
Leia. It was time to stop trusting and get back to what he was good at. Taking
care of himself and Chewie.
The
crowds thinned when he reached the Falcon's launch pad.
It stood, much battered, glowing in the light of Bespin's fading
sun. The air that lifted
across the platform sliced into his shirt, sending his breath into a mist.
Breathing was barely tolerable at this altitude.
A few hundred meters below and the combination of gases and air pressure
would instantly crush an unprotected human.
The
Falcon required little warm up, but Han fiddled with the controls,
mindlessly adjusting one, then another.
He switched on the com unit and listened to the Tribunal's
procession towards the main docking bay.
The proceedings had been sent to all reachable areas of the Galaxy
-- and recorded from those who could only receive compressed bulletins
days later. Soon all the Galaxy would know that the last vestige of the
Empire was gone.
‘But
is it really over?’ the voice inside wondered.
‘You stood there, with her at your side and watched your blasts
fall harmlessly against Darth Vader. And this is the man who killed Vader.
Who took the Emperor in his own throne room.’ Han jabbed the flight
control, listening to its soft whine.
He had to be certain. It
would only take a few minutes, and he could see Luke safely loaded on the
transport. And it would only take a
few more hours to escort the transport securely to the place of
execution.
Han
stood and shut down the power. "Control, request launch flight plan
as escort for the Justice Transport."
The
command center hissed back. "General Solo?
Please confirm?"
"You
got it right. I'll be escorting that bastard to where he belongs.
And this time, don't send me to the far end of the
jump point. I want to escort
the transport, not eat its wake."
"Yes
sir, we'll guarantee a direct
vector." Han switched them off, satisfied. This one time they'd get it right. The whole galaxy was watching.
The
boarding area was crowded -- and the guards would not let him
through at first. But the commodore recognized Han and had been listening to
the open com channel. "General
Solo, over here."
Slipping
past the ring of men, he surveyed the area with satisfaction. There was no
chance for anything to go wrong here -- the ship was backed against
the edge of the platform. 50 men
crowded the edges, armed with blasters.
The path was lined with force inhibitors.
The
crowd began shouting. Some of the guards
struggled against the press of bodies. Everyone wanted to be able to say
that they had seen the passing of the Empire.
Han's eyes narrowed. He'd
have to remember every detail for later.
The
crowd was forced back and Luke was dragged into the open.
His coverall had been ripped and he looked tired.
His eyes were downcast, and his body limp between the guards. The
verdict seemed to have finally sunk in.
As
Luke stepped into the ring of inhibitors, he straightened.
His eyes raised to stare at the ship.
A small smile appeared, and then Luke stepped sideways. The movement
caught his guards by surprise and one of them stumbled.
The guard never rose, his other companions falling to their
knees, clutching at their throats.
The
crowd did not respond at first. Han would
never forget that he too froze for that fateful minute.
Then panic reigned, the
crowd stampeded back over the guards toward the port way.
Han, on the inside of the circle was spared most of the rush as they
moved away, not towards Luke.
By
the time he turned to face Luke, more guards had fallen.
The commander was shouting into the com unit, but Han knew that the
unit had died before the first guard fell.
Just as he knew that the recording units mounted above the doorway
had lost the signal. The inhibitors
had ceased working.
Han
hit the ground, instinctively seeking cover that was not there.
He felt a chill slither across his back.
'So that's what the dark side feels like' flashed
through his mind before his attention was diverted by blaster fire.
A guard had managed to fire on Luke. Several more guards joined him, their blasts ricocheting
off Luke to strike back with deadly accuracy.
Han swore and then rolled to his right. He aimed for the top of
the port way and pulled the trigger. The blast hit the edge of the shield
door instead and angled back towards Luke.
Come
on, hit him he urged. The
blast struck Luke's back -- or rather a few inches away from Luke's back
---and returned to explode the door lock. As the door began its silent
close, Han rolled back to his feet.
Luke
turned, taking in both Han and the door
with one cold sweep. Their eyes
locked and Han felt something catch in his throat.
As he fell forward, he held onto his blaster until he pain grew
too great. The deck seemed a long
way down.
Luke
watched Han struggle for air. He should have killed him in the throne room.
Now he was just wasted effort.
Still, Luke glanced at the shut door, he had saved him the effort of
locking the door. The
inhibitors did require some effort to overcome.
He was growing tired.
