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In The Shadows
By Sienn
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Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Spoilers: See Chapter 1
Rating for Chapter: NC-17
Chapter 13
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Every second counted as he sprinted across the floor. He was not accustomed
to movements this swift, was not in the habit of finding himself in
situations that demanded he pay attention to timing so exquisite a blunder
would mean his own death.
As he weaved his way through the chamber, through air thick with pulverized
duracrete, stumbling over the injured and the dead, Senator Fyor Rodan of
Commenor wondered whether his involvement in this whole scheme might not
have been a mistake. He was not appalled at the violence inflicted upon all
those innocent people, bystanders who did not play a role. There was no
reason for him to care about them. Of most he did not even know the name.
But when he had fallen in league with the mastermind that he had always
known to have a ruthless streak rivalling his own, he had not realized that
part of the deal would mean to put his own body in the line of fire. And not
only that – whereas he had hoped to simply reap the fruits of what was going
to unfold in the coming hours without dirtying his own hands, he had been
manoeuvred into a position that demanded of him to take responsibility for a
murder that he would commit himself.
One could say that, at the present moment, Fyor Rodan’s mood was not the
best and whereas compassion had never belonged to his strengths, even
ulterior motives of the political kind retreated to the very back of his
mind as he batted a blood-drenched hand away from the emergency kit that had
been fastened to the wall of the chamber at a small distance only from the
speaker’s podium.
A muffled curse sounded in his ears, doubtlessly uttered by the unfortunate
being whose distress he was ignoring, but the Commenorian did not care. The
sooner he would have fulfilled his part of the deal, the sooner would he be
allowed to leave this dreadful place, to give his well-rehearsed speech to
the newsvid reporters – to mount the first step on his journey to the
position of Chief of State.
With determination as hard as durasteel, Rodan fumbled for the breath mask
and pulled it over his head before he grabbed the blaster that he had stored
in the kit days ago. The time table for this operation had been decided upon
days ago, too, and he had spent nights going through every step, so as to
minimize the danger to his own health.
Prepped to his satisfaction, much less hindered by the barely breathable air
and the quasi nonexistent sight now that he had the breath mask and goggles,
he retraced his steps, more oblivious than before even of the victims. He
did not consciously register their pleading and their begging, solely
focused on his destination and on what he would do once he arrived.
A smile stole one the soiled face of the tall human. He had longed for this
forever, as it seemed. Ever since he had first seen the man, ever since he
had first spoken to him and realized that there was no way his naïve
idealism could possibly be turned to Fyor’s advantage.
Of course he wished that he could have sent someone else to do it, but it
was impossible. Maybe fate would smile upon him once more and he would find
nothing but remains. It would not significantly dampen his exhilaration and
make it much easier to come out of this bombing the way he intended to – as
a victim, shattered and horrified by the atrocity he had been forced to
witness and willing to offer all his abilities and his resources to a New
Republic that had lost its leading figures.
The smile on Fyor Rodan’s face broadened to a grin as he made his way over
rubble and corpses to the wreckage of the speaker’s podium.
*~~
He could not breath – it was the first thing that came to Luke Skywalker’s
mind as consciousness returned to him. The need for oxygen had his lungs
screaming, but no matter how much air he gulped down, there seemed to be no
relief for him.
Panic was gnawing at the fringes of his consciousness, ready to seize him
whole and to reduce his chances of survival to zero. It took much
concentration to sink into the Force, to call the power and calm himself to
a degree that allowed him to take in his situation.
The air was thick with dust, fine dust that coated everything in the
vicinity, his whole body – even the inside of his nose, his throat. Luke
gagged, unable to suppress the reflexive reaction, and shuddered under the
violent coughs as more and more of the small particles found their way into
his airways.
His eyes burned with every blink he did, but he had to find out where
exactly he was in order to accomplish anything. The Jedi Master caught sight
of the window by way of a reflection, barely visible and weak in the dim
lighting of the room. Uncountable glow globes must have been shattered by
the pressure of the explosion, but the window itself had withstood the
assault of raw kinetic energy.
As he let the Force flood him, as he let it help him breathe, the emotions
and the agony of hundreds of beings washed over him with the heat of molten
rock, assaulting his senses and fuelling his desperation. Those that were
still alive, those that were still conscious enough to feel their injuries,
were panicked, aware that they would die slowly from suffocation, stifled by
the remains of pillars, of the podium and whatever craters the detonations
must have ripped into the floor.
