Samizdat 8
Shura4@aol.com


	Hyperspace, Rasclann Region

	Han glanced at Mara.  A blue light washed over a pinched and 
weary face and her cheekbones were harsh in the shadows.  Her smile, 
though slight and business like, was a surprise.  "I'm fine, Captain 
Solo.  We're about to leave hyperspace now."

	Han's fingers flew over his board as he confirmed the 
coordinates.  "Anytime, Mara," he replied, resisting a twinge of 
exasperation.   "And I really wish you wouldn't do that....."

	For a moment, Mara saw Luke's face, heard the affectionate 
words and felt a twinge of aversion. "I wasn't reading your mind, Captain," 
she said pleasantly, if a little preoccupied, banishing the vision.  "A cross-
eyed ewok could've figured out what you were thinking."

	He decided to ignore her.  "It's time to get Leia. She knows what 
we're supposed to meet."

	Mara rose from her seat, sideways and out.  "Certainly, sir," she 
replied a little too smartly and escaped through the hatchway without giving 
him a chance to reply. 

	Muttering to himself, a soft undertone familiar to the cockpit, he 
gazed at the wrinkles in time spreading in front of him and wondered if it 
would ever end, if anyone would ever really tell anyone else what they 
thought, tell anyone how they felt.  He smiled wryly, his lips crooked.  

	They could save Luke, of course, if Luke hadn't already fallen 
to the Darkside.  And then Luke and Mara would shake hands, give each 
other a guarded, oblique glance or two, and just as they had countless 
times before, insult each other in some way that was not quite what it 
seemed. And that would be the end of it.  Han shifted in his seat, 
exasperation rising again.

	Or, Mara could actually make a confession, be vulnerable for 
once.  Although, even Han could not really envision this, the strangest of 
all happenings.  He had a feeling though, an intuition, that Luke would be 
more than amiable.  Why couldn't Mara see the same thing?  Maybe she 
could, maybe that's what was scaring her.  His train of thought was 
interrupted by the sound of hatch door.

	"Where's Chewie?" Han asked, all business.

	"Coming," Leia's voice replied.

	"Well, he'd better hurry," Han put in, flipping a toggle.  "Chron says 
it's time."

	As if on cue, Chewbacca made his way through the hatch, his 
head dipping from habit as he pushed his way through and slid, with 
unlikely grace, into his seat.  A barking whine greeted the co-pilot's 
controls.

	Han grimaced.  "Don't ask me, Chewie.  Mara set it up."

	"Problem?" Mara's voice was sharp with deflected irritation.

	The whine came again.  "He just wants to know....." Han began.

	"How you set up the navicomp diagnostic.  He's never seen that 
configuration before."  This was Leia, who appeared to be doing nothing 
more than gazing out the front viewport.

	Han, startled, leaned back toward her, his hazel eyes wide for 
once. "Since when do you speak Wookie?"

	She grinned at her husband.  "After........ how long has it been? 
I'm not stupid, in case you've forgotten."

	His smile turned dangerous.  "Believe me, I know," he put in, self 
defense drawing a picture of a well-defined face in shadow.  "But you've 
never said anything before."  

	Her dark eyes glinted and he saw a new freedom there, a shining 
limitlessness and clear eyed optimism.  "Why spoil the fun? Besides, 
Chewie's been helping me a little."

	A warning interrupted this tete a tete.  Chewbacca was speaking, 
all business.  But Mara was the one who, unwittingly, translated.  "Rasclann 
system in 3..... 2....... 1....... mark!"

	And, as if by sound of her voice alone, the freighter found itself 
sitting in space, stars indifferent in the velvet sky.  Han stood and gave the 
viewport a critical look.  There was a silence while Chewbacca busied 
himself, in his accustomed role as copilot.  A sensor scan flashed on, then 
off again, and a warning beeper sounded.

	Han did not need anyone to tell him what that meant.  "Company!" 
he said, his voice rising a little.  

	Leia half rose behind the pilot's chair and looked over his 
shoulder.  "It should be Lepnatos," she said in a serious undertone.

	"Let's just hope it's not Ackbar....." Mara put in, her eyes flashing 
as her blood began to rise.

	Seconds later, in what had been only an empty, black field a small 
military cruiser, flanked by several of the experimental  Z Alpha 
Starfighters flashed into existence and then held to unnatural stillness, 
their gray hulks glinting within the faded light.  A flatness surrounded them, 
as the Rasclann system swung through its eternal, elliptical movements, 
its sun radiating light, warmth, promise.  A long second passed, and then 
the comm board beeped.

	"Freighter *Millennium Falcon* this is recon cruiser *Dagobah.*  
Do you read?"

	Leia nodded, relief mixed liberally with satisfaction.  "That's them," 
she put in, a light tone in her voice.

	Han, staring at the screen with eyes pouring disbelief, retained his 
wits long enough to hit the comm board.  "*Millennium Falcon* to cruiser 
*Dagobah,* confirming.  Sending transponder signal now."

	"Copy, Millennium Falcon.*  Will return same."

	The comm crackled off and Han turned swiftly to his wife.  "You 
mean that's it?"

	She gave him a  long look, one of disturbing, if wifely, 
understanding.  "What do you mean?" she asked, coy but not altogether 
surprised.

	"We're going into the Core Systems with *that?*"  He pulled 
another look at the viewport.  One of the fighters moved to the forefront, 
changing position handily with the leader.  "That's not enough firepower 
to...."

	Leia's voice was settled, deciding.  "We're not taking over.  We're 
only trying to get Luke out.   Not even Ackbar knows about this, Han."

	"Then how'd you do it?"

	She lowered her eyes.  "I pulled a few strings, called in a few 
favors.  I couldn't put the Admiral in that position."

	"Who's manning the ships?"

	"Mostly people from Alderaan, Lepnatos' crowd.  They feel they 
owe Luke, too, even though he didn't save Alderaan itself."  She sighed, 
wistful.  "When I put out the call, I received notices from people I haven't 
spoken to in years.  People I didn't remember, even people who've been 
in retirement.  Wedge is there, some people from the days on Hoth, some 
from Yavin.  There's even a couple of Tatooine natives."  Her voice 
became small with  wonder.   "That's how I did it.  It's all for him."

	Han's mouth opened and then closed.  Fleetingly, he gave Mara a 
glance but saw only a studied control as the woman's calculating eyes 
took in the ships phalanxed in the window.  "But, it's not gonna be 
enough," he protested.  "We need, at least, a destroyer...."

	Leia pulled at his shoulder.  "Why, Han?  We can't take Byss.  We 
may not even be able to get there. Secrecy is our best bet.  We're getting 
Luke out and then we're leaving."

	"What if he's turned?" Han's face was shadowed, suddenly 
unreadable.  "We won't be able to fight him."

	Mara's head jerked back, as if someone had slapped her.  "Do 
you really think he's turned, Solo?"

	Han shrugged and tugged at the underside of the pilot's console.  
The transponder code beeped through.  "Well, with Jedi there's no 
telling," Han replied unhelpful.   "Do you think he found Callista?"

	"Yes," two female voices answered in perfect unison, high and 
low tones oddly blended, the sound penetrating and rich before it faded.  
Static crackled over the comm.  *Millennium  Falcon* do you need 
supplies?"

	Chewbacca, who had been running a scan program over a limping 
control board, barked a reply.

	"Ah, yeah, *Dagobah* sure do," Han's voice replied, his eyes on 
the Wookie.  "We need three meters of cabling #2 and five meters of 
#10.  Got any to spare?"

	Soft static played over the cockpit and then the young voice came 
back.  "We've got #10.  We'll look for #2."

	"Copy, *Falcon* out." Han swiveled in his seat.  "Chewie, why 
didn't you tell me the left board is bad? Is that what's been bugging you?" 

	There was an affirmative bark. 

	"Anything we can do to help?"  Leia was all business.

	Han shook his head.  "The cabling's burned out, which is a pain 
where we're going.  Normally it'd be a simple thing to replace, but....."

	She nodded.  "I'll get Lepnatos on it.  Is it possible to substitute?"

	Mara eyes lit up and she put in before Han could reply, standing 
with surety and grace in one of the seat wells.  "No, Solo, don't shake your 
head.  Seems to me you could use #9 cabling with #7 as filters.  I've done 
that before.  It's not perfect, but it'll keep the board up."

	Han nodded and waved a hand in Chewie's direction. "Yeah, 
we've tried that, but it burns out under stress, any kind of stress.  We'd 
take a turn too sharp and the board would go out again."

	Mara's eyes held a competitive look.  "Okay,  then how come I 
was able to beat off a shipful of Norlinga Raiders the last time I was on the 
Rim?  And my board was in no better shape than yours is now."

	Han was disbelieving.  "Why didn't you mention it before?"

	She moved and her features shadowed into relief, highlighted by 
the usual sharpness.  "'Cause no one asked.  I'll get the tools," she said.  
The old Mara was back.  "There's a way to rig it, you'll see."

	Chewbacca lifted his head and gave her an unlikely whine but Han 
waved him off.  "Well at least she's had experience with it," he said, 
placatingly.  Then he, too, stood and taking his wife's hand for emphasis, 
he looked deep into her optimistic brown eyes.  "We gonna need it," he 
said.  And together they turned to gaze at the blank starfield and the silent 
ships gathered before them.

**********************************

	Khaali's Quarters, Byss

	The voices whispered away, wind in the grass.  A breeze 
appeared and waves tossed foam into the air.  The sky was blue and 
unforgiving.  Cloud cover moved swiftly, shadowing the sunlight, restless 
and angry.  Eyes aching, she sheltered her face and blinked.  Tears of 
pain came but she held still, proud and unrelenting.  An animal called in the 
distance, a wild, free sound.  She gazed around after it only to catch sight 
of a young man standing just out of reach.

	"I wondered when you would wake," he said.  His voice was 
whispered but familiar.  She jerked back, trying to retreat into the dunes 
but the breeze and the tall sea grasses had vanished.  Instead she was 
faced with flat blackness.

	Hesitantly, she moved toward him.  "I..... I know you," she said, 
her voice hoarse, like graveled road.  Her bones hurt.

	The young man laughed.  "You should," he replied, confident and 
cold.  "I am your Master."

	A sudden hissing anger pushed through her soul and she closed 
her eyes against him.  "You are only an apprentice," she said, her reply 
oddly faint and murmured.

	"I should kill you," the young man said, his form now only an 
ominous aura.  "You've failed."

	She closed her eyes and memory flooded her mind.  "Irek.... Irek 
I told you, I told you I would have to....."  But her words fell away 
unspoken.  His darkness, vengeful and angry reached into her, clutching at 
her beating heart. 

	"I could kill you, Khaali," he said, delighting in the familiarity of her 
first name.  "I have the power.  You've given it to me.  One wrong 
move....."

	She gasped, suddenly unable to breathe as the heart muscle 
began to falter,  as blood pounded heavy and lethargic against closing 
valves. There was an irregular, fluttering motion, as if a captive bird were 
caught within her chest.  "Irek!" she cried, all defiance.  But physical 
weakness won out, compelling her to weary knees. Even then, in 
submission,  her back remained straight, head unbowed.  "I will never give 
in........"

	The pressure stopped.  "You betrayed me."  His voice turned 
petulant, a child wishing for a forbidden toy.  "You want only him."

	She gasped for breath and longed to retreat into the oblivion 
framed by sea grasses and unbearable sky.  Instead, she was surrounded 
by Irek's aristocratic, commanding face; his cold, blue eyes; his greedy 
fingers.  A haze of confused vision appeared in her mind and one word 
formed on her lips.  "Who?"

	The reply slipped through her hearing, the consonants silken, the 
vowels humming and low.  "Skywalker," his voice replied as she felt 
herself slide back into a yawning pit.  "You want Skywalker......."

	Her fingers clutched at smooth, wet stone.  There was a falling 
feeling, a sensation of tumbling from a endless height into a great, water 
shrouded depth.  Her fingers slipped away and she heard herself 
screaming as she fell through a widening cave.  Panic rose as the light 
retreated into a dim pinprick and then vanished.  

	Caught in the midst of her pounding heart, she found words, 
desperate words, to throw them back at him. "I'll never give him up! I will 
die before I........."   The words echoed away, instantly cut off.  She fought 
him, but her arms and legs were useless within the cold void.   A sudden, 
assaulting stink rose up, enveloping her in an odor of death and a sinking, 
burdened hopelessness. 

	Then, there was a piercing light and she heard someone, a 
woman, screaming, words incomprehensible within the flat metal walls of 
the small room.  The scream died to a humiliating whimper and she put out 
a hand.  The edge of the bed felt smooth, cool and disarming  through the 
tight darkness of shut eyes.

	"Are you quite finished?"  This was another familiar voice.  She 
struggled to open her eyes, but they remained weighted, forced shut. 

	There was a whispering laugh.  "Notyetnotyetnotyet..... " it 
breathed the words run together and intimate.  "I am the Master now......."

	"I've almost roused her, Admiral." Irek's voice.  

	Impatience cut through the room, a swift, sharp knife.  "Confine 
your sadistic tortures to your own time, Irek.  I need her conscious, now!"

	A moment of tense silence played back and forth as Irek resisted.  
After a time, though, a sneaking cowardice gained hold and he relented.  
"As you wish, Admiral.  But she's in no condition to talk."

	Pellaeon gave Irek an irritated glance.  "Or for anything else for 
that matter."

	Irek replied nothing.  The weights disappeared.   

	Slowly she pulled heavy lids open.  She was prone, on her own 
bed.  The artificial light was flat and mundane. The old fishing net hung 
motionless.  She turned her head, her gaze moving upwards and back to 
see two men standing there.  One was Irek, arrogant, hurt, pulsing with 
violent anger.  The other was Admiral Pellaeon, who seemed carved out 
of ice.   Her tongue fell over dry lips.

	"Why.....?"  Weariness called to her, a siren over the rustling 
ocean.

	"Why, what?" Pellaeon's impatience was burning, dangerous.  A 
rise colored his old man's words as he began to pace.  Even in her 
weakened state, she recognized the perilous note in his voice.  A shiver of 
fear raced through her, followed by a paralyzing, challenging 
unrepentance.  

	Irek's voice came through, following along.  "You've been 
stunned, Khaali.  You'll be fine after a couple of hours."

	She put a hand up to her face and felt something sticky.  Eyes 
closed and opened again as memory returned.  "Where's Skywalker?" 
she asked, her voice stronger, her heart racing.

	"In the Medical Center," Pellaeon replied, smooth as blue water in 
a summertime pond. "He's in a trance.  He cannot, or will not, be roused."

	She gave the Admiral a scornful look before closing her eyes 
again.  "He tried to kill himself," she said through swollen lips.  

