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Chapter Text

Network

Part One

"Five from above! Watch yourself, Wedge."

"I see them, Luke."

"Copy, Red Two," Luke Skywalker answered easily, though his heart was hammering with adrenaline. He pulled his X-Wing into a tight roll evading the enemy fire and returning his own on the TIE he was chasing. The Imperial burst into a brief ball of flame.

"Target's obscured," Narra announced over the com. "Shielding must be interfering with the scanners. We'll have to go below. Red Five, take Reds Two, Four and Seven. Stay here and watch our backs."

"Copy, Red Leader!" Luke watched as Narra and the others peeled away, heading planet side to take the target from the air.

"All fighters, on my lead," Narra's cool tones commanded

"Cut left, Red Five, three of them coming in point six," Wedge Antilles warned "Red Four where are you?"

"I'm hit!"

"Eject, Eject!" Luke looked wildly around, trying to see Red Four. The X-Wing exploded. "Ah, shit."

"Red Four's gone, Boss," Wedge told him. "More TIEs coming your way!"

"Got 'im!" Red Seven declared as he nailed Red Four's killer.

"I see it," Red Leader's voice from below. "Target acquired."

"Thanks!" Luke replied to Wedge's warning. "Break right!"

"Whoa! Target has been destroyed!" Narra exclaimed. "Heading your way Luke!"

"I copy, Red Leader! We have a swarm of TIEs up here! Watch yourselves!" he looped around, zigzagged in tight turns, evading enemy fire.

"Flight, break contact! We're finished here," Narra ordered, tightly.

"More fighters!" Wedge was beginning to sound a little panicked.

"We've stirred them up this time," Luke observed, smiling tightly. The mission objective had been met and the Imperial weapons development programme on Escaal was terminated.

"Break, Break...all fighters...”

"I need help here, I can't..."

"Red Six? Red Six call in!"

"She can't, Boss," Red Seven's voice was grim.

"Time to go, Red Flight," Narra told them.

"I'm with you, Red Leader."

"Luke! Two more closing in on you," Wedge cautioned.

"I can't see them. Where...”

"Coming in point...”

"I've got them...Might need a little help here, Red Two?" Luke asked.

"Need me to save your ass again, Red Five?"

"We've lost Red Seven!"

"Star destroyer!" Wedge gasped.

"Red Two, Red Five! Five more heading your way," Red Six warned.

Luke twisted in his seat, checked his scanners. He saw the five fighters closing in, laser cannon's opening up. His fighter rocked as his shields took a barrage. "Shit!" He pulled back, bringing the X-Wing into a steep climb. Behind him Artoo squealed. He looped around, bringing his own guns to life. "Wedge, we need to get clear for the jump!"

"I know! I know!" Wedge exclaimed, trying to cut a path through to Luke.

"Make the Jump, Red Flight!" Narra commanded.

"We're with you, Boss."

"On my mark."

There was a blast of light, the X-Wing rocked throwing Luke around in his chair, straining the straps holding him down. "Ah! I'm hit!" His eyes swept frantically over his instrumentation as Artoo screeched from behind.

"Luke?! Luke!"

Sparks flared from the control boards. "It's getting a little hot in here! Artoo see if you can't...”

"Bang out, Luke!" Wedge broke in.

"No, not here!"

"Eject, dammit! You've lost a foil!"

"I know!" Luke burst, angrily, feeling frenzied, fighting to gain control of his panicking feelings. Trying to think straight against the trouble he was in. "Not here! They'll pick me up... Artoo, see if you can get me some control back..."

"Luke, Flight's leaving. They don't know...”

"Go with them, Wedge. I'm heading down. I'll have a better chance on the surface." He was calmer, having come to his decision.

"I'll follow...”

"Negative, Red Two. Artoo, cut fuel to port engines. I don't want to explode when I hit the atmosphere."

"Luke, I..."

"Go home, Wedge. That's an order."

"Don't pull rank on me! Shit, they're cutting me off! Luke..."

"Make the jump, Wedge. Before they take us both."

There was hesitation and then: "Copy...Red Five... Good Luck."

"Yeah, you too. I need power to the shielding, Artoo. This is going to be rough."

The X-Wing pitched and rolled as it entered the outer atmosphere of the planet. Luke gritted his teeth, fighting to bring the X-wing under some sort of control, hoping the heat shielding would hold against the friction and that he wouldn't just burn up. The fighter shuddered as he brought it lower. Flames flared briefly from his port side then died, having no fuel with which to burn. The fighter shook in the sheering winds and metal screamed as pieces were torn loose.

"Artoo! We need to stabilise the..." Flames flashed from the controls before him and he drew his hands away. "Ah, I can't hold her!"

The little droid shrieked as the Wing went into free fall, tumbling toward the planet's surface.

"Artoo...I..." He was bucked about, thrown around the acceleration chair. Determined not to let panic get the better of him, he kept his gaze firmly within the cockpit, knowing that his senses would be lost to the twisting view beyond. "Cut power from the starboard engine, see if we can slow up this spin."

 More flares erupted from the control panel, an alarm klaxxoned. "Artoo! Oxygen leak! Eject. Eject!"

Luke was aware of the canopy lifting away, aware of a tremendous force upon his body as he was blasted upwards and away from the X-Wing which continued its downward plunge without him. Still strapped into his chair, with his head down and eyes closed behind his helmet visor, Luke did not see Artoo, still in the droid pod, eject from the fighter seconds after him.

The straps holding Luke into his seat automatically released him and the chair fell away as his parachute canopy opened. He opened his eyes. Far below him, his X-Wing exploded, taking with it the remaining proton torpedoes. The force of the detonations tore the ship apart and threw out shards of fuselage along with brief flames and searing heat. Hot air swept past him, catching his canopy and trailing him along and Luke was grateful he had not been nearer as the ship blew - he would have been sliced apart by shrapnel.

He glanced around, saw another parachute in the distance and, with some relief, knew Artoo was safe. Due to the time lapse of the ejection sequence, though, they would be separated by several kilometres. He looked down at the terrain below him. From his lofty position, it looked like moor land. Undulating grassy hills, punctuated by sparse rocks, pools of water and very little else apart from small burning pieces of X-Wing. There were no trees, no obvious hiding places, and it stretched for as far as he could see.

"Shit," he cursed. The landscape gave very little scope for being able to hide.

Then, over the noise of the wind blowing around him and the rustle of his canopy, he was aware of another sound. It was growing louder, coming from behind, a keen sharp sound that sliced through the air surrounding him. He twisted around in his harness, trying to see as the TIE flew past him, pulling him into its slipstream. Terrified that his canopy would collapse, he held on tightly to the straps as he was tossed around. The canopy held, but the TIE was banking back around, and Luke was acutely aware of his vulnerability. He groped at his gun belt, caught hold of his blaster and brought it up, opening fire on the approaching fighter, knowing a handgun was poor protection against the TIE's cannons.

It passed him again without firing a shot. Luke glanced down, trying to judge his distance to the ground. Too far, still too far to go and the Imperial was coming back!

"Shit!" Luke swore again, voicing his frustration, his fear. It wasn't firing on him, because they wanted him alive! It was circling, giving co-ordinates, keeping him in sight. "Shit!"

He placed his gun back in its holster as an idea occurred to him. It was crazy, insane, but it might be his only chance of getting a head start on the troopers who were probably already on their way to pick him up. He hit the release mechanism on his harness and the main chute was disconnected. Luke dropped as his canopy flapped away.

He fell, spinning toward the ground, air rushing past him, pulling at his flight suit as he covered the distance to the ground in a fraction of the time. With effort he brought his hand up, caught the cord for his reserve chute and pulled. His body was snapped backward as the chute instantly dragged him up slowing his descent. He yelled aloud as a keen pain ran spasms through his back. Gulping in air, fighting the hurt, he glanced around looking for the TIE and, saw it screaming toward him. Just when he expected to be torn apart by cannon fire it swooped upwards and away, and he was left with quiet once more.