The acute pain helped Luke to gather more of his wits about him and to
decide on what to do. If he could reach the window, he could slice it open
with his lightsaber and at least some of the dust would be sucked out into
the open sky of Coruscant. It would not be much, but it would be a
beginning. It would allow him to breathe freely, to gather strength, and if
he could manage that, he could be of more help to the others. To Mara. To
Leia and Han.
He did not permit himself more than a fleeting connection, just enough to
make sure they were alive, before he withdrew to concentrate. It was hard
work to fine-tune his Force senses to filter the dust from the air at least
enough for him to stop coughing and he started to crawl into the direction
of the window as soon as he had managed.
It was then that he noticed that the dust-filled air was not the only thing
that kept him from breathing, not the only thing that rasped through his
lungs like a Krayt dragon’s claws. And that the agony that still cursed
through him was not only the one of others.
Luke had been catapulted backwards by the might of the explosion, had
tumbled through the air in a cloud of heat and debris and fallen all the way
down to the orchestra floor. He remembered the impact, the dull pain that
had sucked him into blackness in a moment’s notice and that had reduced the
protective Force bubble he had instinctively wrapped around himself to a
thin coat. It had kept him alive, but not unharmed.
The speaker’s podium had collapsed only a second after he had been thrown
off it and had crumpled down. At least half of it seemed to have landed
right on top of him and had come to rest on his upper body. In synchrony
with the memories that returned to him the pain seemed to mount and Luke
gasped as his chest struggled to rise and take in yet another breath.
It was imperative that he freed himself and reached the window, for the sake
of all the injured as much as for his own.
In his desperate quest for an answer to this dilemma, there was but one
solution that came to his mind and he was quick to put it to use. Falling
into himself, he grasped the Force and hulled it around the mount of debris
that had been the speaker’s podium.
Careful not to overexert himself and intent to balance this use of the Force
with the filtering of oxygen so that he could stay conscious, Jedi Master
Luke Skywalker went about freeing himself with meticulous care and as fast
as he could manage while he did his best to ignore the despair that was
storming in on him from all sides.
*~~
She sagged hard onto her knees, oblivious to the sharp splinters that
pricked her tender skin. The moment the sweet presence of her husband had
brushed over her, confident and reassuring, Mara Jade Skywalker had felt her
legs turn to jelly. Even though she would have bet her life that he wasn’t
as well off as he wanted her to think, the mere fact that he was pretending
he was perfectly fine was enough to calm her horror.
She had awoken to a pounding headache, staring into a world that seemed made
of nothing but white. It had taken her several long moments to understand
that it was dust that was floating around them, dust that was covering every
centimetre of the furniture, of the debris – and of the people.
Where moans, sobs and cries of agony had converted the cheery chatter
befitting a celebration into a chorus of death, those were subsiding to be
gradually replaced by coughing and gagging. It came from all directions as
the wounded struggled to breathe and found their windpipes jammed by the
residue of the chamber.
Mara had ripped pieces off her gown only seconds after she had regained
enough of her senses to grasp her situation and breathing felt easier to
her. She was aware, though, that this advantage wouldn’t survive more than a
couple of minutes. There was no gust of wind to be felt. Slowly but
inadvertently, they would all suffocate and in a nasty way, too.
No. The window – images floated through her mind, self-explanatory enough to
be understood. She felt her husband’s exertion, could feel his ragged
breathing as he split his concentration between keeping alive and freeing
himself and realised what he was planning. Should he succeed, there might be
a way to rescue many of the guests.
Mara let her gaze wander, taking in the weakened movements of bodies made
unidentifiable by the dust. Luke would need several minutes still to reach
the window, provided he did so at all, and minutes were all most of them had
left before unconsciousness would claim them and never again give them free.
‘I will come and help,’ She sent the words as she forced herself to
straighten and stand. For a moment, the world swam before her eyes, but as
Mara tapped into her Jedi abilities, it stilled immediately and she felt
strength return to her.
Refusal washed over her, strong and stubborn, and the power of the sensation
almost made her stumble. Luke was determined to manage it alone. ‘Help the
others,’ His voice sounded through her head, distracted and a trifle weak,
but with an authority only a Jedi Master could summon.