	Pellaeon stopped pacing and came to stand, weight securely on 
both feet, directly over her.  "You drove him to it, Jedi," he said, contempt 
shading his smooth voice.  "What in Azniath did you think you were 
doing?"

	She smiled weakly and opened her eyes again.  "I'm owe you 
nothing, old man," she whispered, her voice laced with venom and hatred.  
"I was the one who got him here, I'm the one he wants."  Her pale smile 
was victorious.  "If Irek had not interrupted us....."

	Pellaeon stepped away quickly, as if her words were actual, flying 
weapons.  "You almost turned him, you Jedi bitch....." The vulgarity was 
shining and harsh under the lowered lights.  "I was very specific.  Under no 
circumstances was Master Skywalker to be turned.  He's useless if that 
happens."

	Irek grinned.  "How so, Admiral?" his voice the very manifestation 
of innocence.

	Pellaeon gave him a contemptuous look  and dismissed the next 
Emperor with hardened voice. "Thank you for calling this to my attention, 
Irek," he said with complete confidence.  "You will be rewarded."

	"I want my reward now," Irek replied immediately, the words 
following and hot. 

	Pellaeon's face settled like old stone, readying.  "Yes?"

	"I want Skywalker," Irek said, his voice rising as a tide of hatred 
swarmed within his soul like disturbed instectoids. 

	Pellaeon drew closer, willing calmness.  "And what, precisely, are 
you going to do with Skywalker?"

	Irek's face settled into an intelligent innocence but the words were 
somehow chilling.  "I just want to talk to him, Admiral," he continued, 
reasonable enough. "I feel a kinship with him, the sort of thing that Jedi 
only feel with other Jedi.   I thought perhaps I could learn something from 
him before Khaali, here, destroys him."

	A red rage flushed through Pellaeon's iced eyes, causing the 
usually arrogant Irek to take a step backward.  "I will give him to both of 
you, just as soon as his sister's government grants us what we want.  After 
that, you..... both of you," he said, turning his gaze from one to the other, 
"can do with him what you wish."  He turned back to the bloodstained 
woman on the bed, but his voice addressed both of them.  "You, Jedi, are 
not allowed anywhere near him for the time being.  He must be intact or his 
sister will not bargain.  Is this understood?"

	Khaali only gazed back, hatred, passion and intractability passing 
swiftly through her eyes.  Irek, in contrast, was placating, nodding too 
quickly.  "Yes, Admiral," he said, his voice smooth and oily.

	At that, Khaali began to laugh.  If there were replying words  they 
were hidden by the bitterness, pain and rebelliousness of that rippling 
laughter. After an expectant moment, Pellaeon gave her an incredulous 
look and, perhaps hiding sudden misgivings, made for the door.  It slid 
open and then shut again as the cold, humanoid presence of the Admiral 
vanished down the corridor.

	There was a hanging silence as Irek let time slip a little, let it pool 
and congregate in the blank air.  Then he came to stand over her, bending 
down to caress her bloody face.  "You should rest, Khaali," he said, his 
voice ominous and tender.

	She lost her smile and her eyes flashed antipathy.  "Don't touch 
me," she said, reaching to push his hand away.  

	With one powerful blow he slapped it back. The sound 
reverberated, cruel and cutting.  "I am the Master now, Khaali.  I'll touch 
you whenever I please."

	"You'll never have me," she replied, her tongue stumbling around 
the defiant words.  

	He gave her a look that promised violence but then  stalked to the 
door.  Stopping,  he turned toward her, his words damning.  "You will call 
me Master or you will die!" he whispered, his words creeping, soft and sly.  
She grimaced in pain as he raised a hand, long fingered and elegant.  It 
moved as he shaped a vision in her head.   

	She began to writhe on the bed, clutching at her clothes.  The pain 
entered deep; stabbing, burning.  For an instant, on the cusp of a great, 
dark wave of unbearable existence, she wished herself dead.  "He will die, 
Khaali," Irek said, cursing her.  "And you will be the instrument.  It will be 
your freedom."  A quiet satisfaction entered the powerful voice.   "And 
after that, I shall kill you."  Her death sentence but somehow, somewhere, 
part of her soul greeted it with joy.   "There is only room for one."

	Her darkened soul rose to the fight as she struggled.  "Never! He 
is too powerful," she murmured,  words cut and slivered in the face of  that 
crashing, black water.  

	His reply was laughter and, with a small movement of his hand, he 
returned her to the flat nothingness of oblivion.  She struggled, one last 
moment, but her hands and feet were again entombed.  Her body went 
limp on the bed.

	Approaching her again he knelt beside her bedraggled form.  
Putting up a hand to her cheek, he loosed his nails on it, drawing fresh 
blood.   With a knowing forefinger he streaked the pulsating liquid to her 
mouth and painted her lips with it.  Then, in a graceful, hunting motion, he 
kissed the new blood.  Her lips molded to his, warm, salty, compelling.   

	He stood, triumphant, licking his lips.  "Now, you are mine," he 
said to her slack body.  Then, with great purpose,  he turned and vanished 
through the sliding door.  The lights dimmed and she slept.

*****************************
	
	The former Admiral Pellaeon of the Old Imperial Navy was so 
angry he could barely find his way to his office.  In a last gesture of self-
control, he did not allow himself to slam down his fist on the comm 
console until the door was completely shut.  A pulsed breath escaped him 
as he pushed away from the innocuous desk and came to a halt against a 
cold wall.    Closing his eyes, he reached for a shred of sanity, of coherent 
thought.  The door opened.

	"Admiral?"  Jelila Daala's plain face went from dispassion to 
astonishment.  Her mouth was  a mere parting of the lips, which she 
immediately pursed in vexation, switching a data pad from one hand to 
another and stopped her forward motion.  A rushed surprise flashed and 
faded through eyes that had seen too much and her aging face was 
almost delicate with concern.  "Admiral, are you well?"

	He opened his eyes again.  "Not entirely," he replied, words 
rasped.  Slowly he made for a chair and sank into it.  "She almost 
destroyed us, Jelila."

	Daala blinked.  The Admiral never used her first name.  "Did she 
injure the Master?" she asked, a sarcastic edge easing into her tone.

	He shook his head.  "No, I don't think she's capable of it."  He 
looked directly at his assistant, his confidant.  "But I don't think any of us 
understood that until now."

	Carefully, Daala put down the data pad on a clean table.  "Are you 
saying she's not a Master?"

	He allowed himself to laugh, a small snort of contempt.  "Ah, 
Jelila......."  He let the sounds roam about the room, willing serenity.   "Do 
you know anything about Jedi?"

	Daala scowled.  "What are you getting at, Admiral?" Her voice 
was frayed with suspicion and, perhaps, hurt.

	He laughed again, this time in sympathy.  "Of course, I'm sorry.  
I've forgotten.  You were almost destroyed by one...."

	"Is there some purpose in bringing up the past?"  She shifted with 
impatience, her words suddenly abrupt.

	"Not that particular past."  He drew breath.  "No, I mean Jedi in 
general, their lore, their hierarchy, their teaching techniques.  They were 
ancient when I was a child and I remember well how they and their ...... 
kind... dominated the Galaxy. "

	She decided to play along.  "I know nothing about Jedi, sir," she 
replied, perfectly composed. 

	He signaled her to sit.  "Jelila, perhaps you should learn 
something about Jedi if you are to deal closely with them."

	She took her seat, her physical training regimen evident in the 
supple grace that slid into the chair.  "How so, Admiral?"

	He smiled, but his eyes hardened again.  "Khaali studied under 
Master Djinn, one of the last of the old masters.  The only other I can 
readily recall was Kenobi's teacher, a non-human, Yoda.  Master Yoda, 
however was very reclusive. Djinn was by far the most accessible of the 
two. 

	"That's very interesting," Daala put in, bored.

	Pellaeon decided  not to notice.  "Master Djinn was one of the 
best the Jedi teachers of the modern era.  His students held great renown, 
even those not strong in the Force.  Khaali studied with him, served her 
apprenticeship under his tutelage.  She may have been one of his best 
students."

	Daala merely nodded and stifled the urge to yawn.

	This time Pellaeon allowed himself to notice.  "I'm sorry, I'm lost 
in times forgotten."  His face was animated and alive and quickly she 
wondered that she had never seen this side of him before.   "What I'm 
getting at is that she was one of the finest examples of a modern Jedi 
ever trained.  The fact that she was able to cast her soul into the *Eye of 
Palpatine,* a feat well beyond most Jedi, proved that.  She gave her life 
for her order."

	"Not so, " Daala said, suddenly awake again.  "She's alive."

	"Yes, but in another's body.  Remember how she came to us, 
weak, embittered, lost?  Remember how we trained her, guided her, let 
her true gifts return?"  He thought for a moment.  "There was a price for 
her life and she's paid it."

	"All I can remember is how she cursed us...." Daala began, 
scowling.

	"She came of her own free will, we did not coerce her," he said, 
his face gray and serious.

	"True, although, in my opinion, she should not have been allowed 
to live," Daala said, allowing a trace of bitterness to color her carrying 
voice. 

	Pellaeon stood.  "We would never have been able to kill her, 
Jelila.  She was too powerful for us, even then."  He sighed and gave the 
room a studied glance.  His eyes fell over the simple furniture and 
equipment, over the familiar data pads and reports.  There was a touch of 
regret, of creeping sadness, of foreboding in his aging voice.  "I never 
approved of this aspect of the plan, Jelila."

	"I know that, Admiral."

	He stood and paced to the comm console,  fingering a toggle.  "A 
Jedi brought down the Grand Admiral, a Jedi brought down the Emperor, 
brought down the Empire."  A short silence punctuated this thought as it 
settled like fine dust over the room.  "A Jedi will do the same to us, if we 
aren't careful."

	She scowled.  All traces of boredom fled from her expression to 
be replaced by puzzlement.  "Are you saying you want to get rid of her?"

	He sighed, still facing away from her.  "I wish it were that simple.  
If not for Irek, I would order it immediately."

	She stood, unable to stop a sudden rush of passion that flushed 
her face red.  "I will do it myself, Admiral....."

	He raised a hand.  "Your self-sacrifice is noted with gratitude, 
Jelila, but it is misplaced here.  She would kill you before you killed her.   
And that would be a waste."

	She stopped, surprised, and gave him a half grin.  "Why, thank 
you, Admiral."

	He shrugged.  "Otdjel is in need of loyal people.  You've proven 
yourself over and over again, Jelila."

	The grin became a smile.  He grimaced and looked away.  
Smiling did not become her.   "We thought she could be an instructor for 
Irek," he continued, letting an uncomfortable moment pass.  "We had no 
other choice really.   He needs a Master, someone to teach him to control 
his temper, his urges, his compulsions.  And, at first, she herself was most 
pliable.  I had hoped...."  He paused, thinking.  "I had hoped that her affair 
with Skywalker had not affected her deeply, that it came more from 
gratitude than passion.  It seems I have miscalculated."  He sighed and 
allowed himself to smile.  "Up until recently, Khaali has done well, much 
better than we could have hoped.  But now....." He hesitated and she 
noticed how fragile his aging face was as he frowned again.  "Now, her 
method has become all too clear."

	Daala was mystified.  "Method?"

	"It's obvious," he replied, a sigh of resignation stretching between 
them.   "She's been controlling Irek through sensuality.  One of  his Irek's 
most pronounced weaknesses."  He closed his eyes in disgust. "She's 
grown much more powerful since she's been with him, both on Rasclann 
and here. I believe that, in some way, she's been feeding off of him, 
drawing off of his power."

	Daala lifted her eyebrows.  "But how is that possible?"

	Pellaeon smiled in a resigned way. "There are techniques..... She 
had good teachers.  She's the only Jedi alive who had a Master worthy of 
the name."

	This unexpected statement  prompted an objection, a different 
train of thought.  "But what about Skywalker?  He is considered a Master.  
What about his training?"

	"True, he had good teachers.  He was with General Kenobi for a 
while and he's rumored to have studied with Master Yoda.  But in both 
cases he was given no time.  His truncated training has always given him 
trouble."

	She frowned, not sure where he was going. 

	He caught her expression and backtracked. "Skywalker only knew 
General Kenobi for a short time, before Lord Vader killed him.  And he 
was with Master Yoda only slightly longer.   Lord Vader's trap at Bespin, if 
you'll recall, put an end to that.  It seems," he continued, his voice pulling 
tight with conclusion, "that Master Skywalker has had almost no formal 
training whatsoever.  And there's nothing more dangerous than a half 
trained Jedi."

	"But.... but he's so powerful....." Jelila put in, wonder in her voice.

	Pellaeon's face was a mask.  "Yes, that's why he's so dangerous.  
He is more powerful than his father, or even the Emperor.  He is the most 
powerful of all.  Even Irek, with all his natural gifts, will never wield so much 
power."

	Daala began to protest.  "I don't understand, after Khaali's training, 
Irek should ....."

	"Khaali didn't teach Irek anything." Pellaeon snapped, suddenly 
impatient.   "She merely harnessed him, used him to lure Skywalker, used 
his Force gift.  She never had any intention of seeing Irek on the throne.  
She's been after Skywalker all along."

	Daala's face changed completely with realization and she made to 
rise, reflexively jerking at her blaster.  "No, Jelila, not now," Pellaeon said 
gently, motioning her downward.  "It is not yet time."

	"But, Admiral, she's betrayed us."

	The moment spun away in silence.  His face moved in a strange, 
almost regretful, way and his native intelligence took over.  "In a way, we 
have betrayed ourselves.  We were willing ..... too willing."  A shadow 
appeared over his lined face, a face that had seen too many battles, too 
many strategic failures, too many careful plots unravel.   "I tried to warn the 
Committee, tried to convince them to move slowly.  But between the 
Ismarens' promises and their own hunger for power, their longing for the 
exhilaration of the old days, it was no use.  And now we're paying the price 
for it."

	"What are you going to do with Skywalker?" she persisted.  Her 
uncertainty made her nervous and a little impatient.  She was tired of it, 
tired of all the swords and mysticism and talk about the Force.  Where had 
it gotten them?  What use was it?

	Pellaeon  smiled, a cruel smile, reading her thought.  "If he's 
relatively unaffected by that incident in the theater, I'll keep him as a 
hostage."  He paused, in thought.  "But if he has turned, I would like to 
know now."  Here he gave Daala a gleaming look.  "Besides, if he has not, 
or if she attempts to turn him again, it is my assumption that he'll kill her.  
And that would save us all a great deal of trouble." 

	Daala's face whitened.  She stood, her right hand now securely on 
the handle of her blaster, eyes blank with surprise.  "Perhaps, you are 
correct, Admiral," she replied, forgetting herself.  After all, the Master is 
probably the only one who can."

