Chapter 6

.o.o.o.o.o.

"I'm waiting, Lars."

Owen's head snapped up as his train of thought was broken. He was aware that he'd forgotten momentarily that he was in the midst of making a com call, replying to Vader's message that he'd received an hour earlier. The blue likeness of Vader's menacing figure did not look or sound at all pleased. Nor was he likely in the mood to tolerate excuses.

Owen knew he was in trouble.

"I didn't see any harm in taking the boy to work with me, alright?" Owen grunted.

"You saw no harm, and yet he is now in the palace medical wing," Vader retorted dangerously.

"He's fine. It was only a precaution," Owen bit out. He was still uncertain as to how Vader knew the details of what happened so soon. Did he have people inside Sienar reporting to him? Maybe within Owen's own staff? He supposed he should have assumed, should have given such a thing more thought, but nevertheless, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about being spied on like that. Was there no such thing as trust anymore? Maybe not on Coruscant.

"I find your lack of concern for his safety appalling. You consistently fail to understand his position here and the dangers that he faces from not only from sworn enemies of the Empire, but also from nefarious entities here within the capital that would seek to remove both me and my son from the line of Imperial succession to further their own agendas."

He'd said it. He'd never said it aloud before, but Owen had always wondered whether bringing Luke here to his father had created an opportunity for the boy to one day sit where Palpatine did. That was a lot to foist upon a young kid's shoulders. Owen studied the holo of Vader closely, now considering that perhaps the father's ambitions for the son's future were blinding him to the son's emotional needs.

"Luke's been dying to get out of palace lately if you haven't noticed. You ought to let him be a kid now and then. He's treated like some sort of... sacred artifact. He lives in a museum-"

"Do not presume to tell me how to raise my own son! He's not yours any longer!" Vader snarled furiously. He seemed to realize he'd lost a bit more of his composure than he'd intended and a few cycles of his respirator passed before he spoke again. "I see now that placing you in charge of the child's well-being in my absence was a mistake, a mistake I mean to rectify."

"I won't take him from the palace block again," Owen said quickly, realizing the threat that Vader had leveled. If Owen was to lose all his access to Luke, then for what reason could Owen justify remaining on Coruscant? Wasn't that why he'd agreed to stay here?

"If an incident of this nature occurs again under your watch, you can be certain I will have you removed from Luke's life entirely, whether he likes it or not. Have I made myself clear, Lars?"

"Perfectly," Owen conceded with some resentment. It was useless to continue with his complaints if Vader was refusing to listen.

"Inform Luke that I shall speak to him on his recent behavior upon my return."

"I will."

Vader cut the call shortly after, and Owen sighed as the tension fled from the room. At least that was over with and he wouldn't have to wear any high collars for the next few days. He'd taken the call in an empty conference room in the palace's medical wing. As such, it was only a short walk to the room where Luke was still being kept. The boy was resting upon the bed, propped up by pillows and attached to various monitors, but awake and annoyed at being contained in such a fashion. Beru was seated next to him, her face an expression of calm concern as she spoke with her nephew in quiet tones. Luke raised his eyes to the door as Owen entered.

"Was he mad?" Luke demanded to know. He must have figured that his uncle had stepped out answer Vader's summons. Owen couldn't help the anger that surged to the surface. How could Luke have done something so foolish, so reckless...

"Damn right he was," Owen growled after the door snicked shut behind him.

"Good!" Luke huffed childishly as he crossed his arms.

"I don't know what you think you've accomplished with this, boy." Owen warned, striding over and taking the seat next to his wife, "Not only could you have been killed, you've caused problems for a lot of people. Why do you now have to antagonize your father? Don't you see that this only gives him an excuse to keep you shut away in the palace even more?"

Luke looked down, suddenly finding interest in the hem of the white hospital sheet as he considered his uncle's words.

"Do you want him to ban you from ever seeing me or your Aunt Beru ever again?" Luke looked up with these words, regret suddenly coming into his eyes.