She could not argue – not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew
he was right. Her desire to sprint across the room, to gain her husband’s
side and help him was selfishly motivated. The duty of a Jedi was to the
helpless – Mara’s lips curled into a humourless smile. As it were, the
evening offered plenty possibilities to prove just how Jedi she was.
For a moment, it was as if Luke’s face, tender with relief and
understanding, hovered in front of her, then she felt his presence withdraw
and focus once again with all that he had on the task that he had taken upon
himself.
Helplessness and frustration welled up within the former Emperor’s Hand.
Understanding the virtue of what she had to do was not enough to make her
forget the burning ache in her heart that only intensified at the thought
that she was not with her beloved, that she had to leave him for the time
being to commit her capabilities, her strength, to people that were barely
known to her – to people she might care for on a basic level, a level
incomparable to what she felt for Luke Skywalker.
It was a battle of duty and dedication against love and fear that raged on
inside her and the relief she eventually found was as unexpected as it was
welcome.
“Mara? Mara, where in all nine Corellian hells ARE you?” Roughened though it
was by the dirtied air, the voice of Han Solo was unmistakable.
The redhead turned on her heels and squinted into the direction where she
was sure their table had stood mere minutes ago. A shadow was moving
cautiously through the remains of chairs and tables, a hand lifted to his
face, doubtlessly pressing another rack to his nose for protection.
“Han, I’m here!” she yelled, moving quickly to catch up with him. The Jedi
fleetingly wondered how she would have fared if she hadn’t had the Force to
help her latch onto the presence of the Corellian, if she couldn’t have used
the all-encompassing power to create a homing beacon that she could find
even in the quasi blindness the dust subjected her to.
Relief poured off the man as he could finally clasp her elbow. “Thank the
Force I found you! Are you okay?”
He did not wait for her answer and began to drag her with him over a path he
had obviously cleared enough to avoid obstacles that could have downed them
with every step.
“I’m fine, Han,” She coughed softly and tried to calm her breathing. The
less air she sucked in, the less dust would be coming with it. He nodded and
directed her to a table that was, miraculously, still standing. One of the
heavy banners with the New Republic’s seal had been torn free of its hinges
and drifted down to cover several square metres of the hall and it was below
this that the Alderaanian Princess and her husband had found temporary
refuge.
The air was visibly cleaner underneath the make-shift tent and when Mara
crawled in behind Han, she recognized Leia tending to the injuries of an
elderly woman she had never seen. Her sister-in-law’s hair was grey and so
were her lashes. Clad in her white gown as she was, she would have been
barely visible if not for the impossibly dark background of the banner.
The petite beauty lifted her head at the arrival of Han and Mara and her
chocolate eyes found Mara’s jade gems. “Luke is okay, isn’t he?”
The female Jedi Master nodded, “He’s not much worse off than we are and he’s
trying to get to the window and break it.”
“He’s always picking the easy work,” Han grumbled mock-irritably while he
was busy shifting another injured human into the corner to make room for
more.
“If getting half a ton of duracrete off your chest is easy work for you, I’m
sure he’ll welcome switching places.” Mara offered. She accepted the bottle
of water her husband’s twin had tossed to her. There was a small stack of
them salvaged next to the Princess. The ex-trader gulped down half of its
content and used the rest to wet the rags she wore around her face.
Eventually, she would still run out of air, but this might just give her the
additional few minutes she needed to be somewhere more suitable if that
happened.
“How does it look?” She then inquired.
Leia grimaced and it was only then that Mara noticed the small river of
blood that was making its way down the woman’s temple, “We have no idea
whether anyone was able to send off an emergency call and for the time
being, there is no reason to believe help is on the way. The window hasn’t
broken…. No visible sign of damage or trouble for the traffic passing by.”
Mara scrunched up her face, “That’s bad.”
Han nodded, “Pretty bad, yeah, but if the kid is successful, we’ll be a good
step further towards rescuing at least some of the folks here.” The
Corellian coughed and paused, wincing as his hand went to his sides. He did
not give the obvious pain much more acknowledgment and Mara bit her tongue.
She knew he would not appreciate her calling attention to his injury.
Han shook his head and made a vague gesture in what she believed was the
direction of the lift. “We need to find the doors to the stairs. The air
might be better there and if we manage to get some more people on their
feet, we can start evacuating.”