	He smiled.  "Of course.  He defeated Khaali in a fair fight, after 
months of what, reportedly, has been a debilitating illness.  And he 
defeated Irek in even less time.  Of the three, he is the only one worthy of 
the name Jedi, formal training or no."  He gave her a straight look.  
"Besides, Khaali, for all her betrayal, has perceived him correctly;  he is 
flawed.  He is impatient and has become arrogant over time, especially 
since the inception of his school."  He shook his head.  "General Kenobi 
was the same way.  Pride and lust of power were his weaknesses."  The 
smile became slightly more knowing.  "The weaknesses of  Anakin's 
firstborn son seem, however, to lie in another direction."

	She scowled at him, an expression much more suited to her harsh 
face than smiling.  Reflexively, he smiled back, liking her anger more than 
her concern.   "Admiral, did I hear you correctly?  You are relying on Jedi 
to find the truth.  You hate Jedi."

	He scowled back.  "Your hearing is excellent.  I want him dead, 
too, Jelila," he said, softly.  "However, all prudent action is tied to the truth.  
And I will know the truth in this matter."  He gave the wall a faraway look.  
"If experience is any guide, she has turned him."

	Silence poured between them, all in one, rushed, realizing 
glimpse.  Daala, not generally a visionary person, suddenly caught sight 
of the future, a future she might actually live to see.  A gleam pulled her 
eye to his.  "This would destroy his sister."

	"It would destroy her government, once and for all."  He drew into 
himself.  "We must not lose sight of our true goal.  His sister is the more 
formidable of the two.  After all," a smile settled over his expression as he 
studied Daala's weather-beaten face, "we could kill Skywalker now and 
very little would change.  But if we destroy his sister, that would change 
a great many things."

	She removed her hand from the blaster and sighed in reluctant 
acceptance.  A quick moment flew between them, eye met eye for a lost 
moment before she lowered her head.   It was risky and tenuous but it 
seemed they had no other choice.  Except defeat.  And defeat, this time, 
was unthinkable.  "I'll go check on the status of the prisoner," she said 
quickly, needing something concrete to accomplish.  

	He nodded, giving her permission.  "Dismissed," he said, old 
habits returning.  She rose and exited the room in smart, military fashion.  
The door slid open and closed behind her.  

	Pellaeon, alone, smiled at the space where she had been.  The 
plan, as he had feared all along, had been in error.  Fatally misconceived.  
But, there was no time for a new one.  It was still viable, but the players 
had changed, had shown their true colors.  Irek had turned out to be 
entirely predictable and if Roganda could keep him in line he would make 
a suitably frightening Emperor, terrifying window dressing for Otdjel's 
ruling influence.  The only flaw, he reflected in a cold moment, was Khaali, 
whose weaknesses were now manifest. Her obsession had doomed her.  
He shifted in his chair.  But, perhaps she could serve just one more 
purpose before she died.  

	It had already occurred to him that Skywalker, when he awoke 
from what the medical personnel described as a healing trance, would be 
most safely placed in Detention with his erstwhile lover.  An alarm went off 
in his mind, but he had no other choice.  Ysalamiri were quite rare and 
many died in transport.  He had no reserve, none to spare.  Almost all in 
his possession were in Detention now.  And the only way to neutralize 
Skywalker was to keep him under a ysalamir cloak.  

	He sighed and turned to his message board.  All in good time.

*************************************


	Luke Skywalker stood in a shadow.  Quickly, wondering where he 
was, he glanced around but nothing answered his startled movement.  
Only the loud, vulgar sounds of tropical birds in the high trees betrayed 
life.  Insects hummed and gathered in the dappled gloom, fading in and 
out of the underbrush like bits of bright, shifting glass.  Wings buzzed, 
iridescent lace, under the canopy that makes up a living jungle.  He 
studied the faraway sun and concluded it was morning.

	He looked down at himself.  He was dressed in his blacks.  They 
were fresh, showing no trace of dirt or dampness.  His head jerked up 
again and he gazed around, wondering how he had come to be standing 
alone in the middle of a wilderness.  A bird came at him, brushing his 
cheek and causing him to pivot, off balance, in a circle.  The underbrush 
parted as he stumbled to his knees, his weight intrusive and noisy.  

	Pulling himself to his feet, he watched the bird flap lazily back to 
its high perch.  Bright and obnoxious, the species was known for its 
fearlessness. It fluffed a blue feather or two and merely regarded him in 
uncharacteristic silence.  Then, as if it were a signal, it made a harsh 
sound, its cry echoing up through the latticed canopy  into the unforgiving 
sky.  Luke put his heels down in the damp vegetation and squinted into the 
distance. 

	There was a tall rock formation directly within his line of sight, 
about 10 meters of bewildered path away.  Luke wasn't sure, but he 
thought he could see a human settled there, and a certain sense told him 
the human was expectant, waiting for something.  Giving the vaguely 
familiar terrain one last glance and realizing there was nothing for it, he 
began to walk.

	His feet squished through the mud of  the small, almost 
obliterated path as he approached.  The figure now appeared wizened 
and bent, an old man frail against the crumbling, overgrown rock.  Luke's 
pace picked up.  But the man made no sign or movement that he was 
aware of another's presence, leaving Luke to wonder if the figure itself 
was simply an illusion. 

	The path had become steep.  As he neared, the bird called again, 
pulling Luke to a stumbled halt.  His breath was hard and sweat poured 
down his face.  He longed to strip off his tunic but something told him, 
somehow, that would not be appropriate.  A whispering of feathers fluffed 
through the air and beat away as Luke studied the fragile being in front of 
him.

	The figure made no movement and only glistening eyes spoke of 
life.  "Who..... who are you?" Luke asked, his words weary and edged with 
suspicion.

	"Master Altis Djinn," the figure replied succinctly, as if it were 
sitting in a cool study somewhere instead of an ovenlike jungle.

	Luke willed away a sensation of breathlessness and something 
clicked in his mind just as words formed on his lips.  "Why have you come 
to Yavin, Master?"  He smiled.  Yavin, that was it.  He was on Yavin.

	Master Djinn seemed to give the query some consideration, along 
with a slow look in Luke's direction.  "Jedi Skywalker, you have come a 
long way.  Perhaps you should sit."

	Questions formed in Luke's mind like thin foam on the lips of a 
dying man but he swallowed his words and sat.  An unusual silence sliced 
through the pulse of the jungle and there was a sense of profound 
expectancy.  Luke prepared himself to wait, but a familiar, rising 
impatience began to wash through him, reaching the shores of reason.  
He closed his eyes, opening them when he sensed a mental probe.

	"Have you come in humility, in purity of heart?" the Master asked.  
It was the Jedi penitential exercise.  Luke knew it well and something 
inside of him froze.  The Master's voice was venerable but was in no way 
weak or fragile.  In fact, its casual power pushed through the intertwined  
trees, the words clear and distinct.

	Luke hung his head and held back a burning shame.  "I have, 
Master."

	The Master did not move but it seemed to Luke that the old man 
began to grow in size.  The voice changed and acquired a menacing 
edge.  "Where is your purity, Jedi?  Your longing for truth?  I sense only 
passion and desire."

	Luke took refuge in defiance.  "I came in honesty," he protested.  
"I have not turned, despite...."

	"Despite Callista of Chad," Djinn replied, his serious face settling 
into a remembering mode.  "She is powerful, is she not?"

	A feeling of overwhelming sorrow welled up through Luke's body 
and he felt moisture gather in his lowered eyes.  A silence passed as he 
pulled at the loose threads of his soul, fingering the tattered edges.  His 
voice was tortured.  "She has turned, Master," he said, ruefully.  But he 
could not stop a secret thrill, a delight that scrambled through him, like rats 
before a fire.

	The Master was not blind.  "You risk the Darkside, Jedi!" he 
warned, his disapproval terrible despite a businesslike, neutral tone.  
"False humility is worse than no humility at all!"

	Luke lifted his face to see that the old man was trembling and a 
gnarled hand released a distinctive walking stick, carefully leaning it 
against an outcropping.  Djinn leaned forward, staring directly into Luke's 
eyes and it seemed as if a great, crushing hand came down upon Luke's 
soul, pressing upon it, filling it with light that illuminated the scurried, 
hidden secrets of darkness.  And in Djinn's merciless light he began to 
see, for the first time since he had met Callie, the magnitude of his folly.  
He saw their history together in one long flash; saw himself speaking to 
her ghostly presence on the *Eye of Palpatine,* he saw her as she first 
was when she returned to mortality again, frail and trembling.  He saw her 
within the confines of an airless ship, lost in an eternity of space, biding 
out her small time and deciding upon death.  A part of him realized that her 
death at that time would have redeemed her, redeemed them both.

	Luke lowered his eyes again, the revelations piercing his soul.  He 
wondered at his own naiveté, amazed at the power of love to blind even 
Jedi.  "I loved her," he said, after a rustling silence of jungle grasses 
moving in a small, hot breeze.  "I never meant to hurt her, to take her soul," 
he continued even as the light began to scour through the corners of his 
mind.  It washed over his impatience, his desire to turn to toward 
darkness.  And underlying it all there was the ordinary, mundane but 
searing pain of existence, almost unbearable.  "I have failed, Master...." 
Luke whispered finally, anguish hanging in the air between them.  These 
were the bare bones of truth.

	The Master's voice became compassionate.  "This is not entirely 
your fault, Jedi," he said, his voice settling like a balm over Luke's split and 
shattered soul.  The Master's words were sensible and comforting.  "She 
chose her own path, she has her own destiny.  Ultimately, she alone, is 
responsible for herself."  He smiled down at Luke's bowed head.  "It is a 
burden we must all bear during our corporeal life."

	Luke's reply was shameful.  A feeling passed through him, a 
perplexed confusion.  Surely he was not saying this about Callista, 
beloved Callista.  "She has attempted to turn me as well, Master," Luke 
said, lifting his gaze.

	The Master's serenity continued to flow, unabated.  "She cannot 
turn you if you have not already chosen it."  The old man paused as a flock 
of birds took flight, frenzied  wings beating heavily in the sultry air.  "Have 
you so chosen?"

	Crushed plants sprang back to knee high as Luke came to his 
feet.  But his shame pulled him around, making him unable to face the 
Master.  He closed his eyes and fought  roiling emotions for control.  An 
ocean of temptation rose before him, promising power beyond imagining, 
pleasure for an eternity, an end to his heartache and incompleteness.

	He longed for that place, he could feel his senses open to it, 
creep into its compelling borders.  He sampled the lovely, pleasured 
shores of it and wanted nothing more than oneness with it.  He knew he 
was wrong, but he also knew that these were his true feelings, that he 
wanted this.  He opened his eyes, fighting back and just as he did the 
jungle opened up.  As if called, the figure of his father rose up before him, 
not as Anakin Skywalker, but as Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith and Master 
of the Darkside.

	Luke stood perfectly still as the figure paced through the black, 
jungle shadows, pantherlike in the sun shadowed gloom.  The figure 
moved with confidence and certitude, its strides long and sure over the 
soft ground.  The cape swirled, its cold highlights picked at by stray light 
particles.  The respirator mechanism was loud over the surrounding 
undercurrent of birdcalls and breezes.  

	Luke awaited him, awaited the evil being his father had been for 
most of his life, awaited the pain and pleasure this being offered.  Soft 
laughter rippled away.  Was it Callie's laughter?   But it was distant, lost 
somehow.  In passing, Luke wondered if he was only remembering it.

	Lord Vader stopped, his cloak flowing into stillness.  Sunlight 
gleamed off his helmet, his breastplate showed ebony and polished within 
the layered, green jungle.  The dead eye sockets, sensors for the 
mangled being within, were flat.

	"Why have you come, Father?" Luke asked, his words sunk in 
wariness. Impatience rose again.  He had already fought this evil, he had 
already put it away and here, once more, was his father, seeking in an 
eternal gesture, to take his son back to the cavern of shadows.  But, Luke 
had been able to save him once.  A younger, purer Luke.  An arrogance filled 
him and he stepped forward, mechanical hand outstretched.

	At that moment the sunlight moved.  A shaft of pure, white energy 
lanced down through the trees.  It disturbed the birds and their wings were 
ominous against the breezeless undercurrents.  Lord Vader stood as if 
made of stone for one limitless moment before melting into the gloom 
from whence he came.  But, it seemed to Luke, just before he vanished, 
vanquished once again, that he held out a beckoning, or perhaps it was a 
forbidding,  hand.

	Luke strode forward to take it, to pull his father, once again, 
out of the abyss.  Or was it to accompany him?  But, he could only watch, 
impotent as always, as Lord Vader was devoured by fierce sun and 
relentless heat.

	Filled with shame but too weak, too uncertain to fight it anymore, 
he gathered his courage and made to face the Master. Djinn now had 
every right to strike him down, to put an end to Luke's pitiful Jedi dreams.  
It was his duty.  Luke closed his eyes and pivoted.

	But, when he turned, he found Djinn had vanished.  Instead, Callie 
lay at his feet, statue-like as if in death.  He gazed down at her helpless 
body, sorrowful and guilt-ridden.  So powerful before, almost omnipotent, 
able to leap the eternity of distance and time, now she seemed only a 
fragile woman, bruised and battered as she fought to find her way back to 
the Force.

	After a moment, he knelt beside her, taking her cold, limp hand in 
his.  She made no reaction.  "What am I to do now?" he whispered to her, 
wallowing in his grief.  "I have driven you to the Darkside........"

	His breath stopped as her eyes opened and a stranger gazed 
at him, serene, but trapped.  "You must help me," the lips said slowly, 
the words unnatural and deep.  "I am lost," the voice said, a voice he had 
never heard before.   "You are lost.  We must be redeemed."

	He clutched at her hand even harder.  "Callie, come back with me, 
I will not fall if you are with me!  I can save you..."  But to his sorrow, the 
eyes closed again, unwilling, as if her soul had been dragged back into 
the condemnation of an unredeemed death.  He released her hand and, 
grabbing her by the shoulders, shook her.  But there was no reaction, no 
flickering of movement, no hint of resistance.   Only cold, white death, 
stiffening on the ground before him.

	"No, Callie, not like this.... Don't go!  I can't hold out if you go......"  
His bereaved voice died to hopelessness, becoming inaudible against the 
background of uncaring life.

	"Think, Jedi," Master Djinn's voice suddenly surrounded him, 
seeming to emanate from the very stuff of the air.  "What were you trained 
to do?"  Momentarily confused, Luke glanced around, squinting for the old 
man's figure.  But only sunlight and stifling heat greeted him, laced with 
incessant birdcall.

	Luke stopped his fruitless search of the shadowed jungle and 
turned back to study Callie's beautiful face for a long moment.  The Force 
told him she was in pain.  "I was trained to remain always with the Light," 
he replied, leaning to push away dark hair from her brow and caressing 
her scratched face.  His voice was suddenly simple and childlike, as he 
allowed himself to be led by the Master.