He hit the ground feet first, crying out as pain jarred through his body. He fell, rolled, getting entangled in the chutes lines and came to rest lying face up in the grass. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the TIE passing overhead, dark against the blue.

He wasn't sure what woke him. It might have been the soft breeze which tickled, coolly across his face as the temperature dipped with the setting sun. Or it may have been the pain finally biting through the darkness of his unconsciousness bringing him back to sharp focus. He tried to sit up, and was rewarded by a lancing pain across his chest, grinding upwards to his left shoulder. He lay back down and the pain subsided a little. He'd burst some ribs, he was sure, and from the feel of it, dislocated his shoulder. There was also a discomfort from his back, his hips hurt, and his legs tingled strangely, but his left ankle seemed to burn. However, he couldn't lie here and just let them come for him. If he didn't get up and move then he would be another Rebel statistic spending a short spell in an Imperial cell, before a quick execution. The whole idea of coming planet side in the first place had been to evade capture.

He rolled onto his right side, stifling his suffering, swallowing the pain, and managed to sit up. He was sure his hip was merely bruised, his back jolted by banging out and landing. His left ankle though, throbbed with heat and hurt and even though it was encased within his boot, he could see it was angled wrong. He would be unable to walk on it, and he had nothing that he could use as a makeshift crutch.

He worked himself carefully out of the snarl of chute lines, having to rest every now and then and let the pain subside enough from him to continue. He unbuckled his helmet, drew it off, and heaved in a steadying breath as he paused to take stock of his situation, trying to think, trying to remain calm and not give in to the panic nibbling at his frayed nerves. He had to get the harness and flight suit off. There would be no hiding it against this terrain, and if he stayed in it there would be no hiding him. Cursing the Rebel who decided orange should be the colour they flew in, he decided that it would be best to strip to his fatigues underneath. Carefully, he undid the harness and drew it off, hissing in pain at the movement. "You can do this, Luke," he told himself, tightly.

He unbuckled his gun belt, let it drop and gingerly unzipped the flight suit, struggling to get it off his shoulders. His shoulder ground sharply and, crying out, he fell back, panting, frustrated. He had no way of telling how long he had been there, no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious to start with, or how far away the Imps were. He couldn't waste any more time. He glanced around taking in the features of the land. There was a rocky outcropping some metres away silhouetted against the darkening sky. It might afford him some hiding place or shelter.

Holding his left arm close to his body and clutching the gun belt, which held his blaster and lightsaber, he began to crawl from his landing site using his right arm and leg to pull and push.

He hadn't gotten far when he heard the first sounds of approaching vehicles echo over the moor.

"Shit..." he breathed, adrenaline blasting through him as he tried to crawl faster; tried to ignore the flaring pain, the further damage he may be doing to himself; simply trying to focus on the rocks ahead and not on the futility of his actions.

Luke reached the boulders as the first vehicle appeared behind him, over the nearest rise, headlights and searchlights strafing the area and finally settling on the parachute and harness. He crawled slowly around the rocks to the opposite side, pulled himself into a sitting position and drew his blaster. The stone was cool and hard against his back, unyielding. He gripped the gun tightly knowing he was unlikely to be able to take on all the soldiers he now heard spilling out of the troop carrier on the far side of the rocks. He was sore, and tired and utterly desperate. He stiffened as he heard boots scrapping on rock behind and above him. He heard the soft click of a safety being disengaged.

"Throw your weapon away, scum!"

Luke hesitated momentarily. Another troop carrier was approaching from in front of him. Its lights threw him harshly into relief against the grey rocks.

"Now!"

Luke threw his gun to the side, watching it settle impotently into the grass. He pulled his lightsaber from his belt, placed it at his back, and worked it under the lip of the rock. Hoping from where he stood the Imperial couldn't see his movements. They could have his blaster, but not his saber. He may never get it back, but at least they couldn't use it to identify him.

"Stand and walk forward, away from the rocks."

"I can't," Luke replied softly, as more soldiers poured into the area, running toward him. "I'm injured."

The stormtrooper behind him stepped down and came around the rocks, keeping his blaster aimed at his prisoner. Luke held up his right hand, keeping his left close to his body minimising the pain to his shoulder and ribs. The soldier motioned his blaster upwards. "Raise both hands."

"I can't," he said again. He had begun to shiver uncontrollably, and knew that shock was creeping in.

The trooper bent down abruptly, grabbed Luke by his flight suit and dragged him up. "You'll do as I say, you piece of trash!"

He hauled Luke toward the waiting troop carrier, ignoring his protests, and threw him against the vehicle's bodywork. Luke fell, and was pulled upright once more. Another soldier stepped in and held him as the flight suit was stripped from his shoulders, pulled down his body as far as they could get it and his fatigues roughly searched. They found nothing on him.

The soldier produced a pair of durasteel binders; wrist cuffs joined together by a short, but solid, metal bar. "On your knees."

Luke obeyed, guided a little more gently by the second trooper, but as his hands were firmly fastened behind his back he retched, gagging dryly, feeling cool sweat run from his forehead. He almost passed out.

A grey uniformed officer approached, followed by another stormtrooper. He nodded to the trooper by Luke's side. "Stand him up!" he ordered sharply.

Luke moaned as he was pulled to his feet. With the aid of the trooper by his side he balanced on one foot, but he was light-headed, sick and wished they would make up their minds about where they wanted him. He stared down at his boots, frowning at the blood on the orange of his left leg just above his boot, barely aware of the Imperial officer speaking.

"The insignia on your flight suit identifies you as a Lieutenant-Commander with the Rebel Alliance," the officer told him, briskly. "You are under arrest and will be held during His Majesty's pleasure for questioning. As a Rebel, you have no rights to legal representation, no rights to a trial..." He smiled coldly, "And no rights with regards to your treatment while being held. Am I understood?"

Luke's legs buckled from under him and he would have fallen had the trooper not kept a hold of him.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," the officer laughed. He turned to the first trooper. "Take him in."

"Yes, sir!" the soldier snapped. He took a grip of Luke's arm and he was carried between the two soldiers into the transport and dumped onto a bench. He yelled as pain stabbed through his lower back. One of the troopers beside him laughed. The vehicle filled with more infantry, lined on either side of the cab, and as the officer took his seat it began to move.

Luke kept his head down, staring at the floor, focused on the metal grating to keep from blacking out. Blood from his ankle seeped through his boot fastenings. The carrier lurched over the terrain and Luke was thrown forward, the trooper by his side catching him before he could fall.

"Thank you," Luke acknowledged, gratefully, knowing that if he had hit the floor he would not have been in any position to lift himself back up, and he had no wish to provide further entertainment for these troopers.

"Shut it, scum!" the soldier opposite him growled, and Luke was sure it was the one who had found him.

It was then that the Imperial by his side, the one who had helped him, raised his blaster and shot the officer. The soldier slumped wordlessly to the deck. There were more rapid shots, loud and bright in the small cab and four more soldiers fell to the floor. Luke stared in astonishment at the dead men. Still in shock from his injuries and his capture, he was unable to comprehend what was happening. He watched the remaining troopers drag the bodies to the back of the carrier. Then he then glanced at the infantryman beside him.

"Welcome to the Network, Lieutenant-Commander."

He didn't understand, too frightened, too sore, his body shaking violently. What was happening was slow and surreal like a dream, like he was watching from far away and apart from it. A soldier near him removed his helmet, revealing a shock of red hair, and reached into a locker above him and took out a bag. Another trooper, the one who had spoken to him, was freeing the binders from his wrists and asking a question.