The redhead was about to nod her agreement, both to her brother-in-law’s
suggestion and to Leia’s comment that she would be going around and see how
bad people in their immediate vicinity were wounded when a sense of danger
washed over her. She gasped and her head veered around, “Luke!”
Leia and Han stilled immediately and stared at her, eyes wide with shock and
worry. “What?” The Chief of State breathed.
“He’s in trouble.” Mara was on her way out of the meagre shelter before she
had finished the sentence and did not pay attention to anything Han and Leia
might have said to her. She knew the both of them would be capable to do
whatever was possible for themselves and the victims – they didn’t need her.
Her husband did.
Latching onto the bright light that was Luke – so similar to a sun blazing
in the darkness of space – she embraced the Force and weaved her way through
the wreckage of what had been destined to be the most important social event
of the year.
*~~
The lift was descending, floor for floor, with no haste. He had made sure
that the necessary precautions had been taken. Eventually, someone would
learn what had happened and the place would teem with medics and Security
forces. But for the time being, the Grand Chamber of the Commenorian Embassy
was isolated from the planet around it and everyone inside easy prey.
Not that he cared for any of them. He had specific targets and they were
firmly in his sights, too. How wonderfully ironic it was that they had
walked right into his trap, that they had played their roles in his game of
cat and mouse to perfection. He had been able to play with them as he would
have done with puppets. How amusing it had been to see them follow his
distraction, to see them try to figure out a web of deceit that was
absolutely impossible to resolve – by the sole virtue of that it had no
sense and no goal whatsoever.
He sneered and nodded to his men to fall into their formation. It would be
ultimate satisfaction to explain to Organa Solo just how thoroughly he had
fooled her while he watched her suffer as her life was destroyed one piece
at a time. He did not worry about the fact that he had not more than half an
hour, if at all, to pull all this off in a successful way. He did not bother
about the certain doom it would mean for him if he did not manage and was
caught.
Revenge was too sweet to allow the risks to keep you from achieving it. This
was something that was revered as a truth where he came from and even though
many of his own race had declared him despicable and bereft of honour, a
traitor to everything they cherished, this was one aspect of their culture
that he had wholeheartedly embraced.
He consulted his little display for the final time. The modern holocameras
that had been installed in the ceiling of the Grand Chamber were capable to
filter some of the dust out of the picture – enough to show him the two most
important points in it anyway. He glanced at his wrist chronometer. Timing
was of the essence to guarantee the ultimate bliss of fulfilled vengeance.
If he expected no more from his last henchman, he knew this would be acted
out as defined by his orders.
Two floors more and the beginning of the end would come about.
*~~
The feeling of impending peril spiked through the haze Luke Skywalker was
caught in as ray of light would into the darkest of caves and the Jedi
Master was jerked out of his trance and back into full awareness of his
surroundings.
He had cleared enough debris off his body to allow him to wriggle, but still
more had to go for him to get free, to assess his injuries and to enable him
to call his lightsaber back to his hands. He had felt it buried beneath
several hundred kilogram of duracrete and even the Force couldn’t make it
cut his way out of there for as long as its shining blade was directed at
the floor.
So he had called upon his patience, had continued his work of
split-concentration and hurried onward as fast as his condition allowed it.
The danger of the situation he was in, of the situation they all were in,
was more than obvious. What more was there to come? It was a dry musing that
coaxed a smirk out of him. If he had learnt one thing during all the decades
of being a warrior and a Jedi it was that situations could always degrade.
There was always another catastrophe on the horizon. It was as inevitable as
the rise of the sun in the morning.
He blinked his eyes rapidly, wondering how he was supposed to see anything
in the milky murk that was all around him and eternally grateful that he had
long since stopped being dependable on his eyesight to keep track of what
was going on around him.
A blotch of slightly darker grey than its surroundings blazed with sinister
intent and hatred within the Force and Luke growled softly as he recognised
the hostile presence. If there had been only the flicker of doubt, it would
have been discarded as the tall human slithered into view accompanied by a
small rockslide of pebbles.
The sneer on Fyor Rodan’s face made any and every Force probe of his
intentions a superfluous action – and so did the blaster that he held
pointed at Luke.
“I knew that the time would come to make you regret every threat you ever
uttered to me, Skywalker, the time when I would be superior over YOU.” The
Commenorian spat the words, his voice as hard as durasteel behind the breath
mask he was wearing as he slowly approached the fallen man.