	"Good, Jedi."  The voice expressed a distant satisfaction.  "You 
have held to your vow and remained pure so far."  There was a pause, a 
gentle closing of the door.  "She was once as you are now, deciding and 
strong," the ancient Master said, his voice fading.  "You have chosen your 
path well, but she has not.  Now she has weakened and cannot find her 
way back.  You must help her."

	Luke closed his eyes and swallowed.  "I cannot....." he began, 
whispering in the midst of a rising cacophony of calling birds and humming 
insects.

	"You must," was the drifting reply.  A flash of blue feathers flitted 
at the tops of the grass, and it waved like restless green water.  

	He resisted.  "But...... I cannot help her, she has chosen!  You 
yourself have said .....!"

	Djinn was hypnotic and commanding.  "She must not die 
unredeemed."  A swift cloud blanketed the sun and then moved away, 
leaving Luke's face bathed in harsh, glaring light.  He straightened and 
saw, in one unblinking moment, all he had forsaken, lost before it was 
ever gained and the knowledge of it gnawed at his very being.  He 
concentrated, trying to block out the dead Master, unwilling to hear 
anymore.  But it was no use.  The drifting voice was soft but implacable.  
"You must finish what you started," it said, as it faded away, lost forever in 
the pooling currents of the afterlife.

	He gazed around..  The quiet grass called, a soft voice heard 
under a comforting breeze.   Having nowhere else to go, he lay down 
beside the cold body of Callie, a gesture of defeat and acceptance.  
Gradually, as the sun crept across the sky, he kept vigil, watching as her 
body faded, as if it were being spirited away by nothing more than the 
breeze.   His heart was heavy but he could only watch her go, knowing that 
all gestures were futile.  And, as she retreated into her original incorporeal 
existence, the last of her essence, the part of her he had known from the 
beginning, left lingering comfort in his heart.

	"You are weary, Luke."  It was her voice at last, timbered, soft and 
pure, the oceans of Chad fleetingly pictured in her slight inflection.  "Now 
you must sleep."  

	And he did.

**********************************

	Medical Center, Byss

	Irek Ismaren walked, quick and silent, into the Medical Center.  
A Two Onebee droid gave him a gimlet look.  He addressed it with 
contempt.  "Where's Skywalker?"

	The droid was irritating in an inanimate sort of way.  "He is in 
a restricted area," it said.  "Visitors are prohibited."

	Irek gave the mechanical apparition a sordid look.  The proper 
schematic appeared in his mind and the medical droid began to blink in 
distress.  "What did you say?" he demanded, his voice now pointed and 
dangerous.

	The droid dropped its instrument and moved away from him.  But 
it was too late. Swiftly it was lashed into muteness as it struggled.  
Moments later it was dead, its awkward limbs useless and hanging.  Irek 
gave the inoperative pile of new junk a shrug.  "That's what you get for 
resisting," he muttered as he headed back into the restricted area.

	Skywalker was prone on a diagnostic bed.  Respirator tubing hung 
as if it had just been disconnected.  Irek approached and noted the older 
man's clothing was worn, that his face was lined and the hair, which had 
one time been the color of light sand, was now only dull brown.  One hand 
lay on the bed beside him, the other, the right hand, had been placed on 
his stomach.  It was singed about the wrist and there was a hint of 
sophisticated micro-technology as it lay inert, all the more subtle and 
powerful for its seeming acquiescence.  The rise and fall of lungs 
betrayed life and, perhaps, consciousness.

	Irek halted, boots noiseless on the shiny floor.  Nevertheless, 
Skywalker's head came up, his face a little startled, puffy with sleepy 
confusion.  He pushed himself up, his eyes coming to full alertness in 
the time it takes to blink.  Irek put up a hand.

	"Master Skywalker," Irek said, his tone cursed and contemptible.  
"I've heard a great deal about you."

	Luke gave this strange, young man a long, studied look.  "Who 
are you?" he asked, his voice still cracked and hoarse, an aftereffect of 
blaster fire.  Irek replied nothing, momentarily transfixed.  Something 
about the Master's eyes, the way they flickered in the flat light, were a 
flashing portrait of paradox; innocent but knowing, prophetic but 
immediate, light shadowed and defined by darkness.

	Irek, who was just beginning to understand how charismatic this 
understated person was, inclined his head slightly.  His mother's training 
came into play.  "I am Irek Ismaren," he replied, assured and arrogant.

	Luke closed his eyes, a cold, shuddering running up his spine.  
"And you have come to kill me," he said quietly.

	"Not so fast, Jedi Skywalker," Irek said quickly, shifting his weight 
and gesturing gallantly to the room.  "Your lightsaber has been taken to a 
safe place.  You are defenseless."

	Luke swung his legs over the side of the high bed and let his 
booted feet dangle.  The movement was oddly graceful, even assured, 
and Irek took a step back.  Luke fixed Irek with a faintly, familiar gaze.  
"And are you willing to give it back to me, just to even it out?"  His eyes 
flickered, registering intelligence and wit.  "Even if you don't, I'm not 
exactly defenseless.  There are no ysalamiri here."

	Irek's face flashed a grin, this teeth shining as the expression  
became a mere grimace.  "They wanted you to heal yourself, Jedi," he 
hissed.  "You'll be in Detention, and cut off, soon enough."

	Luke put his palms down on the edge of the bed and leaned 
into his arms.  "Then, you're not here to kill me?" he asked, the timbre 
of his voice low and searching.

	Irek blinked.  "I cannot...... yet," he replied ominously but with a 
creeping undercurrent of uncertainty.  "You must go back to Khaali first."

	Luke nodded, mystified.  "Why?"

	"Because we wish it," came the reply.

	Luke's eyes narrowed.  "Are you sure we've never met?"  Another 
studied silence.  "You seem familiar somehow."

	Irek threw back his head and laughed, a terrifying sound. Luke 
remained immobile as the rolling voice echoed off the bland walls.   "I've 
met your....... sister," Irek said finally after indulging in a rasping breath.  
Luke winced and a fleeting, disturbing picture of his father came and went, 
fading into the dangerous laughter. 

	"I know, she told me," Luke replied slowly.  There was something 
here, something he should know, but he was unable to put his finger on it.  
The feeling slid through his fingers, to be consumed by a raging 
subconscious. 

	"Then she must have told you I wanted to kill her."  A wicked 
smile.  "I almost did."

	Leia's face appeared briefly in Luke's mind, animated and smiling.  
Involuntarily, he smiled but his face pulled taut as her's faded to morbid 
paleness, grave markers casting shadows over it.  Luke cut his thoughts 
short as his feet hit the floor, pushing away hopelessness.  "She defeated 
you," he said, advancing a stride and putting his right hand to his belt.  
"You tried to weave a spell of Father, on Belsavis, but she saw through 
you."  

	This time Irek's laugh was but a short ripple in the air between 
them.  "Not before I scared her out of her small wits!  Although she did 
exhibit exceptional intelligence in that she was suitably frightened of Lord 
Vader."

	Luke's voice came up a notch.  "Lord Vader is dead," he said, 
his tone now flat and antagonizing.  "He can no longer harm her."

	"That's what you think, Skywalker," Irek rejoined, suddenly pulsing 
with power.  And, as if he had been standing there all along, Darth Vader 
appeared, life-size and life-like, moving in his studied, elegant but 
ponderous way.  Luke gasped, not expecting the fearsome reality of the 
vision, the raw power exhibited in the detail and precision of the black 
cape and flawless helmet.  "Here he is, Skywalker.  Perhaps, you'd like 
a few words with your father."

	Luke fought to remain motionless.  "My father is dead, Irek," 
he said after a time.  His voice was cold.

	The figure of Vader never faded.  "As you wish.  Perhaps, I 
should conjure up my father also."  And even before the sound of his 
words had a chance to fade into the walls, The Emperor appeared, 
wizened and terrifying, golden eyes unnatural but compelling and 
powerful.  The figure of Palpatine raised its right hand and, involuntarily, 
taken by an old memory, Luke stepped backward.

	"What's the point, Ismaren?" Luke questioned, his voice hiking.  
He called on the Force for serenity and fought his weakened body for 
control.

	"You shall be with them soon," Irek replied, wrapped in 
unassailable, youthful confidence.  "You are right.  I am going to kill 
you.  When I am Emperor," here the figure of Palpatine flicked away, "I 
will tolerate no rivals."

	It was Luke's turn to laugh.  "What makes you think I want to be 
like the Emperor?"  But secretly, in his mind, Khaali's seductive voice 
whispered in creeping tendrils of thought.  And a vision appeared 
unbidden, a memory of oppression, wars and eternal hatred.  He willed
it away.

	Irek merely stood for a moment and Luke, whose field of vision 
retained both Irek and the figure of Vader, saw how the two moved in the 
same way, how the distinctive head and hand movements were strangely 
similar.  The figure of Vader stilled to motionlessness as the young man 
began to lose concentration.  Irek's voice was knowing, ripping like a 
predator through Luke's secret thought.  "She offered it to you, didn't she?  
That...."

	Luke's hand came up, halting the other mid-sentence.  "I did not 
accept," he said, eyeing Vader.

	Nonetheless, you must die.  I'll have no rivals."

	Luke's brow furrowed in fleeting puzzlement.  "What do you......"  
Then an image rose through his mind, of his hands on her face, of her lips 
rounding to his, the sensation of her heart pounding as he.....  He closed 
his eyes, the picture suddenly all too clear.  "We did nothing, Irek," he 
said, his voice dangerous but quiet.  "She is still yours."	

	Irek took a step forward and melted into the figure of Vader.  
For a moment, both of them were there, occupying the same place at the 
same time and then, as if a light had been cut off, the image of Vader 
disappeared.  "You had your hands on her, Skywalker.  You desire her.  
You cannot live."

	Incredulity crept into Luke's voice.  "You mean that's what this is 
about? Jealousy?!"  To Irek's creeping astonishment, Luke began to 
laugh, scorn resounding off the walls, releasing a primitive 
competitiveness.  "You..... you're nothing but a child!  She's loved me 
since the *Eye!*"  He was rewarded by Irek's frown at the mention of the 
name.  "She's called me all the way from Yavin, just to be with her, to be 
her Emperor."  Here he pulled into himself, ready and alert.  "She will 
always desire me, Irek, no matter if I live or not."

	Irek stepped forward and his movement was suitably soft, 
ponderous and menacing.  A grating, rasping sound rose in Luke's 
mind but vanished as he tried to identify it.  "She can never love you, 
Skywalker," Irek hissed.  "How could she?  You are weak and childish.  
You teach Jedi, you call yourself a Master, but you are no Master.  All  
your Jedi have been killed, bested by the Darkside!  You......"  He drew 
breath, gathering curses. "You are a failure! You are General Kenobi's 
failure, Master Yoda's failure....." He gestured with his hand.  "Your father's 
failure." He laughed, delighted with his own damning eloquence.  "You fail 
because the Jedi failed.  They will always fail!"

	Irek's hand stopped in mid-motion, ready to call his lightsaber.  
Robotic breaths murmured back into Luke's hearing, pushing and loud in 
the corner.  The disconnected respirator had somehow returned to life.  
At the same time, the saber slid  into Irek's palm and long fingers closed 
around the handle.  In a threatening motion, he activated it and it rose, 
almost of its own accord, over Luke's head.

	But Luke was ready and with a Force blow, knocked it away.  
Irek's arms swung wide in an attempt to retrieve it.  "I thought you 
weren't going to kill me, Irek!" Luke shouted, retreating.  "Remember, 
Otdjel wants....."

	Irek managed to catch the swinging saber and stilled, temporarily, 
as surprise echoed between them.  "Sometimes, Otdjel doesn't know 
what's good for it!" he growled, beginning a lethal, downward swing.

	Luke put up both hands and the blade fell into motionlessness 
as, for a moment, two sets of blue eyes met, lethal and searching.  A 
timelessness took hold.  But then, Luke jerked away as Irek spat in his 
face.  "She's mine, Skywalker!"

	A savage grin lit Luke's profile.   "No, Irek," he replied, putting 
the boy in his place, "she's mine!"

	A flush of rage caused Irek's hands to tremble as he pulled the 
saber back, readying for the killing blow.  "You bastard!  I'll kill....."

	"Not if I can help it," Luke rejoined instantly, his voice cracking with 
the strain.  The saber slashed down between them, almost taking Luke's 
hands with it. It was only at the very last second that he pulled them away 
and pivoted, moving quickly so that the bed was between them.

	The respirator exploded in a distracting burst of oxygen and 
circuitry and Vader's voice seemed to permeate the room.  Luke gazed 
around, looking for the source of the strange sound.  And when his eyes 
returned to man level, Irek was there.

	Irek advanced again, the blade taking part of the bed.  The odor 
of burning synthetics was stifling and  noxious gases began to rise through 
the room.  Luke coughed, retching, his lungs suddenly poisoned by the 
gas. But all the same there was realization there, and clear vision.  It was 
as if the smoke cleared away and, for a moment, the room was pristine, 
light, free.  

	And then the walls closed in on them again, but Luke looked upon 
it with new eyes.  "Irek....... Irek you must listen....." he rasped, moving 
away from the bed, away from the drifting smoke.

	"Surrendering, Skywalker?" came the sly reply.

	Luke choked again and then regained his voice.  Pulling himself 
together, he began a roundabout circuit, making for the door.  "No.... 
you don't understand...."

	Irek was confident now.  The Master was on the run.  He would 
relish killing Skywalker and delivering the head to Khaali.  Who would be 
the better man, then? The saber dipped a little.  "Understand what?"

	Luke stopped his meandering motion and the room seemed to 
still into a concerted, unified silence.  Even Irek himself, agitated and 
joyful, held to the moment, remaining where he was.  The only sound 
was that of the lightsaber.

	"Who was your father, Irek?" Luke said, his breathing beginning 
to steady.

	Irek did not the like the new expression on Skywalker's face.  
A suspicious puzzlement began to sour his killing joy.  "Palpatine, of 
course...." he replied, making to raise the sword again.

	Luke stalled for time.  "Wait!   Before you kill me, you must 
know....."

	"Know what?"  Irek was smiling, seeing only the death of a 
vaunted rival.  

	"Who your father was,"  Luke was weak but he knew he had to 
tell the boy, had to tell him who he really was.

	"Haven't you been listening, Skywalker?!!"  The irritation was 
lethal.  "You bastard.... I'll see you dead!"

	Luke put up a solid hand, the left one.  It trembled slightly.  "I'm 
not the bastard, but I think" and here he paused, giving the young man 
across from him a haunted look, "you are."