"What?" Luke managed to say. He massaged his wrists. Even after only a few moments the restraints had chafed his skin.

"Where are you injured?" the man repeated.

"I...I'm not... Uh...my ankle, I think. Ribs....and my shoulder..." Luke studied the white of the helmet, the black of the eyes, trying to assimilate events. As he spoke some clarity began to form in his mind. "Who are you?"

"Here," the red headed soldier said, squatting down. "Let me see this ankle." He withdrew a pair of cutters from the bag and lifted Luke's leg. "I'm going to cut the boot off. It'll hurt," he warned.

"S'okay," Luke told him, immediately bracing himself, as the man began to cut the bloodied footwear. He looked back to the soldier beside him, looking for an answer to his question.

"We're the Network," he was told, again.

"Resistance?" Luke asked, hopefully, recalling the mission briefing and that the information passed to Alliance Intelligence came from Resistance operatives. Then he had to bite back a cry of pain as the boot was slipped off his foot, followed by his flight suit. His sock, crimson with blood, was also removed and the cuffs of his pants rolled up over the wound. Luke glanced away, feeling nauseous, faint. The tingle in his legs had become stronger, but his ankle didn't feel quite as sore now that his boot was off.

"Resistance?" he repeated hoarsely, trying to keep his attention focused away from the ministrations of the medic.

A nod was his reply.

Luke grimaced, heaved in a breath, as the medic finished cleaning the wound. "How did you know where to find me?"

"We listened into the battle transmissions," the man informed him. "Are you going to be sick?" he asked, a little anxiously. Luke shook his head unconvincingly, and the soldier continued answering his question. "We have an operative in communications who relayed us your position. We mobilised with the rest of the squads and made sure we were the closest to you. Unfortunately we picked up a few uninvited guests for the journey back."

He nodded, indicating the dead.               

Luke paused as he considered the man's words. "But, how could you? Unless... You're Imperials?!" He was surprised, incredulous, a little confused and still sick.

There was laughter from the soldiers around him. Another stood up and started to remove his armour, revealing civilian clothes underneath.

"Some of us have positions in the military, yes. But most are natives who take exception to the Imperial presence."

"You?"

There was a smile in the reply. "That would be telling."

The medic looked up. "Bleeding's stopped. I'll field dress this for you just now. We'll have a doc check you out at the safe house."

"Thanks," Luke offered as the vehicle began to slow. Relieved, overwhelmed at the turn of events, he allowed a smile to curl his lips.

A tinny voice sounded over the tannoy. "We're nearly there. No pursuit and scanners show no other activity, but it won't stay that way for long."

The trooper beside him gestured to the tall, slim and dark headed man now fully dressed in civilian clothes. His face was full, rounded and his hazel eyes danced in the artificial lights of the carrier. "This is Taln. He'll take you to the safe house and stay with you. Follow his directions and you'll be safe enough."

"I'm finished here," the medic announced standing. "The doc'll fix your other ills. Just keep your arm up, like this," he said strapping Luke's limb with a make shift sling. "That'll lessen the strain."

"Pain killers?" Luke asked, wondering how he was going to be able move at all. His now supported and strapped up ankle felt a little better, but his shoulder and ribs were a constant ache punctuated by lancing pain whenever he moved. His lower back didn't feel much healthier.

"Sorry, kid. Those come from the doc," he was told with a smile.

"Come on," Taln instructed him, helping him up and placing his left arm around Luke's waist. Luke placed his right arm across the man's shoulder, using him as support.

The hatch opened and was Luke carried out into the night. They were in a suburban street, the dark softened by lights from windows of homes and by the glow of a huge fire somewhere to the west. Muted alarms klaxxoned in the distance.

"The weapons plant?" Luke asked as they moved off.

"Yeah, you hit it pretty hard. Knocked out the research lab, ignited the explosives warehouse. You have a lot of people pissed at you. You're lucky we found you first."

Taln glanced around nervously. "We need get off this street. Patrols will be increased when you don't arrive at the prison and they realise what's happened. This way."

Taln lead him down a small alley to a large town house. There was a side door slightly ajar which Taln pushed open with his hips and, with effort, he helped Luke down a steep set of stairs. Going through another door, they entered a small dark, stone corridor. Taln produced a small flashlight shining it at the floor, which sloped down as they walked.

"Okay?" Taln asked.

"Any... other choice?" Luke gasped, clinging tightly to the man's jacket. He was breathing heavy with exertion and pain.

"No."

They turned a corner, walking on and down. More stairs, steep and narrow. If Luke had been fit enough he would have marvelled at the number of twists and turns they took, the steps they went down, then up, the contrast of the tunnels' walls, roughly cut stone, ancient brick work, packed dirt. The whole place smelled musty and dry.

"Where... are we?"

"Under the city."

More turns, then Luke found himself being carried through another doorway and into a warm hall. A Twi'lek female appeared from another entrance and beckoned them over then turned away assuming they would follow. Luke found himself being manoeuvred down yet another flight of stairs.

The female turned. "In here."

The room they entered was small and sparse, furnished only by washing facilities, a straight-backed chair, a small bureau and a cot - which Luke thought looked incredibly inviting. The adrenaline caused by the last few hours seemed to be wearing off and he was left feeling unbelievably tired and intensely sore. He wished to do nothing more than to lie down and sleep. Taln sat him on the cot then turned to the woman. "Where's the doc?"

"He'll be here when he can," she told him, eyeing Luke with some suspicion. Luke met her gaze. She was middle aged, rotund, and dressed in a loose fitting dress and apron, her tentacles hanging over her shoulders. "There are a lot of casualties at the factory. He's needed elsewhere."

She turned to the other man. "I don't like this, Taln. Not here. The master is in residence."

"Last place they'll look for him then. That's why we chose it," Taln informed her. "It's only for a few days."

"By the looks of him it'll be more than a few days! And all our lives should he be found."

Luke groaned, leaning back against the wall, head throbbing, body aching. "Look, you owe me nothing. I know. I don't want to be any trouble. Just let... me sleep and then I'll leave."

"Ah-uh," was the laughed reply. "And where," she asked as she helped Luke turn and lie down. His head sank, thankfully, into the pillow, "... would you go, young man? And how would you get there?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Like it or not you are trouble."

Luke closed his eyes with relief, then opened them with a start. "Artoo!"

"Artoo?" Taln questioned, frowning.

Luke struggled to sit back up, but the woman placed her hand lightly on his chest. "No, you don't."

"My droid," he explained concerned, but exhausted. "He's still out there... I think. I hope. If the Empire gets a hold of him..."

"Droids don't concern us, Lieutenant-Commander," Taln told him. "Snatching you from the Imps was risky enough with out going after a droid."

"No," Luke protested, tiredly. The cot was feeling comfortable. His injuries thrummed, throbbing, telling him to lie still. But this was Artoo, he couldn't leave the little droid to the Imperials. "You don't understand. He knows so much about the Alliance. I have to get him back."

Taln blew a sigh, exchanging a glance with the Twi'lek. "I'll make some enquiries if I can. I'm not making any promises, and no-one," he emphasised, "is going back out that way to check. There'll be troopers all over place looking through the remains of your ship."

It was enough for now. Luke knew he could not ask for any more from these people; they had already risked their lives to rescue and hide him. Besides, he told himself, Artoo was independent, resilient, and more than likely in better shape than he was. "Thank you," he whispered, finally closing his eyes, succumbing to the fatigue of his body, craving sleep despite his pain. He was unconscious almost immediately.

The female turned to Taln, whispering fiercely, "This is idiotic! Smuggling out dissidents, hiding our own operatives, passing on information to the Alliance is dangerous enough. But this..." She gestured at the form on the bed. "How do we get him off world? The ports will be closed, the shipping lanes shut down. Every home in the city will be searched!"