“You planned all this,” Luke coughed out between lips he had not noticed had
torn at the dryness of the air they breathed in. “Hundreds of innocent
people are trapped and will possibly die because of your petty hatred
against me and my sister. You,” he made no effort to tone down the loathing
he felt for the man, “are much more despicable a man than I ever thought.”
Rodan laughed gaily. It sounded muffled behind his breath mask and Luke
found himself wishing fervently for the device. His throat felt on fire and
there was less and less oxygen to be found that he could Force-guide into
his lungs.
“I might be despicable, Jedi, but I will be alive and despicable. You,” he
came closer still and crouched down to press the muzzle of his weapon
between Luke’s eyes, “will just be dead. What are you without your fancy
lightsaber? A cockroach flattened by garbage.”
Luke sighed.
The gloating arrogance of Fyor Rodan faltered just a little bit at the
unexpected behaviour of his victim.
“How come,” The Jedi Master spoke softly, drawing a frown from the man,
“that after years and years of speeches I held in the Senate, people still
don’t understand what the Force can do?” He shook his head, “You, Fyor
Rodan, are too ignorant for your own good.”
Fury blazed in the dark eyes of the corrupt Senator as he stood and with a
hiss he triggered the blaster. Bright red energy shot straight at the Jedi
Master’s forehead. The smaller man brought up a hand, his reflexes faster
than lightning, and Rodan waited for the shout of agony that had to come as
the coherent light burnt the limb to uselessness.
The crazed grin on his face died as no such cry came. He stared,
unbelieving, at the loathed Jedi.
Luke Skywalker’s eyes were closed and his features relaxed as the deadly
energy of the blaster shot crackled around his slender frame, harmless, not
even singeing his torn clothes, much less his skin. Azure sparkled as he
looked back at the Senator whose weapon was dangling in a numb hand at his
sides.
The Jedi Master moved his right arm, only slightly, and the energy shot off
along it, intent to do the damage it had been created to inflict. To the
Commenorian’s horror, this damage was not wrought in the form of a smoking
hole in Luke’s head.
Shards flew in all directions as the energy broke through the window,
speeding away in a million small, harmless rays, out into the night, through
a cloud of dust that was suddenly sucked outside by the strong winds of the
upper atmosphere of Coruscant City.
The touch of cool air on his aching skin – scraped raw by the residue that
had lingered – was like a soothing balm to Luke as he lay, trembling from
the amount of control he had had to exert and stubbornly fighting the dark
spots that were dancing before his eyes. Experience had taught him that if
he just managed to fight off the blackout to come, his energy would return
within moments as he could replenish himself via the Force.
He was not granted the few precious moments he would have needed. With a
roar too primitive to be understood, Fyor Rodan threw the blaster away and
jumped forward, his big hands closing around the Jedi Master’s throat with
all the power of a desperate, hate-driven man whose pride and ambition had
morphed him into a merciless murderer.
Moments went by and the Commenorian felt the bliss of victory grow within
him. Skywalker’s defence was weak, his hands shaking as they grasped the
Senator’s wrists and tried to pry them away. Letting free all his
destructive fantasies, all the loathing and all the injured pride he had
accumulated over the years, Rodan shook the man, delighted at the moans that
escaped the other and rejoicing in evil glee as the hated blue eyes bulged
and finally lost focus.
Disbelief flooded the Senator and he instinctively loosened his hands around
the other’s throat, silently cursing himself only a moment after for his
lack of attention. But what he had dreaded, expected, counted on – it did
not happen. There was but another gurgle, a small try to suck in air, and it
broke through the shocked paralysis that had held Rodan. He squeezed again,
the smirk returned to his features, and he only stopped when Skywalker’s
hands fell from his wrists.
Dazed with a sense of surrealism and suspicion, Rodan stretched and fumbled
for his blaster, pointing it back at the man above whom he was still
kneeling. Could it have been that easy to kill the famed Jedi Master? He
could not believe he had managed. There must be another trick, there must be
another sorcery…
But the Jedi did not move. His eyes were sightless as they stared at the
ceiling and no breath crept out of the parted lips to stir the dust that
covered him.
Fyor Rodan relaxed and laughed softly to himself. Even the shout of pure
agony and despair that cut through the air like the wail of a mortally
wounded animal did not unsettle him as he was enveloped in the bliss of
unexpected, but all the more welcome success.