	"Of course, the Emperor never took a wife....." Irek began, spitting 
in impatience.

	"I wasn't speaking of the Emperor," Luke said, this time very quiet.

	Something about Skywalker's voice froze Irek's heart.  A 
motionlessness assailed him, paralyzing his weapon.

	"I was speaking of Vader."

	"What?!"

	Very gently, almost tenderly, Luke spoke, his tone wondering.  
"Lord Vader was..... was your father and I....." he gestured slightly with 
his hands, "I am your brother."

	Irek lowered the sword so that it almost touched the floor.  "No, 
that's impossible," he said, so shocked that his voice was perfectly 
normal.  "You can't be.... he wasn't....."

	An echo of old words, accursed words, pummeled through Luke's 
soul.  He stretched out his right hand.  "Search your feelings, son," he 
said, his voice suddenly powerful, "you know this to be true."

	The saber came up again.  "You're not trapping me with a lie, 
Skywalker!" The sword point approached Luke's undefended chest.  "You 
just want Khaali all to yourself!"  The power of the Force roiled through the 
boy, forcing Luke backwards.  "She will never...." Luke felt the wall against 
his back.  "She will never love some motherless castoff!"

	Like a rising tide of water before a storm, something in Luke rose 
to the defense of a woman he had never known, had never once seen, 
even in dreams.  "Sonof.....!" Luke yelled, forcing the blade back with his 
bare hands.  "You're Vader's son, the son of darkness!  You are 
cursed.....!"

	The lightsaber pushed through Luke's barriers and he found 
himself at the limit of his defensive maneuvers.  He gathered his 
concentration, willing the blade back but the boy was powerful, extremely 
powerful.  A certain sense of ending began to haunt his heart but he 
refused to give in, only struggled with the saber as it pushed its way 
through his barriers.  Irek was readying for his last swing when something  
pulled him up, mid-swing.  It was the sound of familiar laughter, cascading 
around a small phrase carried through the room on the wings of a clear, 
military voice.  

	"That'll be quite enough, boys!" It was Daala, come to check on 
the prisoner.

	A frozen moment grabbed hold and, taking advantage of the 
distraction, Luke pushed himself away from the wall with all his strength 
and rolled through Irek's feet, causing the young man to topple.  From the 
floor, Irek gazed at Daala.  And Luke, defeated again, pulled himself up 
from the floor on the other side,  following his brother's gaze.  This was 
prudent, for Daala held a very lethal blaster at the both of them, her hands 
steady and sure.  

	"Put down your weapon!" she commanded, motioning to Irek.

	Irek resisted.  "No, he's insulted  Khaali, .... and Mother..."

	To their surprise, she burst out laughing and the words that 
followed were contemptuous and piercing.  "You pitiful boy!" A lover's 
revenge flashed through her dark eyes, like heat lightening on a clouded 
night.  "All this over a whorish concubine and a streetwalker Jedi!"  Then 
she leveled her gaze and let forth a killing blow.    "You're Vader's alright.  
They've got proof!" she snorted, her contempt a palatable thing.   "And as 
for Khaali, the little Jedi's obsessed with Skywalker here! Haven't you 
noticed?"  Irek's face contorted in rage and Luke, looking from one to the 
other, recoiled at the dark heart suddenly laid open.

	The young man's reason began to break down and his next words 
were uttered in a full throated scream.  "No.... it's not true!" he said, the 
sound scoring the walls.  Reflexively, Luke covered his ears.  Equipment 
began to implode, a whirlwind rose instantly in the middle of the room, and 
debris became projectiles thrown with insane velocity.  All hearing was 
obliterated. 

	Daala closed her mouth tight and ducked to the floor.  Quickly, 
she took cover behind one of the still intact beds, only her occasional 
glance around the corner showing that she was there at all.  But she 
needn't have worried. Irek was enraged and his rage seemed to be 
directed at the entire galaxy, rather than just the puny beings in the Medical 
Center.  With grace and competence, Daala studied the situation, looking 
for a way out.  She began to realize that Skywalker was yelling something 
at her. But such was the din echoing through the room, she was unable to 
hear his words.  She only saw his lips moving.

	Luke, realizing she was unable to hear him, went for her mind.  
She stilled in amazement, eyes wide, as his voice became audible from 
within.  "Shoot him, Daala!" Luke urged. "Or he will kill us both!"

	"Why should I help you, Jedi?" came the defiant answer, black 
hatred flooding her suspicious heart.

	"Do you want to live?" the voice rejoined, presenting a final, 
compelling reason.

	"Stupid question!" was the answer.  And without any hesitation 
whatsoever, she fired the blaster.   But it was too late.  Blaster fire hung 
flashed, a fleeting moment caught in a dark grip.  Then the red blade 
came forward and pushed it away, as if it were but bits of frozen glass.  
And then, the weapon was pulled roughly  out of her hand, bruising her 
fingers.

	Irek smiled, now in the cross-hairs of a black rage.  He raised his 
saber again, but the blaster skittered across the debris-strewn floor, 
coming to life as Luke reached for it.  Irek yelled, a cry of death, and 
swung the blade.

	Luke went into action as the  blade made for his throat and fired.  
Using the Force, he punched a hole into Irek's shield.  Breathing hard, he 
watched as his brother fell into a crumpled heap of dark clothing and 
tumbling lightsaber.  He reached for the magical blade and it answered his 
summons, aching over the room and into his hand, smooth and obedient.

	The blade shimmered as he held to it, its hum loud again in the 
suddenly silent room.  Luke was now confident, armed and battle ready.  
His blue eyes glistened fiercely under the smoked lights. Smiling a grim 
warrior's smile he turned to Daala.

	But, to his surprise, she made no move to back off, only held still 
and regarded him with something like irony.  "Well done, Jedi," she said, 
her face schooled and her voice even.  But he knew her heart was racing.

	"Let me go," he said into the silence.  "I have not turned and I will 
not help your cause."

	She remained motionless and silent, the power of his presence 
falling through her soul like an avalanche.  She wondered how she could 
have ever thought Irek more than  a child.  Even Khaali retreated into 
apprenticeship as the full strength of his mind bit through her mental 
defenses.   'Pellaeon was right,' she thought, wondering why she was so 
surprised.

	"Whether you fall or not is of no concern to me, Jedi," she said, 
outwardly matching his calmness.  "I think that you are not finished here."

	He let the moment pass and said simply, "I must take Khaali back 
with me.  She belongs to me."

	Daala laughed, once again contemptuous.  "Such nobility!  You're 
everything your reputation says you are, Skywalker!"  But then her voice 
turned hurtful and he began to realize her hatred for Callie was personal.  
"She would sacrifice you in a moment if she thought it would gain her 
something!"  That said, she stopped and gave him an uncertain look.  
"She's not worthy of you, Skywalker."

	"Worthiness is not the issue here," he said, implacable.  He 
deactivated the lightsaber but held the blaster steady.  She faced it with 
unblinking courage.  "I have come for her.  You will take me to her and 
we will go."

	Daala did not move.  "She'll never go back.  You will have to kill 
her."

	Her words, uttered in spite, cut at his heart and the blaster 
dropped a fraction.  "If I must, I will," he replied, although he seemed 
suddenly shadowed.  A foreboding rose through the room, a living, 
breathing  creature.  The respirator, completely dead only moments 
before, breathed once, sparked and caught fire.  Searing heat made him 
step away, glancing backwards.

	That was the opening Daala had been waiting for.  Without 
warning, a tribute to her early training on Carida, she threw herself at him, 
pushing him into the fire.  Reflexively he rolled but not before he loosed 
the blaster.  It tumbled between them as he tried for his feet.

	She continued away and came to a sure footed stance, the 
blaster securely in her hand.  He pulled at the saber but another cloud of 
gas overpowered his lungs and, with a horrible rasp, he choked.  He fell to 
his knees, unable to breathe, the lightsaber still unlit, reaching for her.  But 
she took advantage of the clearer air near the doorway and before he 
could wrest the thing from her hand, fired.

	The saber reached one last time, but his fingers fell away, his 
hand limp.  It rolled masterless as he collapsed onto the floor.

	The room settled, smoking and disheveled.   Two brothers lay at 
opposite ends of the floor, as if posed, right arms extended toward the 
other.  Holding her breath, she headed into the poisoned atmosphere of 
the room, scooped up the deactivated saber, the blaster and retreated to 
the comm console. 

	"Security to Med Center!  Fire Hazard!"  She coughed and caught 
her voice again, just in time.  "And bring ysalamir, fast!"

	And then, in the quickness born of the very real possibility one or 
both would tap into the Force and fight his way back to consciousness, 
she retrieved an injector and expertly set it.  Braving the fumes, fighting 
the smothering smoke, she injected both of them with massive amounts of 
a sleeping drug. 

	Irek made no movement but Skywalker's hand lifted and curled 
around her wrist as if to ward her off.  In a fit of superstitious fear she 
pushed the thing into his neck and then backed away to stand by the door.

	At that moment, security trooped through.  Hearing them arrive, 
she turned and fled the medical area, holding her blaster down along her 
side.  She was afraid to replace it in the holster lest that small motion 
betray her uncontrollably trembling hands.  Knowing Pellaeon would be 
informed, she made for her quarters and as the door closed behind her, 
her nerveless fingers finally dropped the weapon onto the floor.  She 
followed it and sat, in the middle of the room, in teeth chattering silence, 
rubbing her wrist  where Skywalker had touched her, shivering and 
contemplating the Admiral's reaction.

*****************************
 
	Detention

	According to plan, Khaali was placed in Detention. Pellaeon, his 
crafty mind moving with its usual elegance, wanted information and 
control.  Detention, laced cleverly with the precious ysalamiri,  was the 
perfect place to obtain both. 

	They had given her something comfortable to wear and allowed 
her to clean up.  Her hair was again braided into a thick, dark column 
against her elegant neck.  Her face and hands were clean and pale, the 
scratches on her cheeks stinging, but the gash on her forehead no longer 
hurt.  She wondered if it would scar, but then turned away from the 
clouded mirror, the thought gone, eyes weary. 

	She was in a non-descript, maximum security cell, her nightmares 
of Irek finally stilled.  Her mind was curiously empty and she realized with a 
sinking feeling that the Force was gone.  Suddenly she felt cold and with  
clumsy hands reached for a rough blanket.   

	A sudden noise in the corridor, beyond the security field, caused 
her to stop mid-movement, startled.  She lay down and watched in 
helpless amazement as the guards escorted Luke Skywalker to the cell. 
Motioning her not to move, one of them keyed off the security field.  
Without further ceremony, Luke was pushed in.  He stumbled but held his 
feet, the right hand, showing signs of a recent fight, rubbing the left wrist.

	An eagerness took hold as she sat up on the bunk, 
simultaneously graceful and awkward.  He only gazed steadily at her 
booted feet.  A moment stretched between them as one of the guards 
made an off color joke and the rest of them answered with raucous 
laughter. The squadron  retreated, congratulating each other and giving 
the Jedi in the cell suggestive looks.  

	She ignored them and  moved to stand, putting a hand up against 
the top bunk as she did so, her long fingers spreading in an unconsciously 
precise motion over the dilapidated bedding.  He remained perfectly still.

	"Luke!" she said with great joy and, perhaps, a creeping relief.  
"Are you all right?"  

	This prompted a wry smile and he lifted his face.  His voice was 
stretched and thin. "For a man who almost succeeded in committing 
suicide, I think I'm doing pretty good."

	She made a small forward motion, standing.  Instantly, he stepped 
backward.  "Callie, we shouldn't......" he began.

	"Shouldn't touch each other?" She smiled, her face simple and 
good natured.  "Why, Luke?  Don't you want to be with me?"

	He gave the tired cell a weary, encompassing look.  "Callie, don't 
you see?" he said, knowing she didn't.  "They want you to turn me, except, 
maybe, for Irek....." A quick look to see her reaction.  "He wants only to kill 
me."

	She smiled, her face open and her words brisk.  "Why shouldn't 
he?  He and I...... well, let's just say we've become very close."  Her voice 
became settled and confiding.    "I don't care about him ........  I never 
have.  You're the one I want." Then her tone changed, filling with passion 
and hunger.  Her eyes were lit with the longings of a hundred nights alone, 
awake and wondering  within blank stillness.  Her voice fell to a whisper.  
"I've been waiting so long, Luke, too long....."

	With an effort, he ignored the seductive swell of her cheek against 
a tendril of dark hair and how shadows had crept over her slender but 
strong shoulders.  The scratches looked painful and the gash had been 
inexpertly tended.  An old memory told him it would scar and, for a 
moment, he felt nothing but compassion for her.  His heart hardened.  
"If you think I'm going to fall for that one again, especially in a detention 
cell," he said, fixing her with sharp, reminding eyes, "you're mistaken."

	She was undeterred, her face animated and quick.  "It's true," she 
said, her voice never changing, never losing a beat.  "You still love me.  
You would have stayed away, stayed with your sister, if you hadn't."   She 
paused, eyes suddenly calculating, considering the words.  Her voice was 
low, forbidden.   "You love her too, don't you?  You've always loved her."

	This prompted a paleness in his face she did not think possible 
in such a fair person.  His eye sockets were positively deathly.  Without 
warning he stepped forward and grabbed her wrist with his powerful, 
mechanical hand.  "Don't ever say that again, Callie, or I swear......" His 
teeth unclenched as his voice became a whispered snarl, "I swear, I'll 
kill you."

	She gazed into his agitated face, into the flickering eyes and saw 
cold anger, rising frustration and, most gratifying, controlled and muted 
lust.  She laughed.  "You can't kill me, Skywalker.  You want me too much.  
Remember?"  Her confidence rose, her tone  goaded.   "Remember how 
you tried?"

	He flung her wrist with punishing strength, pushing her away.  
She stumbled backward, but her face never changed.  "You heard me," 
he said, his voice low and even, as if he were taking a vow.  "I said I'll kill 
you."

	Her brow furrowed for a moment and a time passed, a deciding 
time.  "You can't," she said finally, his sudden stillness pushing her off 
balance.  "You want me to return with you, remember?"

	He gave her a cold glance and changed the subject.  "You've 
been training Irek, haven't you?"

	She smiled.  "You could say that," she replied in a voice full of 
satisfaction.  "He's strong, an adept.  In Djinn's time...."

	Passion flooded his heart.  "In Djinn's time he would have been 
killed, probably by one of Djinn's students."  He stood before her, eyes 
challenging.  "That he is my brother does not alter the fact that he is of the 
Darkside, Callie.  He cannot be turned."

	She laughed, but with an  uncertainty that warmed his heart.  "How 
do you know, Luke?" she asked. Despite the careless words, she held her 
face away and her eyes were masked. 