"Isla," Taln spoke gently, softly. He was tired and didn't want to argue. "You're saying we should have left him to them? The boy's an officer, he may know who it was that passed the information to the Alliance about the plant's activities. If he cracked under pressure and told them, it would lead them closer to us all. You know Dade! He'll do whatever it takes to protect the Network. So we protect the boy, to protect the Network."

Isla moved toward the door, brushing her hand down her left tentacle in an anxious manner. "So now he knows more about the Network. Smart thinking! A blaster bolt to the head would have protected the Network better than this!"

"You don't mean that."

"No, probably not," she wilted some and shrugged, her anger waning, but her fear remained. "But with the General home, this just seems like madness." She shook her head. "I'll bring the Doctor down when he arrives." The door closed behind her.

Taln sat on the chair, watching Luke, waiting for the doctor.

Artoo Detoo had shut down at the first sounds of approaching vehicles. He remained shut down as stormtroopers freed him from the droid socket of the X-Wing, and loaded him into a transporter. He stayed quiet and unresponsive during the journey, and while he was carried and dumped at a tech station. All verbal commands to reactivate were ignored, and when the droid technician working on him hooked him up to the main computer and attempted a re-boot, Artoo steadfastly remained silent and inactive.         

"Rebel, junk," the technician swore, slapping his hand on the blue dome in frustration. "This may take a while."

The sound of soft rapping penetrated Luke's restless slumber. He had initially fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted and weary. However, the room had grown uncomfortably warm, breathing had become an effort as his ribs objected sharply to each intake of air. The pain from his back had become excruciating, sharp and piercing when he tried to move, and the tingle in his legs had become incessant and severe pins and needles. His rest had become unsettling brief snatches of disturbing dreams, punctuated by longer periods of wakened discomfort. Taln had stayed with him, appearing each time he woke to explain that the medic wouldn't be long, that he'd been held up at the munitions plant.

Taln opened the door and, at last, the medic entered. He was dishevelled and dirty, his dark uniform stained and dusty. His face looked weary and bleak.

"Bad night?" Taln asked, helping him through with his med-kit.

"And some," he answered, drawing a pack off his back and placing it on the floor beside the cot. "I couldn't get away, there were so many casualties. The Rebels did some damage this time and we lost some good people tonight."

Luke opened his eyes and turned his head toward the two, feeling a little confused at first. Then understanding trickled in as he remembered being told some of the Resistance were actually Imperial personnel. "I'm sorry for your losses," he said, his voice little more than a whisper, tight with distress.

"We all know the risks we take doing this, Lieutenant-Commander," Taln answered. "As I'm sure you understand the risks you take when flying your missions."

"Luke," Luke told him.

"What?"

"My name's Luke S..."

"No!" Taln barked quickly, clearly unhappy at even knowing the Rebel's first name. "No names. Only ranks or aliases."

Luke flinched at his mistake. "Sorry," he managed again through a dry throat.

"Well, Luke," the doctor interrupted throwing Taln a sharp look. "Now we have something to call you, let's take a look at you." He sat on the bed beside Luke and drew the blanket off. "How are you feeling?"

Luke smiled at the absurdity of the question. "Lousy," he informed him.

Luke allowed the medic to check him over, grimacing at having to move, grunting as the doctor and Taln undressed him.

"I'll be able to give you a painkiller once I know what we're dealing with," he explained to Luke. "I don't want to mask any symptoms. Does this hurt?" he questioned, pressing firmly on Luke's abdomen.

"No," Luke told him, watching with interest as the doctor drew a small hand held scanner from the pack and ran it over his body. "But my back hurts like hell."

"Did you eject from your fighter?" The scanner was passed over his back. The man frowned and ran it over again.

Luke nodded. "Yeah, seemed like a good idea at the time." A lot of what he had decided before and after ejecting had seemed like good ideas at the time, now he wasn't so sure.

"No doubt it saved your life, but you have some compression damage to your lower spine. How are your legs?"

"Pins and needles. Won't stop."

"Arms?"

"Not so bad. Is this serious?"

"It's mild, you'd be totally paralysed if it wasn't. But, it's serious enough," he turned to Taln. "Tell Dade he'll be here for a while. He's got fractures to his ribs, and left fibula, and a dislocated shoulder. A bit of a temperature, lots of bruising. But it's his back that worries me most."

"How long?" Taln wanted to know.   

"I can pop the shoulder back in easily enough, cement the fractures, bacta cast for the ankle, give them and the surrounding tissue time to heal. I'd say two, three weeks. His back.... Well, there's no fracture of the vertebrae but tissue damage is bad and the swelling is pressing on the spine."

He looked at Luke, explaining. "That's what's causing the pins and needles. I can give you anti-inflammatories to take the swelling down, a brace to support you, but healing so you can walk without pain and stiffness will take several weeks."

"How long?" Taln repeated.

"Eight weeks, maybe more. Probably more."

Luke groaned, closed his eyes. Too long. The Alliance would regard him as dead, or captured. And considering their almost nomadic existence at times as they moved from base to base, trying to keep one jump ahead of the Empire, getting back to his own squad, his own friends could prove difficult if the Alliance had decided to relocate.

"I have to contact Alliance Command, let them know I'm here."

Taln shook his head. "There's no chance of that just now. All communications off planet will be intercepted. We'll just have to weather the storm until the fuss dies down."

The Medic began sorting through the equipment he had brought with him. "I'll have to requisition a brace for you, but I can treat the fractures just now, and start you on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory." He lifted a hypodermic, and filled it with a honey coloured fluid. "Sedative," he told Luke. "Knock you out for a bit while I work."

"I'll have to update Dade," Taln said at the doctor's back. "The next course of action is up to him."

"When's your next contact with him?"

"Not for a few days," Taln informed him. "We need to let the heat die down, lay low. Emergency contact only until then."

"Ready for this?" the physician asked Luke, holding the syringe near the pilot's left hand.

Luke nodded, smiling thinly, gratefully, relieved to be offered something for his pain at last. He settled his head back into the pillow as he felt the liquid slide into the veins on the back of his hand. A coolness travelled to his wrist and then there was a blissful nothing...

"We've found the troop carrier, Sir," the young, nervous Captain reported.

"And?" General Mahkren barked from behind his desk. He was a large man, tall and stout, grey headed, heavily bearded and short in temper. The Resistance on Escaal had been a thorn in the side of his predecessor, and after failing to catch a particularly difficult dissident during the uprising almost three years previously, he had been replaced by Mahkren.

The General's mandate was simple; root out the Resistance and end its communication with the Alliance. And root out he did; ruthlessly rounding up sympathisers and their families. He brought in the best Interrogation Specialist in the sector and mass executions ensued as confession followed confession. The Resistance quietened down with only sporadic life signs as patrols were ambushed, or suspected Alliance sympathisers disappeared before they could be arrested.

Until now.

The Weapons Development and Production Programme he had brought to Escaal was burning. Hundreds of Imperial personnel were dead, dying or maimed, some of them close friends. One of the perpetrators of the outrage had been apprehended and then lost before he could face the consequences of his actions. And Central Imperial Command would be asking some difficult questions once word reached them. The Resistance had raised its profile once more and fed information to the Alliance - that fact alone mocked him as only his own staff could have leaked information about the weapons plant to the Rebels, only his own staff could have rescued the downed pilot.

Yes, the Resistance had been quiet - quietly working its way into the rank and file of his own men. His mood darkened, and he raised his eyes to the nervous officer before him. "And?" he repeated, snapping the word.

"Five dead, Sir. One Officer, four troopers." He seemed to brighten as he remembered something. "We have the Rebel's droid, the technicians are working on it now to retrieve any information it may hold in its memory..." He trailed off.