*~~
“Luke!!!!”
Mara barely registered her feet touching the floor, her legs jumping over
mounds of rubble, as she sprinted for the scene below her. She did not feel
the sting of the remaining dust as she panted, did not feel the headache
that had been plaguing her. She didn’t even consciously register Fyor Rodan
as he sat gloating.
All she could see was the lean form of her husband, stilled and lifeless,
with eyes wide and empty as they stared into nothingness.
Feeling his presence wink out as if someone had shut off a glow rod had felt
as if her heart were torn from her body and every fibre of her being was
denying what her eyes and her reason were telling her. Luke wasn’t dead. He
couldn’t be dead.
And yet, what was she to assume? How could she doubt when Fyor Rodan rose to
meet her and the Jedi Master’s head lolled to the side as if boneless?
She could not have described the emotions welling up inside her – it wasn’t
Darkness, it wasn’t rage, it wasn’t even despair. It was like a void that
sucked her in and she did feel detached as her hand fell to her lightsaber.
She unclipped and ignited it while she was running but knew that the
Senator’s aim would be more thorough than her defence. It was as if the
scene before her had taken every ability for coherent thought from her.
Mara saw the tall man’s arm rise and found that she did not care whether he
hit or not.
Then a whirlwind of the Force swept her away and she came to a sudden halt,
stupefied, uncertain, as it howled within her, around her. Until she
understood.
The former Emperor’s Hand lowered her lightsaber and met Rodan’s dark,
victorious glare with a relaxed smile of her own. She swore to herself that
she would never forget the idiotic look on the other’s face.
*~~
It had been a gamble and a dangerous gamble on top of that. Yet once again
it had been the only thing to come to his mind and he was the last one not
to trust his instinct. It had saved his life uncountable times and he wasn’t
about to ignore it this time around.
Physically weakened and fully aware that he needed more than only a few
seconds to strengthen enough to shake off his assailant and survive, Luke
Skywalker withdrew into himself, grasping the Force and swallowing it whole,
journeying deeper and deeper into the black, comforting caress of the power
that had been dominating his life ever since he had first met Obi-Wan Kenobi
and learned of his true heritage.
His control, his symbiosis with it, was total. He was the Force and the
Force was him and there was no pale hand of death to grasp him and take him
from the world as his heart and his breathing stilled. Instead, the ruse
granted him the time he needed to gather the strength that had lacked
before.
Fascination held him adrift for a moment, utterly baffled more at his
success than at the actual deed, but the despair and horror of his beloved
wife ushered him to hurry.
There was no reason not to and the opportunity was as perfect as any other.
Fyor Rodan, so sure of his victory, had his attention on the red-headed Jedi
and when he turned back to the alleged corpse to his feet, his jaw hit the
floor and all colour drained from his face.
Luke Skywalker was smiling at him as he released the Force he had so tightly
drawn to himself and it whirled out, exploded like a geyser and hurled the
Commenorian off his feet and through half the Chamber. The man crashed
against a wall with a sickening thud and lay unconscious.
The Jedi Master, for his part, felt a trifle bit sad at breaking the utmost
intimate contact with the Force – yet, he had no desire to join it just yet.
As his concentration and his trance broke, Luke gasped for air as his body
shuddered under violent coughs that felt as if they were burning his throat
and the inside of his chest. In a way, he was almost grateful for the pain.
He was alive, after all. Fyor Rodan would possibly never realize how close
he had come. And that was a good thing.
*~~
Mara was cradling her husband in her arms and hugged him to her chest as
tightly as she could possibly do. She had made sure that Rodan was properly
tied down and secured and had hurried to Luke with the breathing mask of the
Senator in her hands.
Utterly drained by his use of the Force and his physically demanding close
call with death, Luke had been content to spend several minutes in the
embrace of his wife and to breathe the sweet, pure oxygen. He was sure his
throat would continue giving him trouble for some days to come, but his
coughs had almost completely subsided and he felt strength flow back into
his limbs and muscles.
Together they cleared the rest of the debris that was still pinning the Jedi
Master to the floor and retrieved his lightsaber. Finally, after what seemed
to have been an eternity but had, in reality, been nothing more than several
minutes, Mara helped him to a shaky stand.
“If you ever scare me like that again…” she said, in a voice unusually
subdued for Mara Jade.