	Luke jerked his eyes away.  "Stop, Callie!  You really think you 
could hide that from me?"  His voice, in contrast, was assured but there 
was rebuke there, stinging and irritated.  "He is very much like me, isn't 
he?"

	"In some ways," she replied  quietly, an unspoken admission.  
"But you are ever more powerful.  "If you would come to our side....."  The 
remark served as a retort but he heard the plainativeness underneath the 
words, heard again the uncertainty.  Sensing an opening, he leapt upon it. 

	"I will not turn for anyone or anything.  You know that."  He eyed 
her quickly and then continued.  "But you could come with me."

	She shook off the possibility and faced him again.  "Did you 
tell him?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.

	"Yes," he replied, his one word full of doom.

	Her sharp intake of breath said it all.  

	"You mean I wasn't supposed to?"  There was a smile here, a 
killing smile.   "But you forget, Callie," he continued, his voice dying almost 
to a whisper, "I know what it's like to wonder about your parents...."

	"You shouldn't have, Luke," she interrupted, thinking.  "None of 
us knew what Irek would do if he knew the truth...."

	He swallowed. "Why do you teach him?  You know what they 
intend, don't you?"  

	She laughed. "How could I not?  I am his Master......" she said, 
giving Luke a meaningful look. 

	Luke's eyes fell to shadowed gray.  "Callie, you have fallen to the 
Darkside.  But there is still a chance, you can come with me, together we 
can break the bonds of the Darkside...."

	Incredulity spread across her face.  His idealism, even at the 
end of the world, was astonishing.  She found she could no longer bear 
the purity of his gaze and turned her back to him.  

	And then a vision swam up in his mind, a vanished moment in 
the past.  Gazing at her, he saw the past and present meld and had a 
disconcerting feeling that Nichos was nearby, that Cray had only come 
to give him a small message before she disappeared with her beloved 
for the night.  Pain for all that had happened since ran through his heart.

	"I cannot return, Luke," she said, quite reasonable, her voice even 
and low.   "My life is here now, teaching Irek.  He will be Emperor.... unless 
you change your mind."  And here her voice changed, a lacing of intrigue 
laid over it like the old hunting net latticing up the wall in her quarters.  "He 
is mine, now.   Together we shall be powerful....."
		
	"He has to die, Callie," Luke said softly, sighting her stiffening 
defenses and moving forward, his booted feet silent against the hard 
floor.  "Can't you see how hopeless this is?  Even I cannot turn him.  
He will become another Vader."

	She turned back to him, not realizing he was upon her until she 
found herself  mere centimeters from his scarred face.  "He will rule," 
she murmured, gazing straight into his eyes, blue, deep and free, like the 
flocked waters of her childhood.  She started as she felt his fingers curl 
over her shoulders. 

	"He will be dead ......... either by his own hand or someone else's, 
but dead nonetheless.   You, however......" He put a gentle hand to her 
cheek.  "There's still a chance for you.  You still love me, don't you, 
Callie?"

	Now that it had come down to it, to the moment she had planned 
for months, years, she found she was not ready for the question.   The 
words threw her somehow. "Luke... you know I...."  Her voice was hushed 
and urgent, his sudden nearness splintering her awareness.

	He looked over her face casually, possessively as she stuttered 
to a stop, her words choking and thick.  She lowered her eyes, unable to 
meet his gaze as he put a hand to her chin. He lifted it and she did not 
resist. The kiss was long and passionate, an endless, pulsating joy. 
They drank of each other, as humans do, a long draught of  mesmerizing 
loneliness, of longing, of incompleteness. Bitterness flowed between 
them, painful and perverse.   He pulled away first, her damned soul 
revealed to him.  

	But she would not release him.  She clung to him, her fingers 
clutched over his shoulders, her eyes closed, her mouth begging for 
more.   His parting motion was somehow inevitable as he put a finger 
against her lips and she opened her eyes.  "I love you, Luke," she 
whispered hungrily.  "We belong together, we always have.  We were 
made for each other."

	Gently, as a breeze moves a feather across smooth dirt, he drew 
away from her.  As the space between them opened up she stumbled 
forward, reaching for him even as he turned his back to her.  He let the 
moment settle and drew breath  The ventilation system kicked on and 
rushing air lifted a tendril of her hair, causing her to tuck it back, Cray 
Mingla's old habit.   "We are wrong together, Callie," he said after a 
heavy silence.  

	She came forward but was suddenly afraid to touch him.  "How 
can you say that, Luke?" she asked, pushing away bewilderment.

	He remained where he was, his head bowed, his hands behind 
his back.  She noticed that they were loosely folded, palms up, one to the 
other.  They were powerful, but gentle, almighty but forgiving.  A sudden 
compassion, a regret seized her and she moved to put her hands into his.  
At the last moment, sensing her intention, he stepped forward and pivoted 
to face her, out of reach.

	"Don't!" he said, holding up his right hand. 

	"But why, Luke?" Her voice was pleading, its control fragmented 
and split.  "You want me, I want you.  We were born for each other."

	To her surprise, he laughed.  It was human laughter, welded to 
the ground, to the ordinary air, to the conquering biology of all living things.  
But his face held an infinite sadness.  She stopped, motionless and 
gasping, involuntarily clasping her hands together.  His voice was 
commanding.  "You are at least thirty  years older than I am, Callie.  By 
the Force, you should be dead.  You were a noble Jedi, one of the best.  
Master Djinn was proud of you.

	Her face puckered as she fought to absorb his words.  "What 
are you saying, Luke?" 

	He gave her a genuine smile and, unprotected by the Force, her 
heart began to ache.  "Don't you see?" His voice was gentle, reasonable, 
as one would speak to a recalcitrant child.    "We were never meant to 
meet, much less......."  He paused and shook his head.  "We are from 
different times, Callie, different places.  We have different destinies." A 
deep sigh settled over everything, a pall.  "I was at my wit's end when you, 
when Cray ...... returned.  That's the only reason I ever accepted you, ever 
accepted what you and Cray did.

	"That's not true," she said defensively.  "There was a problem 
before, but now that I'm Jedi again......."

	He sighed and interrupted her, his words soft but stinging.  "Don't 
you see, Callie?  You're not Jedi at all.  You've turned to the Darkside, you 
can only draw power from evil.  You are powerful, Callie, but you are not 
the same person, the same spirit......."  There was a small hesitation, an 
acceptance. ".......who saved the *Eye.*   That woman is dead."  He closed 
his eyes in painful memory, seeing clearly for the first time in years. "Cray 
was right and so was Nichos......"

	Her face paled.  Cray's lips moved, her voice spoke.  "Cray is 
dead."

	He opened his eyes and gazed in bruised silence into Cray 
Mingla's resurrected face.  It was puzzled, even bewildered. He blinked 
and knew that a distance was widening between them.  His heart turned 
and pulled within his chest, resisting to the last, but he pressed on.   "Yes, 
but not before she did everything in her power to save Nichos," he said, 
shaking off a strange feeling that Cray was there.  "You made ......*she* 
made his body for him, preserved his memories, replicated his face, his 
hands, his eyes.   And at the end," he continued, his heart burning with 
sorrow, "he was still dead.  She was not able to resurrect him.  She had 
only saved a memory of him, an elaborate holo, or perhaps, simply a 
perversion of him."

	Khaali lifted her chin, thinking to see a solution.  "That's why she 
wanted to die, Luke," she said dutifully.  "She couldn't live without him."

	Luke gazed steadily at the brilliant scientist's face, at its familiar 
sharpnesses and roundnesses.  He had put his loving fingers over it a 
hundred times, relished the softness of her skin under his hands, relished 
the sound and feel of her breathing, relished the quiet glistening of her 
eyes as they turned toward him in passion and desire. 

	The silence was low and quiet, as if they had finally come to an 
end, a place where the path faded into a deep, trackless forest, a place 
where there was nothing more. There was no joy, no sorrow, no passion, 
no longing. A part of him longed, pleaded, to turn back, to return to the old 
place.  His own loneliness sang the old obsessive song and her imagined 
face came through, his forever.  It was beguiling, promising safety and 
freedom from hurtful, fruitless searching.  He would never need another, 
he would never want another, he would never be hurt by another.  But, no, 
the time was gone. He could not lie to himself anymore.  He closed his 
eyes and said something he never thought he would hear himself say.

	"I can't love you, Khaali."  His voice was soft, but decisive and the 
sound of her new name brought it home.  "You are not Callie.  You are a 
ghost who is only clinging to corporeal life, too greedy to die.  The woman 
I fell in love with died with the *Eye,* just as she was supposed to."   He 
opened his eyes and gave her a compassionate look.  "Cray tried to tell 
me.  I should have listened."

	They merely gazed at each other for an eternal moment, an 
exchange of memories, feelings, of a simple, flowing humanity.  Two 
strangers, each caught in a web of illusion, confusing need with love.  
Reality finally breached the seawall and cold, awakening water poured 
through, resuming, instinctive and oblivious, its natural course.   

	She stepped back, speechless.  Her mouth closed and opened 
again as she fought a  pounding sensation in her head.  Something was 
gone, something she had possessed only a few, fragile seconds ago.  
Now he stood before her, someone she did not know, his scarred and 
worn face lit only by the platonic light of compassion.  

	He remained still, for in his touch her pain would be more than it 
already was.  But, even though he knew it hurt her, he could not keep his 
eyes off her face.  It was a farewell, a leave-taking and the moment was 
endless and bittersweet.  He was not sure, but for an instant it seemed as 
if the light caught the glisten of moisture on her cheek.  And for that 
fleeting, eternally remembered moment he found himself resisting a 
familiar urge to enfold her in his arms and give her the companionable 
comfort of an old friend.  

	A guard moved into sight and the moment fled, scattered and 
irretrievable.  "Do Jedi eat?" he asked sarcastically, his voice slicing 
through the heavy air as he slid what  passed for food in Imperial prisons 
into the cell.  The couple, connected soul to soul only seconds before, 
turned away from each other and a bond was finally broken.  

	The force field keyed on again and he gave the prisoners a hard 
look.  A thought arose, but uncharacteristically, he did not voice it.  His 
eyes flicked back and forth and he indulged himself by shrugging his 
shoulders.  "Well, you've got 20 minutes," he said, his voice curiously flat 
and uncomfortable within the listing silence.  A feeling of not being in 
control made him throw in a threat.  "And if you make a mess, I'll be glad 
to see you get solitary."  He stepped away from the force field and put his 
hands behind his back.  

	"Come," Luke said kindly to the motionless woman opposite him, 
as if the guard did not exist.  "Eat.  You must be hungry."

	Rebuked, Khaali made no answer, only made her way, deaf and 
dumb,  to the bunk.  In a hypnotized motion, she lay down on it and turning 
to the wall, curled up, a defeated child. Luke watched in perfect silence 
and then followed the guard's example and shrugged.  Casually, his 
motions calm and ordinary,  he retrieved one of the indifferent trays, sat 
down on one of the dirty chairs, and without compunction, began to eat.

	The guard shook his head and turned back toward his station.  
"Jedi!" he muttered in disgust as he rounded the corner and left them to 
their wordless dinner.

****************************
	Detention, Night Cycle
       
	Traveling within a bubble of invisibility, an agitated young man 
bearing a small,  elegantly clad, if unconscious, woman over his shoulder, 
garnered no comment at all as he moved deliberately toward the 
Detention Area.  The guard was dead before Irek even entered the 
correct level.  He considered the ysalamir screen but he had no time to 
do anything about it.  Besides, his mind was filled with Skywalker, for now 
he knew that only the death of his rival would release him from Otdjel's 
prison.

	The Force disappeared, nattered away by the invisible ysalamiri.  
He came to stand in front of a darkened cell, surrounded by nothing more 
than the strength and arrogance of youth.  It was the night cycle and he 
had expected to find Skywalker and Khaali wrapped in each others' arms.  
He was more than surprised when Skywalker stirred, sitting up. It was 
obvious the Master slept alone. 

	"Who is it?" Luke called, the absence of his Force sense 
particularly acute in the darkness.

	A snarl greeted this question. "Someone you should know, 
Skywalker.  I believe we have business."

	Luke, awakening in the narrow, top bunk, leaned over to glance 
down at Khaali, who was rubbing sleep from her eyes.  She pulled herself 
into an upright position, astonishment registering on Cray's sleepy 
features.  "Irek!" she exclaimed softly, "did Pellaeon change his mind?"

	This prompted a shrill, contemptuous laugh.  Luke winced.  
Without the Force, it was a niggling sound, full of weakness and desire.  
"Pellaeon's not in charge anymore, *Master,* he said, addressing Khaali, 
sarcastic.  "I am the new Emperor.  Or I will be in a short while."

	A questioning look fell through Khaali's features.  "Is Pellaeon 
dead?"

	Irek's eyes became lethal.  "Not yet," he said dismissively.   Even 
Khaali shivered at the sound.  "I will take care of him in time.  But first," he 
continued,  "I have business with our guest here."

	Luke jumped to the floor, strangely agile,  placing his weight firmly 
on both feet.  He lifted his eyes to Irek's.  "What do you want with us?" he 
asked, his words calm, serene in direct contrast to Irek's precarious, 
trembling control. 

	"Khaali is mine.  You cannot have her," Irek said abruptly, his 
voice tracing through the room, off the drab walls, reverberating away 
into the dim corridor.  

	In answer, Luke stepped forward.  "Then, you have finally come 
to kill me, Irek Ismaren," he replied quietly.

	Irek made to laugh but the expression on Luke's face stopped 
him cold.  "She's mine, Skywalker," he repeated, his voice noxious.  "You 
are a liar.  I am here to finish what you started."

	Luke longed for the Force.  He felt blind and his only comfort was 
that Irek and Khaali were just as blind as he was.  A stab of well-placed 
guilt rattled his heart but he remained calm, impassive.  "I did not start 
anything, Irek.  Khaali and Cray, they were.... are responsible."

	Irek gave his rival a triumphant look.  "That's what you'd like to 
think, Skywalker!"  The accusatory tone of his voice rose through the 
corridor, human and harmless within the cold walls.   "Your desire, your 
lies led to this.  And now," his voice filled with blood lust,  "now you want to 
take her back, to banish her from the Force.  I will kill you before I let you 
take her."

	Luke's brow furrowed and his next words were fell to soothing. 
"Irek, you must be calm, I know you've had a lot to think about."  
  
	Irek drew breath to answer but at that moment a movement on 
the floor caused him to glance down.  Luke followed the other's gaze to 
a lightly clad form.  In the darkness he had taken it for no more than a pile 
of dirty laundry but now he realized it was a human being.  A woman.

	"Roganda!" Khaali breathed, a sudden, bald eagerness in her 
tone.  "Irek, what is *she* doing here?"

