"Well then ask Wez to do it." Luke cut in, surprised at the medic's squeamish streak; knowing Wez would have no such qualms. "Or Admiral Joss if Wez isn't there, anyone I'd trust. But be there- make sure it's done."
Hallin nodded resolutely, though Luke could sense his discomfort.
"This is important Nathan." he emphasized, "... to me as much as anything. I won't give him that opportunity." He had watched as his father slowly realised that in his son, he was also seeing his replacement; his comprehension that Palpatine would cast Vader aside in an instant- would willingly initiate his death for just the chance of controlling the next generation. Even in his darkest hour, when he had hated his father with a vengeance for bringing him here, Luke had balked at how the Emperor could so easily dismiss and discard that which he had created - callously use one who had served him for so long.
Had experienced firsthand how once the Sith Master had fixed his avaricious sights on something he would ruthlessly exploit any means to ensure his own desires.
Despite his father's twisted morals, Luke had sensed in recent talks some shade of genuine regret; remorse at his decision to bring his own son here, exposing him to Palpatine's self-serving ambitions and pitiless wrath. To Luke, the thought that another generation may become caught up in this soul-destroying struggle was abhorrent. All in the service of his Master's greater goal, his precious Sith Dynasty - did he seriously believe Luke would give him that? That satisfaction, that control over another life?
But apparently, he didn't need Luke's consent - and why was he even surprised at that?
The morning had slipped by, lost in Luke's appalled disbelief that even Palpatine would stoop to such a thing, resentment crystallising into adamant resolve that it wouldn't be so. Whatever it took, any means, any price, he wouldn't be Palpatine's puppet. He wouldn't be used.
And if the only way to regain control of his life was to relinquish the past, then he could do that now. Without hesitation; without regret.
Was that what his Master had wanted? Surely he knew that anything said to Hallin would eventually come back to Luke? Was this too just a manipulation, one more coaxing coercion toward Darkness? If so then yes; he had won this game; Luke finally found himself willing to cut himself free of his past. But the victory would be a hollow one - if it took Luke's last breath he'd ensure that.
Eventually Luke had headed for the gym in his apartments, much to Hallin's obvious dismay, resorting to exercise in an effort to get his mind off the medic's revelation, grateful for the distraction from guessing and double-guessing every play in his Master's part but frustrated by how little it took to reduce still-weak muscles to exhaustion.
When he sensed Wez Reece heading meaningfully down the corridor, his thoughts boiling with ominous uncertainty, Luke turned expectantly to the door, bringing Hallin's gaze about too. Moments later Reece entered, nervous anticipation apparent in his face and his sense as he glanced momentarily at the medic then turned to Skywalker.
"I've just received word from Chancellor Cordo that the Emperor will dine here tonight." Reece said, no further explanation for his tension necessary.
Luke ground his jaw at the mention of the Emperor, reigning back his anger, keeping his voice casual, "Did Cordo say why?" Unless he had a specific reason, Luke seldom used titles save for his Master and his father, and no-one was in a position to correct him.
"No, nothing. Only that the Emperor will dine here tonight."
Luke stepped over to a chair, Hallin half-rising, clearly resisting the urge to step forward in case Luke fell, his fragility still obvious, though he tried hard to hide it.
"Nothing more?" Luke prompted as he reached out for the chair to steady himself before he sat down.
"Only that I was ordered to arrange the meal in your private dining room rather than the State Dining Room." Reece said, turning uneasily away as Luke stared at him. Though his injured right eye had healed, the damage had rendered the once pale blue iris discoloured across almost half its area, now almost as dark as the pupil itself, the contrast unsettling. So much so that even Reece found it disconcerting at times; unnerving to look into The Heir's strangely mismatched eyes.
"Really?" Luke considered a moment more, aware that Reece was avoiding eye contact though not sure why. Then allowed the slightest of smiles to turn up the edges of his scarred lips. "I think I need to speak to Darrick." he said, of his Wardrobe master.
Reece glanced back, raising his eyebrows in question.
"I'm looking for a shirt." Luke replied enigmatically, "A very specific shirt - I haven't worn it in... three years, but Darrick will know which it is."
Reece was fascinated now, "Any particular reason?"
The Heir's uncanny gaze turned meaningfully to the door in a pointed indication that someone else was about to enter, though he didn't speak or gesture, everyone aware of the fact that surveillance was still active in this part of Luke's apartment. Mara Jade catwalked into the room, precluding any further discussion, though Luke was no longer so inexperienced as to abruptly stop speaking, bringing the conversation to a more natural conclusion.
"I would imagine my dinner guest's trying to make a statement - I'd hate him to think that I'd missed it." He turned just slightly, "Good morning, Red."
.
.
Mara stayed in the Commander's quarters for the rest of the day, aware of the tense brittleness about him today; the sense of insular brooding. It didn't bother her particularly; as with Palpatine, that outward detachment simply masked a racing mind.
One of only three or four people whom he allowed this close, Mara was well aware of both the rareness and the duality of her position. She remained both Skywalker's bodyguard-come-Aide and, in the final analysis, Palpatine's eyes and ears close to Luke; his 'watcher', as her master liked to refer to his many spies. Reece, whom Skywalker seemed to trust as much as Mara, was his second observer; her 'corroborator'- proof that Mara's own facts were accurate... It never failed to fascinate her that Skywalker allowed them both so close, since he had to know what they both were.
Recruited by Saté Pestage, Reece was, as her master expressed it, possessed of a 'quiet mind', which apparrently bought him sufficient trust to remain. Why she was allowed the same, Mara didn't know. This duality in her status was becoming increasingly... uncomfortable with the passage of time, but Palpatine had made it patently clear that if he had any doubts whatsoever, he would simply remove her from Skywalker's retinue entirely. It was this knowledge which kept Mara from looking too closely at her own skewed ethics, aware on some level that it would be a rocky road leading only to trouble.
She knew after all that Skywalker was well aware of her reason for being there, yet despite this he never seemed particularly inclined judge her. He never had - it was one of the things which had fascinated her; drew her to him. If anything, he seemed rather more concerned with why it was her than the fact that she was there at all, and if he had his suspicions then he wasn't about to mention them out loud - one of the things which infuriated her about him. But then again, she was hardly in a position to judge him for keeping secrets, given her position.
Luke did just that - remained quiet and introvert - for the best part of the day, lost in thought. He still wore only his drawstring sleep-trousers and a long linen dressing-gown, left loose in the heat of the day. He hadn't bothered to dress more than a few times yet and disliked fastening the dressing-gown which snagged on the long metal tension bars still protruding from the polymer forms on his immobilised left arm and the bare skin across his collar bones.
Now he sat at the table in his private drawing room, gazing blankly at the dust motes which drifted in the shaft of sunlight in the stuffy, airless room, unthinkingly turning a long, dark splinter of plassteel over and over in his hand - his version of practicing the fine motor-coordination which Hallin had advised for his newly-fitted prosthetic - obviously playing some plan or scenario over and over in his head, looking for flaws in logic or judgement.