"He can't do that!"

"He can and will if something like this happens again, and there's nothing I can do about it," Owen replied and Luke adopted a grimace, knowing that his uncle spoke the truth, and grappling with the perceived unfairness of it all.

Their conversation was cut short when the door to the room opened again to reveal two Red Guards that had taken up posts to either side of it. Between them stood the stooped and hooded figure of the emperor, his presence commanding an instant silence of the three occupants. Beru and Owen hastily got to their feet and bowed after the momentary shock wore off. Luke struggled to do the same, but the various wires attached to his body got in his way sufficiently that he managed to tangle himself in them.

"Goodness, child! There is no need for that. Please remain in the bed," Palpatine chuckled. "May I take this as a sign that you indeed escaped injury?"

"I'm fine, Your Majesty," Luke said quietly, an embarrassed blush creeping into his cheeks. The emperor stepped forward to gently assist the boy in putting the wires to rights, a task that, to Owen, seemed far to menial for an emperor.

"My dear boy, you gave us all quite the scare," Palpatine continued as he laid a withered hand upon Luke's blonde head. "All of us here at the palace would be devastated if anything were to happen to you. You are so very important to us."

"I'm sorry," Luke admitted in a small voice.

"There is no harm done, but I am curious as to how you found yourself in such a dangerous situation, child."

"I... I wanted to see the fighters. And there were other kids visiting from a school, and they wanted to be friends and I followed them to the rail station and I..." Luke hesitated for a moment, as if he didn't particularly want to reveal the next detail "...lost the birthday invitation they gave me. It flew out of my hand, but I got it back right before I slipped." The boy drew out a piece of folded flimsy from his pocket, but lost his grasp on it and it fluttered to the floor. Luke struggled to retrieve it, burdened by wires and an IV, and Owen watched as the flimsi was seized by an invisible force and deposited into the Emperor's hand.

"Well, that is indeed good news," Palpatine said indulgently as he made to give the flimsi back, but he suddenly paused. Owen saw a frown crease his aged face from beneath the heavy cowl as he turned the flimsi over in his hand.

"This card is blank, child."

"What?" Luke said. Quite rudely, he snatched the flimsy back and examined it closely, and immense disappointment settled over him. "But I... but he..." The Emperor folded his hands into his sleeves patiently.

"I am sorry, child," the old man said sympathetically while shaking his head, "Children are often so cruel to one another." Luke drew his knees up to his chest and curled in on himself, clearly hurt by this revelation. "It is no matter. They are unworthy of you," the Emperor continued.

"Yeah..." Luke whispered in a tiny, dejected voice. Owen scowled to himself, suddenly feeling a twinge of anger toward this unknown brat and what he'd done to Luke, but then again, these sort of things happened in reality. Whoever these kids were, they surely weren't of proper status to be associating with someone like Luke anyway and Owen was a bit relieved he wouldn't have to explain to the boy the complexities of his position and why it wouldn't be smart to make friends with such kids.

"It is not wrong to always believe in the best of people," the Emperor was saying to Luke now, "but be cautioned, my young friend, if you do so, they will never fail to disappoint you."

.o.o.o.o.o.

Coruscant never slept. Owen supposed you could say that about any major city on any densely inhabited planet, but truly there was no city more alive in the the least respectable hours than Coruscant, itself, the very center of the galaxy.

In his early months upon this planet, Owen had often found himself overwhelmed with his new life and the insurmountable obstacles that had come with it. As such, he'd sought out the bars in the lower levels, and he'd learned to wear a hood and solar goggles while there.

Dealer's Den attracted a particularly disgusting clientele, and it was perfect for the nights where Owen was feeling a little too rich and kept for his liking. Maybe he'd spent a bit more time there than he'd originally intended. The tender droid was not meant to know his drink even before he took his seat.