	Luke glanced back at Khaali and noted that her eyes were cold 
and glittering under the still dimmed lighting.  The woman could only be 
Roganda Ismaren, whom he had never met.  

	"Ha!" Irek snorted, contempt lurked there, along with something 
else, something evil and not quite tamed.  Luke's human intuition, going 
on nothing more than a knowledge of human behavior and what seemed 
like several lifetimes of experience, warned him that this was the source 
of Irek's passion.  He took a step backward, suddenly feeling the need to 
be in readiness. 

	Roganda handed the cold floor and pushed herself up, hair 
disheveled, falling like a petrified waterfall in her face.  Her arms and 
wrists, usually so birdlike, now seemed only thin and wasted.  She lifted 
her eyes and cast them upon her son.  Astonishment gave way to a 
lifetime of intrigue and bedroom statecraft and she became controlled, 
although defiant.

	"Where are we?" she asked from the floor, her voice a stage 
whisper of anger and spiteful humiliation.

	Irek smiled down at her, desiring and hating her all in the blink 
of an eye.  "Detention," he replied simply.

	A flash of anger rose through her small body but she pulled 
herself to her feet gracefully enough, her elegant clothing falling in the just 
the right fashion as she stood.  Luke gave her credit.  She had a good 
dress designer.

	Not that this was her only attractive quality.  Before him stood a 
petite woman, childlike, with an ethereal, air-like physicality  Her sensuality 
was masked, all the stronger for its hiddeness.  Her eyes were a beautiful, 
piercing blue, her hair was fine, straight, thick and shining, falling to her 
waist in one dark fall of obsidian. Her skin was perfect, soft and fair.  A 
strange feeling ran though him as his eyes met hers and gaze answered 
gaze.  He realized in a cold flash that they were of an age.

	"Luke!" This was Khaali, calling him back from a distance that 
hadn't existed only a moment before.

	"What?" Luke replied, suddenly preoccupied.  "Uh...." Then his 
circumstances took hold and he was once again all alertness.  But still he 
could not help stepping forward, as if drawn.  "What do you want, Irek?" he 
asked again, a raw edge in his voice.  A shaft of piercing irritation for the 
two young people watching like dumbfounded children scattered like fine 
dust through his sense.

	Irek, in his turn, gave his mother a belligerent look.  "Mother?"

	Roganda returned it with a wary, crafty look of her own and then 
turned toward Luke, all her well-developed senses keenly aware of 
Skywalker's sudden regard.  He was much like his father, much more than 
she had been lead to believe.  For a moment she was young again, the 
Emperor's favorite.  "It is pleasant to meet you, Master Skywalker," she 
said, righting her lovely voice.  "I've heard so much about you."

	The precise, low, almost lazy quality of her speech recalled the 
glory days of the Empire and reminded him sharply of his childhood.  "And 
I, you," he replied, inexplicably awkward, once again nothing but a farm 
boy from backwater Tatooine.  He resisted the urge to lower his gaze.

	Something in her eyes told of victory.  And interest.  "Irek, why 
don't you lower the security field, so that we may speak in comfort?"

	Irek gave his mother a quick, questioning look but, without a word, 
did as she asked.  The field flickered off in one bright instant and the two 
prisoners came forward.  Khaali was suspicious, cautious, but Luke was 
filled only with a promising light.  Even without the Force the charisma of 
his person was unmistakable.

	Roganda, sensing his power, took the initiative and stepped 
forward to take Luke's hand in greeting. "I knew your father well," she said 
quickly, her eyes following up on a promise her hand had quietly, subtly, 
initiated.

	For a moment the small fingers were supple, soft and smooth 
against Luke's palm then they were withdrawn again.  A part of him made 
to reach for them as she drifted away, suddenly unobtainable.  A banked 
fire came to life in Irek's eyes.  Luke glanced at his rival, startled by the 
expression there, by a sense of something........ Khaali, imperfect intitution 
sensing trouble, moved closer to Irek.

	Luke wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he heard a distant 
explosion and a small scent of leftover smoke trickled through the 
ventilation system.  And then, as if he were awakening from drowned 
sleep, a small glimmering of vision and light pushed through, followed by 
voices and a sense of deep knowledge.  Khaali's head moved and her 
eyes were wide for a moment as she felt it too.  It was the Force.  
Something was killing the ysalamiri.

	Luke glanced at Khaali but she blocked him out, resolute.  
Inwardly he sighed and turned to Roganda.  Irek's voice cut through a 
heavy silence.  "Mother?" he said, his tone harsh, almost condescending.  
Involuntarily, Khaali gasped.  She had never heard Irek address his 
mother in such a way before.

	Roganda gave her son a guarded look and turned away, her mask 
falling into place. "Tell him, Mother," he prompted, grabbing her by the 
arm.

	She looked down at the suddenly hurtful fingers and then jerked 
her arm free.  "I have nothing to say to Master Skywalker, Irek.  I did know 
his father for a time, after all....."

	Irek turned to Luke.  "Tell her," he ordered Luke.

	Luke was mystified, eyes flickering back and forth, mother to 
son for a silent moment.  He drew breath and his heartbeat picked up 
as realization swept through.  "Ah.... Vader," he said, a tendril the Force 
palatable in the dimness.  "You are referring to Vader."

	Roganda lifted her face in a girlish gesture of defiance.   "Is that 
why you brought me here, beloved?  To confront Master Skywalker's 
lies?"  She smiled and a slim, flickering lattice of thought appeared in 
Luke's head, unbidden.  The images were hushed, but somehow tawdry.  
Luke pushed them into oblivion.

	"Skywalker, answer my question.  Was Emperor Palpatine my 
father?"

	Luke knew the youth was on the brink of insanity.  The slowly 
growing Force tide told him of Irek's blank, flat anger for his protector, 
his confidant, his true teacher -- the only person he had ever  trusted in 
the world.  He moved to speak, wondering how to disarm so dangerous 
and powerful a young man.  He knew, now, why Roganda was here.

	"Why would you believe this Jedi's lies?"  Roganda's voice cut 
through the dirty air.  "He has no reason to tell the truth.  He only wants 
Khaali," she hissed softly, as if she were a witch casting a spell.  But 
again there was something else there, something, a balm over the 
shadowed air.  It was as if she willed away a shadowed cloak, banishing 
a half-seen vision.  Luke could feel her interfering with his perceptions, 
trying to entice him, to make him gaze at her.  He closed his eyes for a 
moment and concentrated.  

	Irek, not understanding, took a step forward.  The lightsaber was 
activated,  glimmering in hand.  "Do you refute him, Mother?" Despite all 
the lies, the vagaries of the Force, despite Khaali's manipulation on top 
of his mother's incessant incantations -- a lifetime's worth of mythology, 
this was a genuine question.  

	A quick popping sound interrupted and blaster fire sliced away 
down the corridor.  Luke flinched as he heard men screaming in pain.  At 
first he thought that Pellaeon had sent troops and, reflexively, he cast his 
gaze along the walls, looking for a way out.  But no, that didn't feel right 
somehow.  Quickly, he realized that the sounds and feelings were carried 
on a returning Force wave, slowly, in little creeps and crawls, snaking up 
through the old Imperial jail like a river rising steadily along a dim 
shoreline.  
 	
	Roganda smiled as she saw the activated saber and left Luke's 
resistance as she turned her full concentration on her son.  This was her 
chance.  Perhaps, her only chance.  "Irek!," she said, a hissing half 
whisper,  "It is time, beloved! Kill him now......"

	Immediately, the words his signal, Luke put both hands up as 
the Force flowed back full strength, a barrier against Irek.  The young 
man stepped back, but the little whore, merely remained where she 
was, unmoving.  

	A primal feeling of competitiveness along with a surging instinct 
for self-preservation filled Luke's being.  A knowing grin lit his face.  
"Your mother's been lying to you, Irek."

	Momentarily, the blade was held in a defensive position symbolic 
and motionless and then it fell toward the floor, it's humming now loud in 
the corridor.  "But my Mother has told me," Irek said as he cast an 
unbelieving glance at Roganda and, momentarily, Luke pitied her, "that I 
am Palpatine's son.  Who is telling the truth?"  

	A warning klaxon rang through the corridor, drowning out voices, 
even thoughts.  Then it cut off, interrupted at its power source.  The lights 
dimmed and then brightened again.  Luke felt a nearness, a familiar 
presence and joyfully his mind turned towards it.  But no, he had to think 
of now, to think only of the dangerous youth with the red lightsaber, 
seeking to kill him.  The Force brightened in his mind and the presence 
retreated. 

	Luke moved nearer and his voice was clear.  "I have seen it," 
he replied simply, his eyes shining through on the red light.

	And then, to everyone's surprise, Khaali's voice chimed in, her 
inflection bringing to the unguarded mind the power of ocean waves and 
tossing winds.  "You are Lord Vader's son, Apprentice," she said, her 
eyes raking into Roganda.  Luke glanced over at her and saw that the 
Force had given her back the brooding, simmering Darkside.  Her hands 
were powerful and reaching as they floated easily toward her student.  
Her face, once so shadowed and beaten, was now a study in triumph.  
She moved closer to Irek, as if suddenly compelled, drawn to him.  Luke 
wanted to stop her, to halt her forward motion, but she was too far away.  
And always, the red saber blocked his path.  

	Irek pulled the saber down, where it shimmered just centimeters 
above the floor. He turned to his erstwhile teacher and lover, seeking a 
planetshattering truth.  "How do you know?"

	Despite the winning moment, Khaali did not smile and her face 
was shadowed, immobile as if in death.  The heartbreaking words spilled 
out in a jumble, falling over themselves, clumsy.  "Pellaeon found out just 
before he sent me to you, on Rasclann.  Palpatine had kept secret 
records.  Daala was able to confirm his suspicions."

	Roganda gasped and an expression of instant, black hatred 
marred her delicate face.  "Lies!  All lies!" she hissed, her words 
venomous.  "This Jedi," the word was uttered with twisted contempt, 
"is under her spell!"  Her eyes paled with passion, her mouth fell open, 
and even in overwhelming anger it seemed a tempting red fruit ready to 
be plucked.  Neither realized it, but momentarily drawn by the seductive 
vision, both Luke and Irek moved toward her.  Her voice continued, pretty 
words fell from her mouth, but she stammered to an awkward halt as a 
vision stopped them all, playing out like a holovid in the middle of the 
corridor.

	Khaali, seeing Roganda at full strength, watching as her rival was 
revealed at last, knew she had what she wanted.  A turning, twisting feeling 
of satisfaction and strength settled over her soulless heart like a cloak 
lined and shining with power.  Gray twilight seemed to shadow the older 
woman, as she wrested control from birdlike hands, as she manipulated 
visions, memories.  Words rattled on, eloquent but unheard.  Instead, 
there was color and light.  And an essential revelation, hidden behind 
pretty words,  subtle insinuations and misinterpreted gestures was finally 
revealed.

	A mechanized bedchamber opened before them.  Boxy bio-
renewal units, slim blood manufacturing and cleansing sub-systems 
generators and oxygen regenerators lined the walls, all run by oblivious, 
robotic hands.  A cloaked darkness obscured vision for a moment, but 
when it retreated, it revealed a woman.

	She was small, almost ghost-like, filmy within the heavy room.  
Her voice, as insubstantial but as constant as small bells ringing under 
a summer breeze, fell to a seductive hum, its silvery echoes almost 
inaudible.  A great, gloved hand reached for her delicate shoulders, but 
instead of resisting, she merely smiled, her trained laughter inviting and 
unafraid.  Her's was an expression of sheer delight, of desire and 
vengeance.  A word was spoken, deep within  the pulsing silence and 
the bedchamber withdrew.

	They all stared, motionless, as the vision compacted, folded in 
on itself and vanished to a pinprick.  And as the soiling, cadaverous 
images melted away, Roganda took a step backwards.  Subtlety and 
control were abandoned. 

	Irek pursued her in a following step, but Khaali stopped him, 
touching his forearm in a gesture of warning.  Roganda gazed at him 
through unseeing eyes and words began to fall from her temptress's 
mouth, ugly, clutching words.  "He came to me," she said, breaking the 
condemning silence.  "I was in my fifth year as concubine and still I had 
not conceived.  Another who came after me was rumored to be with child.  
Palpatine was ecstatic.  I knew I was cut off.  There was nothing......"  

	A choking sob entered her voice and Luke realized that, perhaps, 
for the first time in her adult life, she was telling a simple truth.  Her voice 
began to shatter, the helpless cry of a child caught in a web beyond its 
own making, of a woman, used up and thrown away even before maturity, 
her life already spent.  "It was then that Lord Vader came to me." 

	"He offered you your life," Luke put in with certainty and not a 
little pity.  "In return for what?"

	She bowed her head, but her words were not muffled.  "He told 
me he desired me.  His first wife was long dead....." she said, her words 
tearing at his wondering soul.  Luke resisted the urge to push his way into 
her thoughts and merely flinched, holding a tight check on the curiosity of 
a lifetime.

	Roganda, for her part, did not seem to notice.  "..... and he made 
no practice of taking concubines.  He told me the Emperor was plotting 
my death."  She glanced at her son's suddenly deathly face.  "You see, 
Irek, I had no choice.  I was but a pawn in Lord Vader's game...."

	At the mention of his father's name, Luke recalled himself and 
moved away.  But his right hand reached out in warning as he saw Irek's 
reaction before it occurred.  Khaali, also knowing, gave Irek a mental 
shove that spurred him to action.   The red lightsaber flew up, pulsating 
and murderous.   Khaali grimaced as she sent raging shadow into her 
student's mind.  Luke held steady on both feet seeking to block Khaali's 
furious mental assault, looking for an opening.  Roganda was simply 
motionless.

	Another muffled explosion reached through the now smoky 
corridor and the faint,  familiar odor of ozone and coolant followed on 
its heels, wafting through the air around them.  The ventilation system 
sputtered and died and the open place suddenly became unbearably 
close. 

	Luke got a picture, a complete flashing expression of gray ships 
gleaming within a deep, black field.  He gave Khaali a quick glance and he 
could tell by her almost infinitesimally small reaction that she too had seen 
it.  For good or ill, the New Republic was on its way. A familiar presence 
made itself known again, searching, seeking.  Luke longed to answer its 
summons.   

	Irek was oblivious, his mind taken solely with his mother. His 
words were stunned and small in the chaos and Luke found himself 
stepping forward to hear.  "You lied to me!" Irek said, his words giving 
sentence to Roganda's suddenly helpless figure.  "Everything you've 
ever told me was a lie!"