"And why is Colonel Hume not telling me this himself?"

"He's co-ordinating the search and rescue effort at the munitions..."

"And what of the search and arrest effort of the rebel pilot, of the Resistance operatives?" Mahkren snarled, "Who is co-ordinating that?"

"Well, the Colonel..."

"Is an idiot!" The General sat back in his chair and studied the young man before him, noting the anxiousness, but also seeing determination and conviction. Noting the General's interest, the Captain straightened and set his jaw.

"Tell me, Captain Ayrn," Mahkren started again. "Where do you see yourself heading within the Empire."

"If I may speak candidly, sir?"

The General spread his hands, palm open. "Of course."

"In your chair, Sir."

"Really?" Mahkren leaned forward, eyes narrow. "Ambition is a worthy thing to have, goals and aims important. But, you have to make sacrifices and difficult decisions, you have to take actions and give orders you personally find hard to stomach. You would be directly responsible for many deaths."

He paused to let his words sink in. "Do you believe in your Empire enough for that type of command?"

"I do, Sir."

The General smiled, teeth yellow and feral among the beard. "Well then, let us test this ambition of yours, Major Ayrn," he stressed the promotion. "You will take direct responsibility for the arrest of the rebel pilot and his Resistance rescuers."

The surprise, the delight and pride which swamped him at his sudden promotion was immediately dashed, and Ayrn swallowed uneasily, fearfully, understanding what failure would signify for him, understanding that the Resistance had several hours head start and already he was regretting his bold statement to the General. He cleared his throat. "Any means, sir?"

"Of course, Major. And what ever resources you require will be at your disposal. But take him alive, I want an example made of him."

"Yes, Sir, and thank you, Sir," Ayrn saluted, turned smartly on his heels and left the room, his body's calm exterior neatly hiding his sickening dismay at his orders, but nestling among that was a seed of excitement, a thrill of anticipation. Here was his chance to prove himself, to set himself apart and become noticed by the higher echelons of the Empire. Instead of fearing this duty, instead of dwelling on the "what ifs" of failure, he was going to grasp this opportunity to advance and no-one, especially the Rebel scum he would be searching for, would halt that progression.

By the time he had entered the elevator to descend to the incident rooms he had formulated the immediate actions he would have to take, and decided on which officers he could draft to his command. He smiled. He would personally alert the prison to be ready to received his "guests."

He sat with his back to the room, staring out of the window at the rain beating on the ground of the street beyond, at the road block, staffed by stormtroopers on the intersection, at the lines of speeders waiting to pass through. Then he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and massaged the bridge of his nose. The backlash had started almost immediately and now, several days on, it continued with no sign of abating; Imperial soldiers were clearing and searching huge areas of the city and surrounding suburbs. Homes and property had been destroyed. The spaceports were closed all over the planet, all craft, apart from authorised transports, were grounded. There were roadblocks, and random checks. The prisons were filling up with those who protested, or those whom the Empire considered suspects; including many survivors of the attack on the munitions plant. There had been fatalities.

"How many?" he asked of the man behind him.

"Doc says eight, probably more," Taln answered. He was seated at a dining table, a glass of rich red wine set before him on the polished surface. The room was in shadow, the only light trickling in from the window Dade now sat at. It had been sunny when Taln arrived, the light streaming through the window and sparkling off the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. But, as Taln had begun updating his superior on current events, the sun had faded behind clouds, and the sky had darkened with rain, almost as though the weather was responding to the feelings of the men in the room.      

"Eight weeks," Dade responded with concern. "We've never hidden anyone more than three, and never under these circumstances. How many dead?"

"Early estimates say thirty."

Dade abruptly turned around, his fingers tapping a console beside the window.

The room suddenly brightened and Taln had to blink quickly to adjust his vision. He lifted the wine glass and sipped, watching Dade with hooded eyes as the man crossed the room to the table, lifted the wine bottle and poured himself another drink.

His superior looked tired, worn. His dark eyes heavy, his face drawn and pale, and a spattering of grey highlighted his brown hair. "You're thinking we shouldn't have helped the Rebel?"

Dade lifted his head, saw Taln's searching gaze. "No, not at all," he smiled, briefly. "It was the right thing to do at the time. They were wanting a captive, we needed to deprive them of him."

"And Isla's suggestion?"

Dade looked quizzically at him. "And that was?"

"A blaster bolt to the head."

Dade laughed. "Straight to the point as always." He joined Taln at the table. "And what do you think, Taln. Did we do the right thing?"

Taln hesitated, took another sip of wine before answering. "Are you talking about the boy? Or about giving the Alliance the information about the weapons development programme?"

Dade considered the wine in his glass. "Both."

"The munitions production had to stop, the development programme terminated - you said it yourself," Taln reminded him. "The boy? Well, as you say we always have to consider the bigger picture."

Dade nodded, smiling again. "A blaster bolt to the head, yes?"

"No, protect the Rebels to protect the Network," Taln repeated Dade's words from several days before the attack, when the possibility of pilots being shot down was discussed with Alliance command. "We all agreed, gave the Alliance our word."

"Yes, but... eight weeks... with no open lines of escape. And Mahkren taking his revenge on the general population for our actions." Dade returned to his chair by the window. It was still raining. "We'll have to move him out of the city."

Taln shook his head. "Doc says we can't, just yet. We'd risk paralysing him. Besides all escape routes out are blocked just now. Even the tunnels don't extend that far."

Dade drained his glass. The Network existed for three reasons; to help and assist political opponents and dissidents, to pass on intelligence to the Rebel Alliance and to disrupt and annoy the Imperial presence on Escaal. Dade had joined them three years previously and as section commanders of the underground escaped to the Alliance, or were regretfully captured or killed, Dade had swiftly moved up the ranks. He now commanded Escaal's entire Resistance operations. It had taken many months of quiet subterfuge, on the part of many operatives, to plan the munitions plant attack with the Alliance, and it would appear that the mandate of "disrupt and annoy" had been carried out to the letter.

The disappearance of the Alliance pilot would now add to that annoyance. However, they were now paying a high price for their activities.

"Okay," he said again breaking the moment’s silence. "He stays where he is, for now. They won't think of searching there for a while. We'll move him later when things are quieter."

“He mentioned an Artoo unit which ejected with him and..."

Dade nodded. "I know. Droid techs have it. It's locked down solid just now. Out of our hands."

"He says it contains information about the Alliance."

"I'm not risking men's lives for a droid, no matter what it contains," Dade said with some finality. "But, for what it's worth they can't get anything out of it. Can't even reactivate it.

"And what of our operations?" Taln wanted to know.

"Cease immediately. Stand everyone down. Get word out to the populace, that no one resists, no one protests. There have been enough deaths. When they come looking, let them in." He checked his chronometer. "I'm due on duty."

"Busy?"

"Mahkren has promoted Ayrn to Major."

"Ayrn?" Taln frowned, picturing the young officer. "That snivelling tree-myre!" His face darkened. "He's given him the task of searching for us?"

Dade nodded. "And he's tackling his order's with his usual zeal. Kissing Mahkren's ass."

"So, you're busy." It was a statement, no longer a question. "Ayrn's like a Ilothillian sabre dog with a bone. He won't give up until he has every bit of marrow."

Dade stood, straightened his dark tunic, with a sharp tug and adjusted his rank insignia. He glanced out of the window. "My speeder's here."

"I'll contact you soon, keep you informed of the Rebel's condition."

Dade paused at the door of the room. "You know, Taln... " he stopped, looked at the floor, regret colouring his words. "Despite our agreement with the Alliance, if Ayrn doesn't scale things down, we may have to carry out Isla's suggestion." He glanced back up. "Do you think you could do it?"