'Soon
I will live again.' The voice inside Luke's head was strong and
familiar. He'd spent the last two years listening to that voice teach him the
nuances of the dark side of the Force. 'Your feeble attempt at assassination will not go unpunished,
my dear boy.'
The
pain cut through Luke and he fell to one knee.
This was not the uncertain Palpatine that he had seen die in the
throne room. Between gasps, he reached out with all his strength and
gripped the intruder tight.
Bits
and pieces of the intruder's memories floated into view.
His childhood on a desert planet. The old teacher who lied to him
and then died. The woman -- girl really -- who spurned him for another.
The man who left him for the girl. The power
that filled him when he left his so-called friends to join up with his true
destiny.
Luke
knew this man well. It was the face
in the cave -- the person behind the mask. The evil he had had seen on Dagobah was the evil he had
become. The power he had
sought and obtained had turned this man into Luke's enemy.
How could he have been so blind?
The
pain intensified. Luke's gasps
became ragged pants. What had
Ben told him -- "If you go to meet Darth Vader now, you will
fail." Ben was right --
except this was the final failure -- this would be the final silencing of Luke
Skywalker.
He
turned his head towards Han. Maybe
he could -- but no, Han lay
where he had fallen. His eyes,
though open, held only the ever familiar rage.
No help there.
'Oh.
I am sorry. So sorry.' Luke thought, struggling for control.
All the pain, anger, and the blame could not absolve him of what he had
done. Or justify what he had
become. The flaws he had seen so
clearly in others were mere reflections of the taints he could not accept in
himself. Luke had no idea if he could
revive the youth who had loved and been loved in return.
After so many years of living in the Emperor's shadow, he had no idea how
much of himself still remained. But if he did not try, then who – or what
– would be left?
The
other voice
laughed. 'There is no try,
do or do not' it mocked and forced his body up.
Step by step, he steadily closed on
the waiting ship. A simple act to assume the controls and block
any pursuit. A simple game to escape and kill. And kill and kill.
Luke
gathered the strands of his fading memories into a rope and flung it to
back to himself. Something steadied inside and he felt the cool breeze play
around his face again. His hands, his feet, even his legs shifted in
response to his commands. "Don't worry
Ben,' he whispered back into the
ether. 'I'll finish what I
started. I promised, didn't
I?' The pressure inside
shifted abruptly, painfully. Grimly,
he forced himself to move forward. He had
worried once he might become like his father. He never dreamed he would
instead stand in the Emperor's shoes.
Han
used his elbows to push himself off the deck. His lower body still felt
numb. His blaster laid next to
him, useless. Luke would get away.
And Han would face another failure that would only add fuel to
his nightly dreams.
He
pushed again, but his muscles refused to cooperate.
Frustrated, he forced himself to look towards the ship.
The boarding ramp was down, the engines warming, the landing lights
signaling the ship's readiness. But
Luke stood, head bowed, on the edge of the platforms.
Han swore again and reached for his blaster. It slipped through his
cold fingers and clattered to the deck.
The
noise echoed through the wind, cutting across the silenced bodies.
Luke turned. His eyes were tired, but they held the darkest and
clearest blue Han had ever seemed. The
face was different -- as if someone had holoed
the young farm boy on Tatooine, freezing him for posterity.
A cloud broke above and Bespin's pink hues burst into life. Luke's
hair turned the light back and gave the impression that its flaxen color
and the golds that fed the clouds of Bespin had merged into a new hue.
Luke
stared back until Han counted each heartbeat, waiting for his throat to
constrict again. But each beat
passed into the next, building. Han's
mind screamed for release.
And
then Luke smiled. Faint at first,
the image of a man who had forgotten his way, but now traced an old,
familiar way home. The smiled deepened until it reached Luke's eyes,
lightening his face into one that Han still remembered.
One that he had never stopped loving.
And
then, with a quickness and ease that Han could never forget, Luke stepped
off the edge of the platform into the open air.
His body hung, silhouetted, against the golden clouds and for a brief
moment Han thought he was flying.
It was only after Luke fell, after Luke dropped below Han's field of
vision and into the poisonous atmosphere, that
Han understood. And as he rose to
his feet, beyond tears, beyond speech, he felt something warm, almost living brush his cheek.
But it must have been the wind caressing him like a forgotten lover.
*This story orginally appeared in "No Holds Barred" #22, publ. Oct.
2000 and is still in print. Copies can be ordered via
Kathy
Resch.
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