	Luke saw Roganda give the raised saber a glance, fighting for 
control, and felt a sudden admiration for the calculating soul at the bottom 
of those fetching eyes.  At the same instant, he realized just how 
dangerous an enemy she really was.  Cornered, her selfish motivations 
laid bare, she looked her wounded son directly in the eye.  "I...... It was 
for your own good, Irek," she said quickly, neither flinching nor losing eye 
contact.  "I had to hide you from the Emperor, and after...." she threw Luke 
a glance here, "he died, I knew you were the only one worthy to sit on the 
throne...."

	Another explosion rocked the detention level, much nearer this 
time.  Roganda stumbled backward while outrage alone held Irek 
unmoving, but both Khaali and Luke were thrown to the floor. Durasteel 
dust fell through and the ceiling above began to groan.  At that instant, the 
last of the ysalamiri were destroyed, their delicate environment obliterated. 
The Force flowed freely, a river of vision, power and truth.

	Luke climbed to his feet, blinking.  Khaali sat immobile, as if 
listening to something she had almost forgotten.  Irek closed and opened 
his eyes, desiring and sensual.  Roganda smiled, suddenly armed again. 
Her expression changed and her heart of darkness, so well hidden by that 
carefully kept exterior of innocence, was at last laid bare.  

	"You stupid boy," she hissed at Irek. Unknowingly quoting Daala, 
she moved swiftly now, her evil sense freed and dangerous.  "Does it 
matter whose son you are?  Does it matter if," a vulgar gesture of 
contempt flashed from her hand, "*he's* your brother?"  Her eyes 
were hard, aggressive, sneering.  "I was ever more Force-strong than 
Skywalker's wife...."

	A fleeting vision, in the blink of an eye crystal clear and then gone 
flashed through Luke's mind. A transposition of time, a juxtaposition, a 
paradox made him question where he was, who was speaking.  It seemed 
as if someone had spoken out of time, had transposed events, had made 
something flashing and quicksilver clear.  Then, instantly, the confusions 
returned, the images now wrapped in shadows and mystery, unknowable, 
unseeable.  For a fleeting moment, in the midst of confusion, he thought 
she was speaking of the present.  "But I have no wife...." he murmured, 
off balance.

	If Roganda heard Luke's words she made no sign, only kept her 
deadly concentration trained on her trembling son.  "Don't you see, Irek?  
The Force was strongest in me! That makes you the most powerful of all 
his children!"  Her voice rose in volume as the long, silent plottings of a 
thousand nights were finally put into words.   She became compelling, 
tempting. "And, together, we can make an Empire such as this galaxy 
has never known, one that will last for generations!"

	Irek's saber was now a living being, a great red-eyed bird of 
destruction, floating on fire and confused hatred.  "You lie!" he shouted, 
his emotions erupting, unable to leave his one, great, glorious ancestor 
behind.    An ominous wave of dark water seemed to curl up through the 
corridor, settling over the youth's brain like an obliterating wall.  He could 
smell her deception, her overriding craftiness, her inherent coldness.   And 
this time, following her path too well, he deceived himself.  

	"Traitor!" he cried.  "You're in with them, with Pellaeon, with 
Daala, with......" and, unable to say the word, he looked over at Luke as 
if his brother had put words to voice.

	Meanwhile, Khaali, righting herself unnoticed, smiled.  Luke 
caught sight of Cray's face illuminated in evil and a tendril of despair 
crept through his soul.  She moved toward the motionless Irek and Luke 
knew she was prompting him, feeding him, guiding him.  

	She gave Luke a hard, deciding glance and, pulling her gray eyes 
away from him one last time, spoke in a powerful voice.  "She wants me 
dead,  Irek," she said, her words slapping the floor, stinging through his 
ears.  Another crash sounded, not so far away in the dimness, followed 
by the clicking of stormtrooper armor and boots.  "She means to put me 
away....."

	Instantly, Luke threw Khaali back into the wall with a Force blow, 
trying to break her concentration, to draw her twisted attention to himself.  
She slammed into it, thrown off her feet.  He let her drop onto the now dirty 
floor and her enraged words bit into his flesh.  "You betrayed me, 
Skywalker!"

	But no, Roganda was there again, even under threat weaving a 
thread of lies and deceit.  Something compelled Luke, a hunger for 
knowledge combined with a sense of time passing and the frustration 
of never knowing; these all goaded  him as he reflexively reached into 
Roganda's mind, but all knowledge of his mother skittered away, autumn 
leaves on the lips of a cold wind.  Roganda turned toward the Jedi, her 
right hand raised.  He pushed against her mind, suddenly realizing what 
she was going to do.  "No .....Roganda!" He yelled, his angry voice 
echoing.  But he himself had given her the opening and it was too late. 

	Roganda planted an image of herself in the recesses of Luke's 
mind and it burned through his sense even as it wrapped him in warm, lacy 
shadows.  Her skin was inviting and smooth to the touch.  A feeling of 
rushing desire, depraved and evil, shook him to his very bones.  Closing 
his eyes, he concentrated, fighting against this rape of his sense, against 
the images and desire she coaxed up through his being.

	Opening his eyes, desiring only light and peace, he saw that Irek 
was enveloped in outrage, black jealousy and lust, a true mirror image of 
himself.  With overwhelming disgust, in a flashing moment of truth, he 
realized that what Irek wanted was a mirror image, a  reflection of his own 
misplaced desire for Callie.  He stumbled backwards, struggling to 
eradicate Roganda's horrible pictures from his mind.  And as he began 
to turn away from the painted shadows and all the temptations held there, 
Djinn's pale light seemed to settle over him, washing out the faces around 
him as glare washes out squinting, watered eyes on a cloudy day.  
Roganda's vision melted away.

	"You are a liar, a traitor, ......... a whore........" Irek's voice shook 
the walls, turning the corridor into an endless well of despair, betrayed 
passion and overarching evil.  Possessiveness settled upon the youth like 
a stalking vulture, ready to feast.  His mother finally revealed for what she 
truly was, made him shake with anger. "You are mine....!" he shouted, 
yelled, demanded.  His expression was desperate, as if some part of him 
knew he no longer held any control over himself.  "You will have no one 
else but me...... will love no one else but me!"

	Luke, pressing forward, felt rather than heard Khaali's laughter, 
felt the rippling currents of it as it pressed into the structure of the air, as 
it squeezed all light and control out of Irek's mind.  A masked sense of 
rightness, of approval muttered after it.   And Roganda, catching it too 
well, made to resist but was suddenly overwhelmed.  Goaded beyond all 
control, instead of resisting, she made a fatal mistake.

	Roganda turned back toward her son, her form now flowing and 
unobtainable.  "I am Roganda Ismaren, first concubine of the Emperor 
Palpatine!" she announced, all pretense finally banished. "I will go with 
whom I please, love whom I please.  I am certainly not beholden to you, 
beloved!"  A short ripple of laughter teased through and Luke studied her 
lifted face, bearing what he knew to be an habitual expression of powered 
pride and lifelong arrogance.  "And if I choose to toy with your pathetic 
brother, it is of no concern of yours!"

	Part of Luke's mind registered that Irek had lifted the saber high, 
his hands trembling in uncontrolled rage.  The woman, triumphant, her 
motives revealed at last, merely laughed at him, laughed as her control 
began, once more, to wrap itself around her son's soul.  

	Irek heard, as he had always done in moments of indecision, her 
drifting voice call his name from nighttime depths, beckoning, promising.  
And always he had followed only to lose her in the mist.  The heaving, 
cumulative effect of a lifetime of teasing and neglect burst through him, 
a flood of unreason swept away his tortured mind and shallow soul.  He 
tossed on a dark sea of illusion, her words a revelation made only of dim, 
shadowed moonlight, promising nothing but death.  

	Irek was completely motionless for a shocked moment and Luke 
thought wildly that the boy had regained his reason.  But the next words 
proved his conclusion premature.  "If I can't have you, woman," he said, 
his voice oddly even and measured, "no one will!"  Roganda, caught off 
guard, only sensed the downswing at the last moment.  She pressed her 
feet into the floor, her hands swinging as she attempted to turn.  The blade 
flashed, faster than sight, a combination of growing skill and overwhelming 
passion.  A flying, slicing motion moved silent and lethal and a great sigh 
seemed to escape her doomed lips.

	The abrupt sound of a woman's scream cut short jolted Luke into 
action.  He lunged for Khaali but another explosion shook the corridor and 
foul smelling gas began to seep through the damaged ceiling. Rippling, 
cracking sounds rattled ominously after it.  But, in the midst of hellish 
chaos and destruction, Khaali and Luke stood transfixed.

	Roganda was motionless on the floor, bloodless, her perfectly 
manicured hands splayed and elegant.  Her clothing fell in graceful folds 
about her, as if she were prone statuary, stretched over an ancient coffin.  
A half meter from her body, fallen to his knees in the aftershock of his 
final, spiteful anger, Irek knelt, bloody hands cradling her decapitated 
head as if it were a dead child.  Her hair spread about his knees like a 
comforting childhood blanket and dusted the cold floor as he lifted it to 
eye level, all the better to gaze directly into her unrepentant face.  A 
terrible expression of remorse, hatred and satisfaction painted his own 
as he stared into the wide, blue eyes, crafty and calculating even in death. 

	Tearing himself from the horrible scene in front of him and 
knowing this was his chance to subdue Khaali, Luke lunged forward 
and grabbed her forearm.  Instantly she retaliated, entering his mind, 
her determined darkness pushing him back, beating his hand away.    
At the same time, Irek, gripped in a black fog of rage and sorrow, 
carefully, too carefully laid his mother's decapitated head on the floor 
and rising, turned and pulled at Khaali's willing hand.  The menacing 
lightsaber, its evil work done, was now aimed at his teacher's beautiful 
throat.   

	Luke could only watch, helpless, as she laughed and put both 
hands to her student's face, an intimate gesture that tore through his heart.  
"Do not kill me, Irek," she said, her eyes smoked and impatient with 
desire.  Promising clouds seemed to gather within and Luke felt the old 
pull, his familiar obsession threatening to burst through its greenwood 
barriers.  "I will come with you."

	"Mother....." Irek whispered, searing, misplaced perception 
burning through his tortured voice as the two lost souls melted together, 
undeterred by the poison and grime now all around them.

	Luke approached, his voice leveling as he fought to control his 
emotions, fought to get through to her, one last time.  "Khaali," he said, 
his voice ringing and his presence suitable to the Master he had become, 
"if you go now  ......... I warn you, you will be lost!"

	She lifted her eyes to his and he had to call upon the Force to 
hold temptation and jealousy at bay.  There had been two sons, one of  
light, the other of darkness.  With fierce hatred, mixed with the cold, 
burdened joy of vengeance, she chose the darkness.

	"Leave her, Skywalker!" Irek said, brandishing the saber.  "She 
has chosen!"

	But Irek, in his turn, was astonished to speechlessness when 
Luke stepped forward, his right hand held out in a final, futile gesture of 
forgiveness and, even, friendship.  "You're my brother, Irek.  You can still 
come with me."

	Irek's blade was defensive and he sputtered, "I will not!" The 
petulant boy had returned and Luke knew, in that moment, that Irek was 
doomed.  "Khaali is mine.  I will kill you if you interfere!"

	And as if to echo the harsh words, Khaali laughed again and the 
familiar inflections of Luke's tortured dreams, the sound that of an ancient 
spellcaster was augmented by bitterness and the power that was the 
Darkside.  "You'll not have me, Skywalker," she said.  "I have chosen, of 
my own free will!  You have betrayed me -- you would take the Force away 
from me!"  She drew breath as she turned away, her words more mortal 
and wounding than any weapon.    

	She faced her new lover.  "Come, Irek, we must go .........."

	"Mother?" he questioned, turning to gaze into her eyes again.

	She merely smiled, a seductive, passionate smile and Luke's 
heart was wrenched in two by  greedy, tearing hands.  "I will protect you, 
beloved, come with me....." she said to Irek's captive soul.  Luke could 
only observe as if from a great and ever widening distance, while she 
gave to another all that Luke has formerly possessed, body and soul.  

	She turned back to Luke, her eyes radiating power and an awful 
vengeance.  "You've failed, Jedi!" she taunted, her gaze piercing.  " I will 
rule the galaxy!  Such is a fitting end!  And as for you, my love ......"

	Instantly, a coolant line ruptured right over Luke's head.  Its liquid, 
highly poisonous when exposed to atmosphere, began to vaporize into 
tiny beautiful but lethal droplets.  Halfway into a protesting breath, Luke fell 
to his knees, coughing.

	"Khaali, listen to me.....!" he yelled, a superhuman effort, his voice 
eaten by the mist.  His lungs were hot and burning, under pressure as if 
someone were sitting on his chest.  "You ..... will.... will die!" he whispered 
as the blue mist enveloped him.  These unheeded, unheard words were 
her judgment, her fate as she and  Irek turned and ran through the 
blossoming explosions and fires.  He heard her laugh, a parting comment 
of scorn and triumph, and then she was gone, her soul lost forever to the 
Darkside.

	Slowly, ponderous in weakness and near death, he struggled, 
now crawling on the floor to escape the lapping tide of deadly gas.  
Desperately he sent a Force plea to the ships above and a familiar 
presence, at first uncertain but then joyful, pushed understanding and 
joy throughout his being.  It was immediately discernible, the fingertips 
of her bond with him new and alive, clear water in the desert.   A rasp of 
joy issued from him as he fought to his feet and stumbled forward, his 
vision almost gone.  

	But his sister was dead!  Surely she was dead!  Had Khaali lied 
about that too?  And so  finally, at the end of it all,  he came face to face 
with a simple realization.  Callista had become a dead end, a road of 
beguiling temptation, lined by beautiful but futile gestures which lead only 
to opelessness and evil.  

	But his sister, whom he had deserted and repudiated, had left to 
die in the desert, had returned to comfort him, to save his life.  And in 
death her soul was as free and as light as a feather, a white, floating thing, 
seemingly inconsequential, but as implacable as the largest, most 
daunting destroyer in the fleet.  He sent a tendril of thought to her spirit, of 
almost unbearable joy radiating acceptance and a humble, abject plea for 
forgiveness.  After a searching time, it was accepted, and he latched onto 
her radiating strength as his own withered under the killing poison.   

	He stumbled past the dead guard and on into the labyrinth of 
small, airless, passageways, making for the hangar.  Bare moments after 
he left, another line flew apart and the ceiling came down in great, blinding 
sheets of coolant-fed fire.  The flames sprang blue, then red and finally 
searing yellow.  Greedy and insatiable, they licked at the walls, the cell, the 
bedclothes.  There was a popping explosion and, for a moment, a 
shrieking human cry seemed to echo through the wall of flame.

	It faded into the flickering fire and vanished, now reduced to the 
wandering afterlife of all evil things.  And thereby was obliterated all mortal 
trace of Roganda Ismaren, the only concubine of Emperor Palpatine ever 
to come to term and bear a son.

*****************************