He stared down into his glass of Corellian brandy, thinking how, for some reason, it had tasted better on Tatooine. Maybe it had been the heat of the surrounding air making it seem that much more refreshing. Maybe it had been the dirty glass, adding slightly to the salinity of the drink itself. Maybe it had been the smaller, more relaxed atmospheres of the Mos Eisley and Anchorhead cantinas.

Whatever it was, he missed it, and he knew he would never get it back. Oh, he could try. But even if he did somehow end up back at his farm, he could go to those cantinas and order that brandy and pretend his damned hardest that he'd gone back in time, the drink would still be tainted with a hint of regret.

Owen took out the sheet of flimsi he'd recovered from Luke's medical ward after he'd been discharged. He'd found it beneath the bed. It was not blank. There was childish writing upon it detailing a party at some arcade in the industrial district.

So just what sort of trickery had played out earlier? It was downright sinister. And had this card intentionally been left behind for Owen to find it? Was this a warning from the Emperor not to cross him? Owen placed his head in his hands, fighting not to succumb to his paranoia. He was seeing demons everywhere here on Coruscant, reading into every small gesture, suspicious of every good deed. It was not how Owen was meant to live, and it was taking its toll.

"Shmi..." Owen sighed, the word lost in the noise of the loud music. "What am I doing?"

What does your heart tell you?

Distantly, Owen heard the scrape of a chair on the sticky floor. It took him a moment to realize that it was the stool next to him.

"You gonna finish that?"

Owen had been wondering when someone would take the seat. The cantina had been slowly filling up as the night wore on and there were no longer any other chairs available. The tables were filled and the area around the bar was packed. It was a short, muscular man that had sat down next to him. He wore a cap over a dark-haired head and had a nose that had been broken one too many times. He was more clean-cut than most of the folks in the establishment, but Owen could still make out a few tattoos on his forearms. He was looking pointedly at the spice stick that Owen held between his fingers and had yet to light.

"Ah... take it," Owen said, flicking it over to the other man. "I promised my step-mother that I'd quit."

"I promised my son," the other man admitted as he brought the stick to his chapped lips, "It's a work in progress."

They sat in amicable silence for a long time, each downing his own drink. Screens on the walls flashed the scores of ongoing sports games. Others scrolled through pictures of criminals with bounties on their heads for the benefit of the boozing hunters. A holo in the corner was displaying stats of ships entered in some race. Most people had their attention focused there.

That's right. The Kessel Run was tonight. No wonder the place was packed. Owen settled in, preparing to lose himself in the race for a few hours. The next ship was a battered, old YT freighter, and Owen was a bit surprised when the spacer next to him put down a hefty bet on it to win.

"How in the infinite galactic hells do you expect that piece of junk to win?" Owen had to ask. Thus began an enjoyable conversation on ship mechanics and the merits and drawbacks of certain customizations.

"You know your stuff, I'll give you that," Owen said when the race concluded and the YT freighter had taken the prize.

"I should hope so," the other man laughed, "I make a living putting ships together over at Sienar."

"Huh, no kidding?" Owen grunted, "Small galaxy. Me too."

"Hm, you look familiar," the other man said, now studying Owen with renewed interest, perhaps trying to see beneath the darkened lenses "What part of the compound you in?" And Owen realized his mistake too late. The other man startled violently as he came to the dreaded realization. Owen reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket before he could fall off his stool or make a run for it.

"Don't ya dare make a scene, alright? I like this shit cantina. I want to come back," the farmer growled, giving the man a shake. Owen raised his voice as the tender droid rolled past, "Droid, get his man a shot." Now the man sat rigidly in his seat, too terrified to look over at Owen.

"Forgive me, sir. I never meant to be so informal..."

"Trust me, you've nothing to worry about." The droid came back and placed the shot glass on the table but the other man didn't touch it. Owen extended his hand. "The name's Lars," he said. The poor fellow stared at the appendage for a long moment before taking it hesitantly.

"Tsak Weir," the other man rasped weakly.

