Mara looked back to Luke, suddenly understanding so much more--about this, about him, about everything that was going on here; the larger game her master was playing.
But as many questions as it answered, it opened up more--if he was Vader's son then where had he been? And what about his history, his links with the Alliance, with the Jedi? Was it real, any of it?
Of course it was; she'd seen hundreds of data chips containing information from a team dedicated specifically to tracking him--his past and present activities. He'd been top of the Empire's Most Wanted list for over a year, since the day they had his name. At the time of his capture at Bespin, Mara knew of seventeen independent operations to capture him which all financed by the Empire--aside from their own concerted military efforts, headed up by Vader...by his ...
She turned to him now, mind racing to piece everything together. Hundreds of data chips, endless man-hours being dedicated to finding the pilot who'd destroyed the Emperor's pet project... Then finally, they'd had a name--and everything had changed.
The Intelligence team who dealt with it was quadrupled in size overnight, then isolated in a separate, dedicated unit, no longer anything to do with any other Rebel or anti-insurgency units. Vader himself was assigned to head up the search...
They hadn't known--they hadn't known Luke existed!
She remembered again Palpatine's words when he had first visited his new Jedi--his fascination, his anticipation: "He looks not at all like his mother--only his father."
His mother...who was she? Where was she? He'd grown up alone on some backwater dustball of a planet right on the Rim--or had he at all? What was real and what carefully constructed hyperbole? Everything was under question again.
But one thing had become crystal clear; why Skywalker was here. Why Palpatine had wanted him so very much from the moment he had discovered his existence.
"Have I spoken out of turn?" Skywalker said coolly of the revelation, eyes on his father, pushing for a response.
"No," Vader replied simply.
The two remained still, each refusing to yield, the air fairly crackling between them. Finally, Mara found her voice. "I should leave."
"No--STAY," Skywalker repeated forcefully, the unexpected demand in his voice making Mara stumble to an uneasy stop.
"She is ordered to leave," Vader said, leaden tones inviting no argument, though it didn't appear to faze Skywalker in the least. But now...now, Mara understood why.
"By who?" Luke challenged.
"The Emperor," Vader said.
Luke looked quickly to Mara, expression shifting rapidly from authoritative demand to a flash of bitter regret, as if reminded of what she was. She looked away, avoiding his gaze, deeply uncomfortable.
"Of course," he said quietly, eyes still on her, though she didn't look up. "And you all do just as Palpatine orders."
"You think yourself beyond that?" Vader growled, bringing Luke's eyes back to him. "Then why are you here?"
Luke laughed humorlessly, turning away, genuinely dismissive.
"You should leave, Commander Jade," he said at last, voice dry and emotionless. "But then you would have done so anyway, I'm sure."
The rebuke stung, when it shouldn't have, Mara knew. She had no loyalty to him--she really shouldn't care what he thought of her. Didn't care, she corrected; didn't.
She walked quickly between them, head down, jaw clamped. Angry and flustered and wounded all at once, mind still spinning from the revelation as the heavy door ground shut behind her. In the long, grand hallway beyond she slowed to a halt, heedless of the eyes of numerous guards scattered about it; of the security lenses recording her every move.
Vader's son...Darth Vader's son. She had sat in a room with him, had spoken so casually to him, had watched him and listened to him. Had played sabacc with him--with Vader's son. And hadn't realized.
Hadn't realized who she was sitting with.
And she was supposed to be the best, trained from childhood to catch every nuance and notice even the smallest detail...yet she hadn't had a clue. But they were so different... or were they at all--the absolute demand in Skywalker's tone had stopped her dead just moments ago.
Why hadn't the Emperor told her? Why hadn't he clarified that one incredible fact, when it brought everything else so clearly into focus? Why had he given her the task of guarding him when he knew how she felt about Vader--how little she liked him, how much she distrusted him.
Why had he given her this chance to know Skywalker before this bombshell dropped on her?
Because he must have realized this moment would come--that she would find out, one way or another. It may be a little earlier than he had intended, but the effect was much the same.
And he did love his little games. It would be so like him to play this little amusement out, for his own entertainment.
She slowly resumed her march down the corridor, to check that her master knew Vader was here. In truth, it made no difference who the prisoner was--he would be lost anyway, one way or another. Because sooner or later, her master's patience would fracture and he would turn on Skywalker with a vengeance--
And he would take him to pieces.
Somewhere along the line, she'd forgotten that; forgotten that Palpatine had an ulterior motive which would not be swayed. And learning Skywalker's identity had only underlined the hard facts. Palpatine would break him or kill him trying. Anyone connected with him, anyone drawn in by him, no matter how reluctantly, would be pulled in and dragged down; collateral damage.
And it shouldn't be her. It wouldn't be her. Perhaps that was the lesson her master wanted to re-teach--because clearly she'd forgotten.
She quickened her pace to a military march, angry at herself for letting her guard slip, even a little. Angry at Skywalker for stealing past her defenses--and thankful to her master for clarifying the weakness inherent in any human emotion--especially this.
.
.
.
They stood in silence for long moments when Jade left, Skywalker's eyes on his father now, expression unreadable, sense guarded and veiled, something he was becoming exceptionally good at. Finally Luke turned and walked quietly toward the tall windows, remaining there with his back to his father, saying nothing.
Vader could only stand and watch, knowing that this had already escalated into conflict and having no idea how to diffuse it. No idea why he came here again and again.
Because something brought him back which was stronger than any walls the boy could build. Some need more addictive than any hostile rejection. Even though he had no idea how to express it or even name it, it brought him back here every time.
"Luke..." The boy remained silent. "Who gave you that name?" Vader asked at last, turning the boy's head just slightly.
"I...don't know. I never asked."
Silence stretched out again...
Uncertain how to continue, uncomfortable in the protracted silence, Vader turned to leave. As he did so, he heard his son's voice, very quiet.
"What...was your name?"
"What?" He'd heard the question, but was so unsure in that moment what to make of it that it had stopped him dead.
Remaining before the tall window, staring out into the encroaching dusk, his son spoke again. "Your name?"
Vader was silent for long seconds. "Anakin--Anakin Skywalker." It was a lifetime since he had spoken it out loud, since he had even thought it--his son's lifetime.
It felt deeply uncomfortable to say it, somehow clumsy and unnatural. And something else, some deeper regret...
To have to say it like this, to his son. As an admission that he was no longer the man he had been. The man his son would have been proud of.
Though Luke was half-turned away, Vader saw him mouth his surname, and realized that until this moment, his son hadn't even known whether even this was truly his or just another lie, one of many.