The medic glanced up in mock-seriousness, the slightest of laconic smiles on his face. "Well done."
"Thank you," Luke said somberly. "Unfortunately the new books are, if possible, even less interesting than the old set. See, I'm relying on you to tell me anything at all that's even vaguely entertaining, happening beyond these doors."
.
.
Smiling at the subtle dig for information, Nathan Hallin turned back to his scanner, running it over the join between the artificial flesh of the prosthesis and his patient's real skin, a genuine smile coming to his lips. "Oh, you know I'm not supposed to talk about that. It really wouldn't help you, apparently."
"If it wouldn't help me, where's the harm in telling me?"
Hallin glanced up, voice firm but open. "We are trying to help you Luke--you understand that?"
Still, his patient was unable to keep an edge of challenge from his voice in answer. "I understand that you're keeping me locked in these three rooms all day every day."
"Well if it makes you feel any better, they're very large rooms," the medic said lightly, hoping to dispel the dark tone in Skywalker's voice, as he glanced about the incredibly grand proportions of the cavernous chamber.
This room alone was close to the size of Nathan's whole apartment--if one included the extensive, capacious refresher suite with its neat dressing room, then it was probably well over, and his newly provided apartment in the North Tower was hardly undersized. Sudden inclusion into this most exclusive world of grandeur and excess left even Nathan, who had enjoyed an affluent upbringing on the Capital Planet, slightly overawed and intimidated.
Still, as Vader's son, his new charge must surely be used to life on this grand scale. Familiar on some basic, subconscious level with the Palace and its lavish, luxuriant standards even if he didn't remember the specifics, so his ready dismissal of the sumptuous, opulent room was no real shock to Nathan.
"Not surprisingly it doesn't make me feel better, no."
"And it doesn't seem familiar?" Hallin ventured.
"Being locked up? Pretty damn familiar now."
"No, I mean the room," Nathan corrected. "Though Commander Reece thinks you may well not remember--your previous apartments were in the NorthTower; he said you've been here less than a year--or you had been before you went away."
Luke stared at the medic, lost. "See, now I'm confused."
"Yes, so am I in this place," he said glibly without looking up. "But if it makes you feel any better it seems to be the natural state of affairs. Anybody who claims to know anything around here is either lying or spying, and either way it's best to avoid them, in my experience... but then I'm sure you already know that."
Skywalker's frown gave the distinct impression that, for him, the conversation had abruptly gone off the map. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would I know that?"
Nathan glanced up. ""Well, I'm not the one who lives here. Well, obviously I do now too, but it's a relatively new..."
"Wait, I don't live here--why do you think I live here?"
"Well... these are your apartments; that's generally..."
Skywalker shook his head emphatically. "No they're not--I've never been here in my life before. Who told you they were?"
"Your Aide," Nathan held defensively. "And I thought he should know."
"My what?!"
"Your Aide--or adjutant or whatever he is--Lieutenant Commander Reece. The man in the main office to the front of your apartments?" Nathan prompted...surely Luke already knew this.
"This isn't my apartment and he isn't my Aide and I have no idea what you're talking about."
Nathan searched the man's pale blue eyes for a lie, but could see only bemused confusion--but then Commander Reece had explained very early on that Lord Vader's son, an Imperial agent, had been sold out and taken prisoner whilst undercover among a group of rebels. He'd disappeared for almost a year before a lead was found, at which point Vader had pursued it, but on tracking his son down, it had become obvious that he had been brainwashed by the rebels and indoctrinated, probably over a period of many months.
It was, Nathan had been reassured, being dealt with in the form of exit counseling, a type of controlled deprogramming; no input from the medic was required on this point--none at all, the Aide had emphasized. Indeed, his interference may well be harmful.
After explaining the facts, Commander Reece had also taken the time and trouble to underline very pointedly how classified this obviously sensitive information was, restricted only to the very highest echelons of rank within the Palace, and then only to those who had direct contact. The Emperor himself had made the decision that the medic should be in possession of all the facts, Reece explained.
The Commander hadn't said it of course, but Nathan hadn't gotten this far in the Imperial military without the ability to read between the lines; it had been the Emperor who had commissioned him as Skywalker's personal medic and the Emperor who had deemed him worthy to be trusted with this information--and it would therefore be the Emperor to whom he answered for any transgressions--a sobering thought.
What he should do right now then, was just swallow his questions as he had every other day, nod vaguely in agreement, then politely excuse himself and walk away. Return to his ridiculously lush apartment in the Habitation Tower of the Imperial Palace on Imperial Center, settle down, pour himself a drink and congratulate his outrageous good fortune in being here...
And yet... he couldn't help but be pulled in by the young man who stared at him so expectantly now, looking for some kind of response... just waiting, as if he knew that given all the facts, the medic would do the right thing. Assumed that just because he had the nerve to contradict the Emperor and stare down Darth Vader, of course everyone else would do it too.
Nathan stared into those searching eyes... Don't do it--don't get pulled in--turn around and walk away. They're dealing with this, they told you so. It's nothing to do with you.
But if they were dealing with it, they didn't appear to be getting very far--and who exactly were 'they' anyway? In all the times Nathan had visited these apartments, aside from Commander Jade he'd seen no one else actually in here--ever.
He glanced down, lowering his voice. "What were you doing this time last year--can you remember?"
.
.
"Not exactly." Luke frowned, muting his own voice in response, thrown by the question and by Hallin's surreptitious air. "I guess I was... I was in the Seswenna Sector about now. Why?"
"With whom?"
"With Rogue Group--I'm a combat pilot." Luke shrugged away further explanation. Something told him he could trust the medic, and they already knew who and what he was, but all his rooms were bugged, so he wasn't about to share any further details.
"Under cover?"
Luke hesitated, unsure what Hallin was getting at. "You know, strangely we find if we admit that we're part of the Rebel Alliance, Imperials show up and start shooting at us. So yes, we were undercover."
"I mean, undercover as an Imperial spy in the Rebellion."
Luke balked. "What?!"
Hallin kept his voice very level, very composed. "Luke, a year ago your cover was blown and the Rebels took you prisoner. They indoctrinated you--re-educated you, they claimed. We believe they-"
"Wait...what?!" It was all Luke could find to say in the moment.
The medic frowned; "Has no one...explained this to you?"
"Is that what you think? Who told you this?" Luke didn't know in that moment whether to be outraged, insulted or just simply laugh. It didn't even occur to him to bother denying any of it, so absurd were the claims.
"It's immaterial. What's important is that we try to move forward from-"
"It's not immaterial to me," Luke held doggedly. "I want to know who's concocting this crock."
.
.
Nathan sighed patiently. Skywalker certainly had the Rim System accent and slang off pat. "Why do you think your movements are being restricted?"