Because it was probably the truth.
It doesn't matter. Why are you just sitting here and doing exactly what he wants? Why aren't you fighting him, why aren't you trying to get to Han--why aren't you trying to get out of here?
Where would I go?
It doesn't matter where you ARE--it just matters where you AREN'T. It doesn't even matter if he's telling the truth or not. That doesn't mean you have to do what he wants.
Stood alone with his thoughts, for the first time the notion occurred to Luke that the truth wasn't enough. That simply telling the truth didn't make Palpatine right.
He scowled, indignant--
It doesn't give him any power over you. Stop doing as he wants. Start fighting back.
How?
Just DO something.
I gave my word.
You gave your word to stay. To listen. Not to try to escape... He's sticking to the letter of your deal--do the same. If you don't actually try to leave, just...test the theory... He's playing mind games--don't let him.
Luke looked at the transparisteel window with new purpose; it was absolutely free of any refraction or distortion, making it difficult to judge its thickness, but at its edges he could see it disappearing into a heavy alloy frame within the dressed stone, the two sides of the frame giving a good indication of pane's thickness--greater than a large starship viewscreen. Looking closely, squinting against the light, he could see the two layers of fine, clear monofilaments threaded through the body of the pane, interwoven and set into the heavy alloy casing which framed it.
All transparisteel viewports on starships had this monofilament as a defense against explosive impact, but it was usually so fine as to be invisible to the naked eye, and generally only one layer was embedded. Luke couldn't recall ever seeing two layers--in fact, he could only recall actually seeing filament at all from very close up in the largest of panes on military ships. For it to be visible, particularly at this range, the sheet must be, to all intents and purposes, unbreakable.
What he needed was something capable of cutting through the filaments; without them, he was pretty sure he could now break it with a solid blow from the Force, as thick as it was.
Pressure against the woven structure supposedly pushed the filaments together, enhancing their strength. Could the Force be applied over a wider area--a more even distribution of power, sufficient to snap the monofilaments without clumping them? Perhaps...
But he needed to be sure...
He looked away, aware that he had been staring at the window for a suspiciously long time now, hoping that the guard in the corner and whoever was watching the security images thought that he was simply looking through it rather than at it. He didn't glance at the guard--do that now, and he may as well give them a written warning of his intention.
He shouldn't do it--he had given his word...
Don't break it, then--just...test it.
And on the day, if it broke, what was he going to do? Jump out of it and off the edge of the balcony? Twenty stories up, to land on the main roof of the palace? He'd already pretty conclusively proved to himself that he couldn't take that kind of fall whilst at Cloud City.
And there it was again; doubt. Self-doubt. He could take that fall--he had done it.
And if by some miracle he did--then what? Set off on foot, against what would definitely be a very sophisticated surveillance system, only the vaguest idea where Han was or which way to go to reach him.
He knew that Han was in the huge bulk of the main Palace below... and that every other being there had earned that place because they were fanatically loyal to the Emperor.
He's have no weapon, when he knew how many guards habitually walked the Palace. He'd stopped bothering trying to count after a couple of hundred; it became pretty much academic.
There was absolutely no logical reason to try to break the window.
Except that he was sick of being led around by Palpatine.
He was sick of sitting here and doing nothing.
He was sick of being watched and...
Being watched--by security lenses and guards alike.
So many that it became academic... Too many guards; too many to count...
He didn't need to jump; he could walk out of here...just walk calmly out.
Luke nodded just slightly to himself, looking back to the transparisteel pane.
He definitely needed to test his theory...but he needed to hide that fact behind something else... behind a bigger statement.
His eyes scanned the huge, dark, somber dining hall and came to rest on that damn table...and he smiled.
.
.
.
.
.
Mara walked down the dark, opulent hallways, on her way from the main Ops room two stories above Skywalker to the Information Suite many stories below, where she had been summoned by the Emperor. It was a trek from Skywalker's apartments to anywhere, the floors immediately above and below him kept empty, partly for security, partly to allow for the outrageous fortifications her master had instigated to hold his precious Jedi. None of which seemed very necessary. It occurred that aside from the strange, distant contact she occasionally picked up on from Skywalker, like a mental whisper, she hadn't once seen anything to confirm her master's belief that Skywalker was even a Jedi, let alone one worthy of this kind of security.
Still, learning his heritage had made her determined to remain wary, both of his abilities and of him. And yet...
Even as she thought that, Mara was aware that despite her best efforts, her tenseness around him was beginning to slip in reaction to his open, familiar manner. Why was he being so...amicable? He was a professional soldier and so was she. He knew that it wouldn't make her hesitate if it came to the crunch, so what was he trying to do?
His unaffected air was...disquieting. She didn't like it--didn't like that he made her look him in the eye.
Didn't like that she was thinking about him right now.
She had seen his expression, his whole demeanor change when the Emperor was there--even when other guards were there. Seen those defensive walls drop into place. This was something he shared only with her, and it felt...disturbingly genuine. A sincere attempt at communication--at making some connection, just for the sake of it.
Which did nothing to tell her why, and since he somehow managed to be both sociable and guarded, she doubted very much that she would ever find out. Guarded--she wondered again at his past, something he never mentioned; wondered where he had been trained. He was about her own age, so would have barely been born when the Jedi were wiped out. But he must have found a way, found a Master, because he was trained.
There were few who could withstand the overbearing mental presence of her master, yet he'd held out this far. It took a well-trained mind to hold focus through all that carefully-created confusion, that much she knew.
His studied calm was deeply disquieting to her; his openness, his reluctance to judge. She was an Imperial and she was his jailor, which made him more entitled than most to harbor a low opinion of her. Yet through the nebulous contacts she had sensed from him, she hadn't once felt that he'd judged her for this.
This conscious lack of preconceptions was unsettling. Always with her master, his every thought was tinged with frustration at her, a sense of his disappointment at her constant failure to live up to his expectations. With Skywalker there was just...acceptance.
She knew of course that she was only seeing the surface--only seeing what he allowed her to see--but...it had that same honesty to it that permeated all her dealings with him. It was like looking at the surface of deep water. It drew her in...