"Kill the boy?" Taln's eyes narrowed as he considered Dade's words, thinking of the young man who had been entrusted to him. It was true he had not yet formed a definite impression of the youth. That he showed courage was obvious, that he was able to show concern and regret for others was admirable given his own condition. That Taln knew his name - even just a first name made someone a person - was unfortunate. And he was young.

However, Taln also recognised the difficulties the Network now faced after rescuing him, understood the dynamics of the personality of the man assigned the task to hunt for them. This time, the Network had, perhaps, underestimated the Empire's response. The Rebel was only one man, the city held millions of families all of whom could suffer should Ayrn and Mahkren not find their prize.

He nodded slowly in reply to Dade, and despite their promise to the Rebel Alliance. "Yes."

Taln sat finishing his wine for several minutes after Dade left the apartment. Then he too made his way from the building, down a flight of stairs to a door at the back of the building near the rear entrance. It opened into a maintenance closet, at the back there was a small access hatch set into the floor. Taln prised it open, dropped down and closed it behind him. In the foundation wall of the building was another opening and once through that he was into the tunnels over which the city was built. He moved quickly, making his way back to the sparse room where his young charge lay.

Whistling, the droid technician entered his workshop and switched on the lights. The room was thrown into sharp relief. The mess of wires on the workbench, the bank of computers, the odd and ends and spare parts from various machines, the row of deactivated droids at the back wall. The Rebel droid...

The technician stopped, turned and looked around the room. Then he raced back out the door and into the corridor, frantically looking up and down its length. He ran into the next room, then the next...

He returned to his own workstation, threw himself into a chair and buried his head in his hands. How could he have lost the droid? Had it been taken? Could the Resistance have come in and taken it? Wouldn't they have been seen? What would he tell command? Questions buzzed around his mind in a maddening, confusing blend. Then, slowly, they clarified themselves, his thoughts becoming clear.

He would lie.

Luke wakened slowly, relishing the warmth, the dark, the comfort of the bed, the pillow under his head and the blanket over his body. He stretched, and was immediately alert as a quiver of needles pierced his back. He hissed, steeling himself for further discomfort and was pleasantly surprised when the pain settled into a gentle throb.

"So you're awake," Taln's voice noted from shadows. There was some mirth in its tones.

Luke turned his head, blinked as the light was switched on and he saw Taln settle back into the hard chair by the door after switching on the light. "Don't you ever go home?" he asked.

"Just following orders," the man responded, smiling. "Would you like help to sit up?"

"I don't know if I even want to try sitting up," Luke told him. His pain levels were tolerable and he was loathed to try anything that would cause them to rise again. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been holed up with the Resistance in this tiny room. The first few days had been spent flat on his back and secured to minimise his movements. The Doc had been periodically checking on his progress and dispensing more drugs. His shoulder had been popped back into place; his ribs and ankle fractures were healing well, though his leg was still encased in a bacta cast, along with a maddening itch.

His back injury was healing also, the swelling responding to the anti-inflammatories, and they had been encouraging him to sit up, get out of bed and take a few unsteady steps supported by the crutches the doc had supplied. He had also been able to take his first welcome shower in the bathroom next door.

"But, since you offered..."

Taln crossed the room and helped Luke manoeuvre himself into a sitting position. "There," he told the pilot, "that didn't hurt as much."

Luke stared at him, dubiously. "Maybe not for you," he observed, dryly.

Taln chuckled, brought the chair over and placed it beside Luke's cot. As he sat back down he said, "I've got some information on your droid."

This news brightened Luke up a little. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

Taln shrugged. "He's in Imperial Headquarters, droid technicians have been trying to reactivate him."

"He's damaged?" Luke asked in dismay.

Taln shook his head. "Don't think so. But, they can't get into his data banks. It's locked tight."

Luke smiled at first; Artoo could be stubborn when he chose to be. Then he sobered as another thought occurred to him. "They'll take him apart, won't they?"

The older man shrugged. "Possibly. Probably. Depends on what they think he has stored in his memory."

"There's no chance of trying to get him out?" Luke questioned dolefully, already knowing the answer.

Taln merely raised his eyebrows, smiled and shook his head again. "We have a little more to be concerned about than your droid, I'm afraid," he explained gravely. "We're unable to contact the Alliance to let them know we have you. And we can't get you off world until the fuss over the attack dies down, and the search for you ends..." Taln tailed off.

"And they won't call the search off until they have me," Luke finished for him.

"But, we're hoping they'll scale down in the next few weeks, which may give us an opening to move you out of the city. Once we've achieved that, we might be able to get a message out to the Alliance, and arrange for them to come and pick you up away from a populated centre."

Luke stared at the four bland walls of the room. Being moved appealed him, a change of scenery seemed stimulating. If he hadn't had Taln's company, Isla popping in and out and the doc coming every other day to monitor his progress, he was sure he would have gone mad with boredom. "Can't I be moved sooner?" he inquired, as the door to the room slid open and the doctor entered carrying his med-pack.

"No," the medic answered for Taln. "You're not fit enough for the journey, and I had to come through three check points just to get here."

Behind him Taln frowned

"Where is here?" Luke queried, interested and a little perplexed, not seeing Taln's change of mood. "If they're searching everywhere else then, why not here?"

"If you value your life, Luke, stop asking questions!" Taln turned to the doctor, a grin replacing the scowl. "It's all he's done since he woke up."

Luke frowned, recalling his conversation with Taln. "Have I?" Then realised he'd answered with another question. He smiled, shrugged, then winced as his shoulder protested a little. "Sorry," he offered.

"Well, let's see how you're doing," the medic suggested, pulling the blanket away from Luke. "I've brought the back brace I was speaking about, but I want to see you moving around again before I show you how to wear it. I've also got some exercises I want you to start. How's the ankle feeling?"

As Luke replied, and the doctor worked, Taln left the room giving them more room and privacy. It was cooler in the corridor and smelled a lot fresher than the room in which he'd spent most of the last two weeks with the pilot. He leaned against the wall waiting for the doctor to finish.

"Loitering?" Isla questioned, from the stair well. She was carrying a very welcome tray of breakfast, a jug of fresh water and a couple of glasses. A large, weighty looking bag hung from her bent elbow.

Taln smiled in greeting. "Doc's with him, again."

She handed the tray to him. "Here take this. I feel like a beast of burden."

"A burden, but never a beast, Isla," Taln joked with gentle humour. "What's in the bag?"

"Well, after a remark like that I'm wishing it was a heavy brick." she smiled. "Clothes for our young friend. He needs a change from those fatigues he came in. I requisitioned them and some boots from the General's son."  

The frown returned. "That was risky."

"Nonsense," Isla laughed. "It's part of my duties to over see the laundry in the house and sort out the clothing. Besides, the spoiled brat won't notice they're gone and... But she noticed he still frowned. "What's wrong?"

He placed the tray on the floor, poured himself a glass of water, stood and took a long draught. "How did the doc arrive?"

"By speeder. Why?"

Taln poured the remaining water from his glass into his hand and ran it over his face.

"We have washrooms, you know, Taln." Isla's voice was grave. "What is it?"

"He should have used the tunnels, he's been told to use the tunnels," Taln observed, angrily. "He's taking too many chances coming through check points, especially when carrying supplies for the boy."

"Then you'll have to talk with him, and..."

There was a thump and cry of pain from the room. Taln palmed opened the door and stuck his head in, immediately spotting Luke - dressed only in shorts and a white back brace - on the floor and the doctor trying to lift him back up. The Rebel's face was flushed, he was breathing hard through gritted teeth.

Taln went to him taking Luke's other arm and helped the doctor hoist him into the chair.