Luke smiled at her, a bit pale, but visibly regaining his balance with every
moment that went by. “I’m sorry. I had to be quick. There was no time for
explanations, even not for mental ones.” He took her hand, squeezed it
gently and leant over to brush his lips over hers, “Forgive me?”
She couldn’t battle down the smile and smacked a kiss right back on his
lips, “Of course. If you promise to never ever do that again.”
Luke swept her in an embrace and they held each other for as long as they
dared, their Force presences mingling – together they fought off the shock
and both felt refreshed as they parted.
The Jedi Master looked around the room at the chaos the detonations had
produced – now that a good deal of the dust had been swept out, it was
visible how much damage had been done. Whole portions of the ceiling had
come down, crushing everything in their wake.
People lay clustered, with broken limbs, severe burns, some uninjured, but
shaken, and everyone in the same state of confusion and shock. The gruesome
display of arms and legs torn from bodies marked the epicentres of the
explosion and with a rush, the horror of what had happened settled back over
Luke.
He looked over to where the unaware Commenorian Senator lay hunched against
the wall and wondered how ambition could be great and intense enough to
warrant such destruction and tragedy.
“Come on,” he finally said and took Mara’s hand. “Let’s see what we can do
for the survivors.”
*~~
Feral eyes were cut at the small display in his hands as he held one of his
fingers pressed onto the button that kept the elevator from opening out into
the Grand Chamber. Fury was raging inside him, strong enough to quicken his
breathing.
Fyor Rodan was a fool. And he himself was, too, for trusting this human and
falling for his display of arrogance and his show of superior intelligence.
He could not be much smarter than a sandflea if he toyed with a Jedi instead
of killing him immediately.
Skywalker had been deep in a trance, weakened and focused on freeing himself
and helping the victims. If even half of what he had been told about the
Force was true, his supernatural senses must have been barraged with agony
and despair. Had Rodan immediately fired, from his elevated vantage point,
with careful aim, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker would have died a quick and
clean death.
The Commenorian Senator could then have masked it as an accident, could have
buried the corpse under mounds of duracrete and could have assumed just the
role he had wished for. Now his life was forfeit. If he had time left, he
would make sure Fyor Rodan died. If not, he would be content to see him
wither away in prison for treachery and the murder of at least several dozen
beings.
For him, Fyor Rodan of Commenor was now no longer important.
He growled and gestured to his men. They straightened the heavy nutrient
constructs on their backs and stood at the ready as the doors of the
elevator finally parted.
*~~
Her brother’s struggle had left Leia panting and drenched with sweat. She
had felt him vanish, had felt Mara’s despair and pain and had almost drowned
in her own. Had these emotions had a hold of her for longer than the few
minuscule moments that they had existed, she did not know whether she would
have come out of it sane.
Han had been worried out of his mind, unable to glean even the slightest bit
of information out of his shell-shocked wife. Only when she had gulped down
another bottle of water had she been able to relay to him what had happened.
He had blanched somewhat more, turning into a dust-sprinkled ghost in front
of her eyes, but had quickly regained his composure as she had assured him
that both Luke and Mara were fine.
Presently, Leia was crouching next to a male Wookiee who had taken several
pieces of glass straight into his upper arm as the bowl of flowers on his
table splintered in the explosion. It had been gruesome and tiresome work to
peel the shards out of his wound, but once the arm was fixed with a flexile
bandage – they had fortunately found an emergency kit – the giant alien
would be an invaluable helper.
Already Han and several men that had come out with minor concussions,
scrapes and bruises were busy lifting tables, chairs, chunks of ceiling and
crumpled pillars to free people stuck beneath.
So far, no one had been able to find a working comm link – or the access to
a stairway. They were trapped and had no idea when anyone would notice the
huge, shattered window. Even the elevator had not worked, had stubbornly
refused to descend and open for them.
The feelings her brother and Mara had transmitted to her were not rich in
detail, but Leia had understood that Fyor Rodan was responsible for this,
that he had tried to kill her brother and all this had had her grit her
teeth. She had needed several moments of deep breaths to calm down enough to
continue helping. The Alderaanian Princess was already looking forward to
this particular trial – she would enjoy seeing Rodan brought to justice and
receive the penalty that he deserved.
In light of the situation, the sound of the descending lift and the opening
doors was a welcome surprise. Leia rose and turned immediately, hoping to
see medics swarm out and tend to the many wounded.