Owen sat back in his chair and finally let go of his grip upon the other man's jacket, allowing him his freedom to flee if he wanted. The farmer reluctantly slid another spice stick from the package lying on the bar. His rule was one a night, and only while at the cantina, but he suddenly felt that the situation called for it.

Damn... just when he'd thought he'd made a friend. No wonder Luke was having so much trouble. They sat in tense silence for a while and Owen filled the air around them with colored smoke.

"Ah hells. I'm not gonna eat you. I don't have any of them freak mind powers, if that's what's got ya shittin' yourself," Owen exhaled.

"I always figured that anyone that had the credits to spend in some place nicer would do just that," the man said shakily, as if amazed by his own daring.

"Funny. I used to think the same thing. Truth is, Mr. Weir, is that not all of us were made for that sort of finery. Makes some of us uncomfortable. Me? I like to be reminded of where I come from. Now take that shot, for stars' sake." Weir did as ordered, hands trembling as he fumbled with the glass.

"While I've got you here, I need to ask a few things. You don't have to answer anything. I'm just concerned for the fine men and women I represent at Sienar, alright, and I need to know what's going on down on the factory level."

"I'll answer what I can, sir," the dark-haired man said in a whisper.

"Good man. Have you heard anything about a government contract?"

"Several weeks ago, technicians in various departments were sent memos regarding a government project that we would be required to assist with. The memo mentioned that it was top secret and the details were classified, to be expounded on only once we were on location."

"Will you go?"

"I am a loyal citizen and I will serve my Emperor however I can," Weir responded stiffly. He clutched at his half-empty pint. Owen could imagine what was going through the man's head. He had a son that he'd mentioned when he'd first sat down. He wouldn't want to leave his boy.

"If you're amenable to it, Mr. Wier, I'd like for us to help each other out. You see, I fought to keep you on Coruscant," Owen admitted, and with that he'd caught the other man's attention. Weir looked up sharply. "Now, the goons over in the military's research and development think they can just come along and lift my reliable workers, throw money at them and expect them to happily walk away from their families and homes for a significant period of time. It will interest you to know that we are in similar positions. You see, I'm in the dark about this project just as much as you are and as it stands, I've got no power to refuse anyone coming in and waving about paperwork with the Emperor's stamp of approval." Owen took a drag on his spice stick. "Director Krennic could have easily contracted out some other company to do this work, but Mr. Sienar himself was adamant about dipping his hands into this highly classified cookie jar. I'd like to find out why."

The poor fellow, built tough like a spacer, had shrank in on himself and was looking horribly overwhelmed, perhaps recognizing that he'd just been dragged into something way bigger than he'd ever imagined for himself.

Misery loves company, pal.

"You want... an informant?" he croaked.

"Sand hells! Don't say it like that. Makes me feel like one of them," Owen hissed, bitterly dejected. This was wrong. This was so wrong. But he was starting to realize that he had to play the game. Coruscant was just one, massive game. "It'll be dangerous... I, uh, understand if you need to refuse, if the risk is too much."

The other man stared at Owen for a while. His face was still pale, and beads of cold sweat had collected upon his forehead, but there was something hard in his eyes.

"I..." Wier cleared his throat and began again, "When I was younger, during the Clone Wars, I spent several months on Kashyyk as part of a corporate internship. I kept in contact with many of the Wookies I met there, or at least I've tried..." he shook his head suddenly, perhaps thinking that Owen wouldn't want to hear his story. "I've heard things, sir, about Weapons Research and Development. Terrible things. And I know that more often than not, people that go to work for Orson Krennic are never heard from again. If I do this for you, can I get a guarantee that my family will be looked after if... if the worst should happen?"

Were he still on Tatooine, Owen might have laughed and told this fellow he was full of it, that only nutjobs believed in government conspiracies, but he'd spent too much time on Coruscant now. Nothing was outside the realm of possibility.

"You have my word," Owen promised, exhaling another spice-filled breath. "Get me some info, and I'll get you back safe."