Luke shook his head, feeling downhearted and sore. Pins and needles were racing up and down his legs. "This is ridiculous! I can't afford to be here any longer. I need to get back to my squad."

The medic crouched at his side, trying to adjust the back brace he had fitted. "What you need is time to heal, Luke."

"I don't have time!" Luke burst, frustration biting his words. He was furious at himself for failing to take more steps unaided, furious at getting himself into this situation. Furious at getting shot down in the first place. He looked up at the three of them, feeling foolish, feeling despondent.

"Look," he told them, more calmly. "I'm not an idiot, I know what's happening out there," he gestured upward, indicating by his words and the action the city beyond. "I know the risks you're all taking for me. I just feel I should be doing more in return."

"You can't," Taln told him shortly.

"He can," Isla countered, handing Luke the bag. "He can put some clothes on and stop feeling sorry for himself. Then he can eat the breakfast I've brought down."

Luke took the bag, opened it and began to fish around.. "Thanks," he told the Twi'lek woman with some regret for his outburst. "I appreciate what you're doing for me." He drew out a pair of under shorts: briefs more than boxers. They were small, black and the fabric stretched as he pulled on the waistband, though he was sure they would fit only to his hips.

"Good. Now, get dressed. It doesn't do my old heart any good seeing you lounging around half naked, especially if you're going to wear those," she retorted with a wink.

Taln laughed at the surprised look on the boy's face. "You have a filthy mind, Isla," he told her as he ushered her out. He turned to Luke with a grin, nodded at the briefs he still held and quipped. "One size fits all, huh, Luke?" Then he laughed at the flush that covered the youth's features.

"Now," the physician said to Luke with a smile. "About those exercises."

"You have some news for me, Ayrn?" Mahkren asked of the Major. He was becoming impatient for some results from the search of the city. However, thus far all he had was angry citizens, angry shipping companies, and a very annoyed Primary Interrogator complaining of his cells filling up with whatever dross Ayrn scraped off the streets. Soon Coruscant would be breathing down his neck.

"Yes, Sir," Ayrn said quickly. "The droid proved worthless. The technician working on him has reported it must have sustained terminal damage during the crash. He has sent it for scrap."

"Droid!" Mahkren roared, standing. "You come in here to tell me about a droid? Where is the Rebel? Where is the Resistance?!"

Ayrn took a step back, a mask of fear momentarily covering his face. Then he gathered himself. "I'm coming to that, General. We are on the verge of arresting a suspect."

"Who?" Mahkren breathed.

"A doctor, Sir. He's made several journey's in the last two weeks since the attack to the, ah... Imperial Esplanade area of the city."

The General sat down. "That is an exclusive area, Ayrn. I have a house there. It is not uncommon for a doctor to make house calls to affluent patients."

Ayrn shifted his feet on the plush carpet of Mahkren's office. "I'm aware of that, Sir. It is the only area of the city we have not searched..."

Mahkren shook his head, clearly unhappy with the implied meaning of Ayrn's statement. "I won't allow it! Not without evidence. Too many of my neighbours have contacts elsewhere, to anger them would be foolhardy." Not to mention career damaging.

Ayrn smiled. "I am sure the doctor will give us the evidence, Sir."

"How so?"

"I have had him investigated, Sir," he announced pleased with himself. "He has recently commandeered several items of medical equipment which, after checking the medical records of his patients, do not appear to have been used on any of them."

"Such as?" Mahkren's interest was piqued.

"More recently a back brace and crutches. Just after the attack, a bacta cast, calcium cement, and several weeks supply of pain killers and anti-inflammatories."

The General sat back into his chair, grinning, feeling that at last there was some movement in the search, that perhaps soon the Rebel pilot would be in his grasp "Then bring him in," he ordered. "Hand him to Rhovan for questioning."

Ayrn saluted before spinning on his heel. "Yes, sir!"

Luke splashed water on his face, rinsed off the soap and reached for the towel he'd placed over the side of the sink and dried himself. Taking the crutches from against the wall he hobbled back over to the cot and eased himself down. He could still hear Taln and the physician talking outside the door. The discussion was heated, but their voices kept low and Luke knew neither of them wanted him to overhear what they were saying.

He lifted up the plain blue shirt Isla had provided for him and drew it on to cover the brace he wore. It, the black briefs, and dark blue pants the doctor had helped him get into, were expensively cut and Luke felt a little uncomfortable in the fine material that clung to his body for a more decorative effect than practical function.

He picked up a packet of pills and popped two of them into his hand before placing them into his mouth and lifting a glass of the water Isla had brought down. He took a drink to wash the tablets down. He was still sore. The exercises the doctor had taken him through were simple, but they had left him aching and tired. His back had cramped up, the muscles taut and stiff, and he reached behind trying to massage away the pain from himself, trying to sit straight. The brace bit into his skin, scratching and itching.

"You're a liability!!" Taln burst out from beyond the door. "Dade will..."

"Keep your voice down!" the medic answered and the conversation continued again with whispered, angry tones, too low for Luke to hear.

He felt awkward, embarrassed, out of place here and hoped the men weren't fighting about him. He was grateful to these people, owed them his life, his safety, but he was also very aware of the danger that his presence here placed them in. As he healed he had tried to ask Taln about this place, about the Resistance, the Imperial presence on Escaal. But his questions were politely deflected, or he was told that knowing too much information about anything or anyone could be hazardous to them all. Luke understood this, but it was a conversation killer, and hardly conducive to building any kind of relationship with anyone let alone the man who had been given the task of remaining with him and protecting him.

But, then, perhaps that was the idea. Taln was protecting himself and the Resistance more than he was protecting Luke.

"Ah," he whispered to himself, wriggling his toes in the cast. "Ah, shit..." He rubbed the cast against the side of the cot, hissing in frustration. "Shit...shit...ah!“ His ankle itch was back with a vengeance. It wouldn't be so bad if he could have bent down and stuck his finger down the side of the cast, but his back wouldn't allow him to attempt even that movement!

He pulled himself back to lean against the wall, fighting to ignore the prickle, taking comfort in the doctor's promise that the cast could be removed within a day or two. The monotony of hiding was getting to him. The days filled with the same dullness was sapping his strength. He should be with his squad running patrols and missions, enjoying the camaraderie of their company. He should be leading them into
battle, drinking to their successes and to their losses. He should be with Han and Leia...

Where the hell were they anyway? He'd been expecting his impulsive Corellian friend to throw open the door, grin at him and offer some flippant remark before dragging him out and escaping to the Millennium Falcon under a flurry of Imperial blaster fire. And once there, to an embrace of reunion with Leia; to a Wookiee hug from Chewbacca and fussing from Threepio. But as the reality of his situation overshadowed his dreams, that expectation was now only a very dim hope. There would be no wild rescue, merely a very slow wait for the Imperials to lose interest in him.

Or find him.

Luke threw the thought away as he realised there was silence outside the door. He wanted to be able to pretend he had been doing something other than trying to listen as Taln returned, but given the only other thing he could have been doing was sleeping, he merely sat where he was and let the man think what he wanted.

"Well," Taln commented with a smirk, with none of the anger that Luke had heard in his voice earlier. However, Luke could see the man was deeply concerned, no matter how lightly he spoke. "Going clubbing?"

Luke smiled, glancing down at the shirt. "Its... um... not really me," he pulled at the fabric covering his chest. "Where did Isla get it?"

"You don't need to know." It wasn't said maliciously, just matter of factly and with a smile.

Taln chuckled at the sigh he got in response, and the resigned look on the boy's face. He sat down by the door again. "This is hard for you," he stated needlessly, but recognising that Luke was almost bored to tears by the situation.

"You can tell, huh?" Luke replied, trying to inject some humour into his voice and failing miserably. He looked at Taln, saw his own tiredness reflected by the other man. "Can't be easy for you either, baby sitting me."