The blaster rifles and sudden void of the Force had her shy away in horror
as she realized that Fyor Rodan had not been the only one to scheme against
her.
There was no time to shout a warning, no time to run and hide. No time for
nothing. Two dozen heavily armed mercenaries, clad in pitch black, filed out
of the lift and surrounded the survivors that had gathered in desperate
hope.
Their circle was tight and they had surprised everyone. Enough, in fact,
that Leia had been unable to send a cry for help to her twin before the
sickening damp cold of Ysalamiri had settled over her.
The already rescued dignitaries and Senators screamed their fear, their
outrage, their annoyance, but Leia stood rooted to the spot, mute and
uncertain what to expect. Neither of the commandoes spoke a word as they
singled out Han and her and herded the other beings into a corner to bind
them.
Only when this had been done did the four that had secured the lift part and
give free the way for, how Leia suspected, their leader. She exchanged a
glance with Han, saw the same stoic courage, fierce outrage and even morbid
curiosity in his eyes that she knew to be burning in hers, too, and held her
head high as she stepped forward to face her mysterious foe.
When he entered the chamber, his attire meticulous and flawless and his eyes
as cold as space, it felt as if someone had slapped her right into the face.
The hot sting of betrayal pained her as much as the head wound she had
sustained, more so even, and before she could get a reign on herself, she
had stormed forward, fully intending to slap the traitor into his sneering
visage.
The mercenary to his left caught her hand and twisted her arm. Leia cried
out in pain and was forced to her knees as she tried to battle through the
agony that shot through her shoulder. She heard Han’s protest, knew he was
trying to get to her and shuddered at the well-known sound of a stun bolt.
She closed her eyes – the Princess didn’t need to look to know that the mass
that thudded to the floor was her husband.
The horror of the situation paralysed her. The traitor’s hatred for her
burned in his eyes and now he had Han. And she didn’t have the Force.
“Hurry,” Leia shook her head at the disdain and utter calm in the cultivated
voice. “Before Skywalker and the Emperor’s pet get here and spoil everything
I’ve prepared for Princess Leia.”
Her hands were bound before she was pushed into the elevator. He towered
over her and smiled a satisfied, evil little smile. “Timing is everything,
Leia.” He glanced over the chamber, at the two figures that were racing
through the room and would still come too late, and chuckled.
“Before I kill your husband and your brother, I want to make sure that you
understand the artistry of the scheme I have devised in your honour.”
*~~
They had been setting the leg of a frightened boy as they had felt it. Once
again deep in tune with the Force to spare the small human as much pain as
he could while Mara took care of the bone, Luke had felt the voids enter his
awareness immediately.
The warm presence that was his twin had vanished a mere second later and the
Jedi Master had been on his feet and running towards the lift at the other
end of the hall as fast as he could.
Adrenaline pushed his body, worry and fear for his sister and his brother
neutralizing whatever pain or fatigue might have lingered over him before.
He felt the blood rush in his veins, felt Mara follow him after reassuring
the boy, felt his thighs tremble at the effort and let more of the Force
flow into them.
It was in vain. He was at the top of a mountain of rubble that had once been
a decorative pillar overloaded with flowers and could only watch the
elevator doors close.
Luke extended his arm, hurled his whole presence and might in the Force in
the direction of the lift, but the Ysalamiri swallowed his efforts as a
dovin basal would have swallowed a blaster shot.
He could only watch – his sister bound and visibly scared, Han unconscious
and unceremoniously dumped into the corner of the lift and above it all the
face of the man whose fault all this was.
Helplessness and fear overwhelmed him as he sank to his knees, unable for
the moment to think at anything else but the face of the traitor. He had
never trusted him, but this… all this was more than he would have ever
thought the other capable of.
By the time Mara plopped down next to him, immediately laying a hand on his
shoulder to give support, to soothe, Luke Skywalker had come back to
himself.
The Jedi Master rose. There was no question in his mind about what he would
do and that he would succeed. He met his wife’s determined, jade gaze and
looked back at the elevator, his eyes the colour of ice.
He felt Mara share his cold determination.
“You will not get away with this.” The immensity of the treason he had
witnessed – had been witnessing for so many weeks now – silenced his voice
to a mere whisper. “You will not, Borsk Fey’lya.”
----------------- To be Continued...(Next chapter NC-17)