The kid straightened and seemed to cool a little, one side of his scarred lips turning up in dry amusement, "How very gracious of you."
"Tell me I'm wrong." Han said, letting his blaster drop to his side, "You said you wouldn't lie to me; well look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."
"I'll do better then that, Han." Luke whispered...
Something... something overwhelming and nauseating reached inside Han's head and made him flinch and he looked back to the kid in slow motion, consciousness slipping away as reality dimmed to a hushed whisper, a smothering wave of devastating weakness overcoming him. And Luke was just... stood, an ominously intense look on his face in the tight beam of harsh light, no trace of emotion in his uncanny, mismatched eyes.
The strange thing was that it didn't hurt, not really; he'd thought it would - like getting hit around the back of the head and knocked unconscious - but in the event Han just... collapsed down, a long sigh escaping him, his whole body sagging in one instant as if someone had hit the off-switch.
He crumpled, legs giving way, head going cold, eyes loosing focus, every single muscle loose as the floor seemed to rush up at him in the small pool of unsteady light-
The world sideways on, Han saw polished, black booted feet approach him, then Luke crouched down before him, his words fading into the ether..."I told you not to put the gun down..."
.
.
Mara was crouched by a side corridor which led to the aft hangar, listening intently in the darkness, when it happened-
She'd managed to gather up about three dozen stormtroopers on her way down to the hangar, leaving officers and non-com's where they were, thinking them more of a hindrance than a help in a close-quarters firefight, particularly one requiring this kind of subtlety.
A stop-off at the munitions store two levels up had turned up enough slug-firers for her impromptu unit, plus three packs of old-style explosive putty. They had no way to remote-trigger it of course; the detonators were working perfectly, but the remote activators were all blown. Still, she knew from experience that the explosive could be detonated by actually firing into it, though how she intended to do that in the pitch-black she wasn't sure.
It was in truth the least of her worries- top of her list at the moment was the lack of atmospheric shields in the bay and the fact that each of the emergency oxygen masks in the corridor outside the hangar was regulated by a small chip- which had of course blown, rendering them all useless.
She needed to get to the Rebel ships and the Rebel ships were in the now-airless docking bay and she had no air. The Rebels guarding the ship had air - she could see them through the small series of viewports which ran down the corridor to one side of the hangar - but they were in the airless hangar.
Bit of a vicious circle.
So she was crouched down in the dark corridor, trying to figure out a way to get those damn masks, when it happened.
It was a shout and a whisper, sharp as a knife and soft as a breath, and it spoke directly into the centre of her mind, powerful and focused and crystal clear. Like the Emperor.
But it wasn't the Emperor.
--Mara--
It wasn't a word; not exactly, but it was her name - hers specifically - and it commanded her attention completely, making her draw a shocked breath in, amazed and disbelieving in the same instant.
Stupidly, she glanced up the darkened corridor, expecting to see Luke there, even though the word had formed in some vague point directly between her ears.
Impressed upon her thoughts was the sudden need to be silent; that more Rebel troops were nearby; if she made a noise they would hear. An image formed in the shadows at the dges of her vision, shifting and erratic, trying to close in. It seemed the most natural thing in the galaxy to close her eyes, falling back into it willingly... trusting him.
She saw the main access corridor from the hangar bay to the lower decks, the image inverse, a miasma of fine lines, in places describing intricate detail, in others the vaguest of profiles fading into nothing, but enough to tell her where it was and show her three Rebel soldiers crouched expectantly in the darkness, all looking away from her position. Occasionally different parts of the image would sharpen as he tried to pass on specific information. She saw in crystal clarity the firearms they carried; she saw that they were wearing night-vision, recognized the need to be careful.
The moment she understood, the image broke down and coalesced; another three men at an intersection five levels down, gathered on the emergency stairwell, two looking up, one looking down... Again the image broke down and reformed; three more men, close to the entrance to the Detention Levels. She had the distinct impression that she needn't worry about these- that he was already nearing their position, his intention clear.
She saw a momentary image of slumped bodies in the narrow hexagonal corridors of the Detention Centre, these ones diffuse and indistinct- unconscious.
Mara squeezed her eyes shut- she could do this; she did it all the time with the Emperor and this was already so much easier, so much more natural. She recreated in her mind her earlier frustration, frowning in concentration as she remembered exactly the moment that she had looked at the oxygen masks on the wall, cursing when she realised that they were inoperative-
Almost as the thought was forming, another force-augmented impression pushed into her mind; the three in the corridor nearest her, small rebreathers drawn in sharp focus hanging on chords about their throats... it dispersed and resolved, the night-vision in sharp focus; dangerous when they had them; useful if she could get them... then it buzzed, redrawing itself one final time; comlinks on their belts- be careful; the channel may be open to those in the hangar.
The moment she understood, the images scattered leaving behind hazy, red-green outlines as she blinked repeatedly in the darkness.
The connection lasted all of a few moments; a mass of information passed over in a burst of direct mental contact, leaving her reeling at the implications, her mission momentarily forgotten, her heartbeat loud in her ears, adrenaline pumping. She knew of course; knew that Skywalker could do this but... to other Sith, not to her. She had... sensed him, had understood completely. And he had understood her, intent and communication crystal clear. Like the Emperor... but not.
Because whilst contact with her master had always been sharp and invasive, condescending and demanding, just as he always was... this had been...
What? Just as powerful and as focused and as defined but... empathic. Tempered and measured, even under stress... just as he was.
Another thought occurred; how long had he known? How long had he known that he could contact her - that she would be able to understand? Her one gift, taught in meticulous detail by her master.
Had Skywalker admitted it to her now out of necessity... or as a further development of trust? Either way, the implications were significant. What would she tell the Emperor?
For the first time, a thought surfaced which made her heart pump at its audacity...
...should she tell him at all...?
.
.
.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
.
.
Luke stood in the Fury's hold, partial power routed into the Destroyer's crippled systems by front-line military mainframes shuttled over from the Peerless and patched into the Fury's remaining systems via miles of new cabling which snaked in bundled disorder through open corridors, providing basic life-support and power-hungry shields. Outside of the hangar, the massive bulk of the Peerless was just visible, casting long shadows over the Core Fleet Destroyer Dictat, which would remain as an escort to the damaged Fury until she was taken under tow.