The Emperor set his head on one side, continuing quietly as if Hallin had not spoken, "Art should have a signature. Until it does, one is never quite sure that it is truly finished. And it suits him - suits his nature... He's become rather... striking, don't you think? Charismatic; fascinating in his contradictions."
Hallin slowed, realisation running cold down his spine. "I'm not..."
Palpatine turned on him, yellow eyes seeming to glow in the low light, "Don't you think?"
Hallin fell to silence, frozen to the spot, no idea of how to diffuse this, then the Emperor laughed just slightly, amused, "Oh, don't worry, medic. This one has a built-in immunity- it's kept him safe for this long."
He turned back, leaning in to touch the grim scar just above the sleeping man's lips, long, thin fingers so pale as to be bonelike in the low light, trembling just slightly as they hovered there. Then he turned away, walking slowly past Hallin, his gnarled cane clicking against the sterile floor. He paused beside the medic without looking round, voice coolly perceptive, as if sharing some unspoken mutual accord, "One may appreciate a work of art even if one cannot own it- but then you know that, medic... no?"
Hallin remained still, eyes down, and eventually the Emperor walked on, his cane tak-takking into the distance, its every strike sending a jarring pulse up Hallin's spine.
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"He's not dead." Leia said simply as she came to a stop, bringing Han's eyes quizzically up to her from his breakfast plate.
"What?"
"He's not dead; we didn't get him. He's on Coruscant."
Han's eyes lit, a lopsided grin of realisation spreading across his face, "Luke?"
"Whoever." Leia shrugged, sitting down beside him and gazing down at her own plate to hide her face. For some reason, she could feel the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth too, much as she tried to repress it. It had just never felt right; not that way.
"Hey, kid's bombproof as well now, huh?" Han crowed, amused.
"No. we hurt him pretty bad, we think. We only have a few fragments of information, but Tag put it all together and could only make it make sense one way. He's alive but badly injured. He was taken to Coruscant immediately, she thinks, when the Executor made orbit there a few weeks ago. The Bothans say the official line in the Palace is that The Heir is unavailable at present, on an assignment for the Emperor, yet all his Aids and adjutants are still at the Palace, including Jade and Reece, both of whom he never goes anywhere without. But there've been absolutely no sightings of him, and there are only two guards outside the Perlemian Apartments, which Massa thinks points to his being too ill to be allowed to return to his own apartments." Leia shrugged, "This is all conjecture of course, but since they've not announced his death by now, we have to assume he's alive. Added to that is the fact that his personal medic hasn't left the medicentre for weeks and he's generally close to The Heir, plus all kinds of specialists are being summoned to the Palace on a daily basis, and no-one else seems ill. The reasonable conclusion is that he's alive but badly injured and in the Palace medicentre. Tag is working every trick she knows and pulling in anything even vaguely related to try and get something more concrete. "
Han nodded his head, aware that Intel had been going ballistic since the assassination attempt had been announced, firstly because they were kept out of the loop and secondly because they now needed to get some kind of solid evidence either way, but because they hadn't known about the attempt, they had no-one in place to do so. Every resource had been committed to that goal within hours and the initial intelligence had looked good. The Peerless had returned to the Kuat Shipyards and the Heir wasn't seen to disembark, the official line being that a recent repair had failed. But the unit Madine had placed there to lay the bombs had verified that there was visible blast damage as it came in to dock... and then fallen off the radar; simply disappeared.
Again, the normally cool, unflappable Massa had stood up to make her point in no uncertain terms that if she'd been in the loop, then this could probably have been avoided.
Leia lifted up one of the graincakes from the plate she'd been carrying; it was almost lunchtime and she hadn't had breakfast yet... and it was cold.
She ate it anyway, pulling a strip off the edge and chewing thoughtfully, both Han and Tag Massa's words ringing round her head as she tried to decipher whether she was disappointed or relieved at the news. Han wanted to believe Luke was honourable because he and Luke had a history, but Massa... despite her official line, Leia had a feeling that privately, she felt pretty much the same - and there was no connection there that Leia knew of; no history. "I can tell you this much though, without any Intel - whatever remote chance we had of ever negotiating with him when he came to power is now effectively ruined. Whatever he was, we've made him an enemy now."
Han glanced away, not willing to consider that right now, still euphoric at the unanticipated turn of events. Strange; he'd just finally begun to let the kid go , then here he was, back in the picture one more time. His grin turned into a slow frown as he considered the timescale; kid had been in the medicentre an awful long time. "No idea how bad he was injured?"
Leia frowned as she collapsed down onto the hard wire-frame chair beside him, "Not really. Bad, all things considered."
"But recoverable?" Han prompted.
Leia said nothing and Han glanced down at his food, no longer hungry.
"Look at it this way," Leia said in solace, unable to keep a touch of wry hostility from entering her voice, "He's Palpatine's Heir and he's in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant; he will, I promise you, be getting the best care the galaxy can offer."
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"When will he wake again?" Palpatine demanded, sharp gaze turning to the uncomfortable Hallin.
"I'm not sure, Excellency. The side-effect of the painkillers he requires is drowsiness. I'm confident that..."
"Stop them." The Emperor ordered.
Hallin paused, uncertain how to continue but knowing he must. "The um... the painkillers are vital to...."
Palpatine turned just slightly, and it was all that was needed to make Hallin's voice trail off into silence, his resolve lost before that sulphurous stare. Still, the Sith clarified his wishes as he turned back to the boy, "As of now, he's to be given no more."
"It will slow his recovery."
It was a last-ditch attempt by the medic, Palpatine knew, and quite immaterial. He had made this decision days ago.
"Then he will have time to consider his betrayal. This is not something he should forget or easily dismiss. It is his final lesson and it has been a long time coming - and knowledge always comes at a price. I am not blind to what he has been doing, medic, the fine line he's been treading, and he cannot remain neutral. It is quite impossible in his position. There is no mid-ground, there are no misgivings. Insurrection is a crime. Rebellion is a crime. Betrayal is a crime without equal. He must learn to destroy his enemies or they will destroy him. It is a hard lesson but it must be learned; one must surrender the past to own the future." Palpatine glanced momentarily to the medic, dismissive, "You are treating a patient- I am creating a Sith."
"The drugs are keeping him alive- suppressing infection and sepsis, preventing biochemical cascade and organ failure. They're managing hypermatabolism and aspiration pneumonia. We've only just begun to deal with complications presenting from TBI."
"The drugs which deal with life-threatening injuries are to be continued. All else - including painkillers in any form - will stop."
"What you are asking will cause... considerable... distress."
"That is the point." Palpatine dismissed blandly, gaze still on the boy.