"Nope, you're a pain in the ass, kid."

"You're not the first person to tell me that," Luke laughed lightly, thinking of Han. He was beginning to feel the pills he had taken take effect as the pain from his back receded to bearable levels. "But, that's not what I meant. You must have family..."

Taln's face darkened. "No." He rose from the chair, cross to the sink and ran some water, washing his hands.

Luke recognised that he'd touched on a difficult subject and that Taln was attempting to deflect attention, to hide his emotions by the simple act. "The Empire killed my family, too," he told the man quietly. "Is that why you joined the Resistance?"

"Is that why you joined the Alliance?" Taln threw the question back at Luke.

Luke nodded to the man's back. "Yes. I saw what they did, what they left behind, and... Well, I had no other choice anyway."

Taln dried his hands and turned back around. He considered Luke for a moment before speaking. "You don't look old enough to have had a family of your own. Was it your parents?"

Luke shook his head, recalling his aunt and uncle. "No. My parents died years before. It was my guardians, my aunt and uncle who raised me."

"Aunt and uncle," Taln repeated, distracted a little, lost in his own memories. "It was my wife and child, my son."

And Luke felt sorry, remorseful. "I'm..."

"Sorry?" There was a little hitch of grief in Taln's voice, a little bitterness. He fell into the chair, stared at the ceiling. "You know, I even got an apology from the Empire? A standard; 'His Imperial Majesty regrets the deaths of your wife and son during the Rebel uprising.' Yeah, right, like the Emperor knew my boy, like he knew Cairn and his mother. Tried to blame it on the uprising when his troops fired on them, said they were in the wrong place at the wrong time." His voice was full of derision, contempt, anguish. He glanced back at Luke. "How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?"

"Twenty," Luke confirmed softly.

"Just a kid," he announced, shaking his head. "You know you should be out there, going on dates with pretty girls," he gestured at the clothes Luke wore, "clubbing, partying and getting drunk. Not....this..." He trailed off, realising his emotions were getting the better of him. He drew in a deep breath trying to temper his feelings.

"I still date. Get drunk - occasionally," Luke told him, trying to be humorous, trying to help Taln gain control. "How old was your son?" He didn't know why he asked. No, that was a lie. He asked because he wanted to understand why Taln had attempted to remain so distant to him.

"He'd be seventeen now, if he'd lived. Fourteen when he died." And Taln met Luke's eyes, held the gaze for a moment then dropped it. "You need to repeat those exercises the doc showed you," he waved with his hands, motioning for Luke to get up, dismissing the previous conversation. He stood. "Here, I'll give you a hand."

Luke took Taln's hand, let the man help him to his feet and shuffled across the floor under Taln's directions and guidance. He felt humbled by Taln's story, had some of his curiosity answered and had gained some understanding of Taln's motives and his pain. Understood that, like him, Taln had wanted revenge on the Empire, had seen its rotten core for himself, had viewed the death's of loved ones and wanted, in some small way, to fight back.

The doctor fought the urge to gun the engine of his speeder and push it faster through the traffic. He knew Taln was right, but that didn't make him feel any less annoyed at the dressing down he'd received. Though, at least Taln hadn't spoken to him in front of Isla, or worse, the Rebel pilot. He applied the brakes, slowing a little to allow a larger transporter to take the space in front of him. Yes, he should be using the tunnels under the city and travelling by foot, but that would slow him up, test his already very tight schedule. He had his own patients to treat, and since the Rebel attack almost two weeks ago, his workload remained heavy. Travelling by speeder was quicker and he had only used it when he was pushed for time.

The traffic slowed as he reached the inner city area where his hospital was located, and he pulled his ID from his pocket knowing he was coming up on another checkpoint. He followed the troopers' directions and pulled up as the speeder before him was waved through.

He glanced up at the soldier by the side of his vehicle and handed over his ID.

"Where are you headed, Doctor Yian?" the soldier questioned.

"The Imperial Medical Centre."

"Where have you been?"

"As I said, when I passed through here earlier, I was seeing private patients." He injected a tone of annoyance into his voice.

The soldier gestured to another, more superior, trooper. The non-com approached and looked at the ID and then back at the physician. "Doctor Yian," he started. "Kindly step out of your vehicle."

"What?" Yian barked, suddenly afraid, as more soldiers surrounded his speeder. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Step out of your vehicle, Doctor. On the orders of Major Ayrn you are under arrest on suspicion of treason."

Yian got out of the speeder. "Tre.... This is a mistake!" he blustered. "You can't arrest someone going about their legitimate business!" They bound his hands, pushed him towards a waiting troop carrier. "I want to see my advocate!" he demanded.

There was humour in the reply. "As a suspected traitor you have no rights to legal representation..."

Artoo Detoo quietly blooped along the empty corridor within Imperial Headquarters. It had been difficult biding his time and keeping silent as he had been prodded and poked and given commands that he'd had to re-route to disobey. But as soon as the chance had been given him he had silently activated himself. His main mission now was to locate his young master and be reunited with him.

A squad of troopers marched passed, and Artoo busily studied a blank metal wall. They paid no notice to him, and he continued on the way they had come, hoping to find an access port to the central computer and hoping his young master had not been captured.

Luke had been unable to sleep. It wasn't just the nagging ache from his back injury and his inability to find a comfortable position. It was too many days, with too little to do that had completely unbalanced his normal sleeping patterns - if you could call the sleep he got as an Alliance pilot a pattern - and lately he had been left staring into the darkness with only his own thoughts for company while Taln snored from the pallet he rolled out onto the floor every night. He was envious of the man's ability to start sleeping the minute he laid his head down.

Tonight was a little different, however, though Luke could not identify why. He had lain as usual staring into the darkness, and as usual sleep had not come, but instead of feeling weary and frustrated Luke was bright, his mind buzzing, his stomach churning with agitation. It reminded him of the feeling he got when his aunt and uncle died; of how he felt just before the Empire had surprise attacked their escort convoy near the Hasthaal system. It was an uneasy "knowing" feeling one he had grown to trust, one he suspected may be due to his untapped Force abilities - not that he'd much chance to think about them, to develop them any, since joining the Rebellion.

He threw off the blanket and struggled up from the cot.

"What y'doin?" Taln mumbled from the floor.

"Can't sleep," Luke told him, with concern. "Something's wrong."

Taln was immediately awake. "What do you mean? You in pain? Your back?"

Luke frowned, thinking, feeling. Wishing Ben Kenobi had been able to teach him more. "No, but something's about to happen."

"You're freakin' me out, Luke..." Taln warned.

Luke's anxiousness was growing. "I can't explain it, Taln. I just know.. sometimes... when things are going to happen," he explained with frustrated conviction. "And something is going to happen."

"Sometimes?" Taln repeated, lifting his eyebrows.

Luke nodded. "Yeah, but I'm usually right."

"But you don't know what's going to happen?"

"No, but it's strong." And getting stronger, the tight knot of nerves in his belly constricting further, adrenaline beginning to filter into his blood stream.

Taln rose from the floor, wincing as his bones creaked as he straightened. He snapped the light on. The younger man's words had struck a cord with him, caused his own stomach to roll, and as he folded up his pallet, he scrutinised Luke. Still so very young, a face still fresh - though a little pale - despite the war he had been fighting, the horrors he had seen, the friends and family he had lost. And there was more to him now; a maturity and a confidence that Taln had not previously seen. The boy met his gaze and Taln found it was he who looked away first, unsettled and uneasy. He tied up his bed bundle, pushed it under Luke's cot, and looked up at the younger man. "So, what do we do about this feeling of yours?"

"Get ready," Luke told him solemnly, as he reached for his shirt.

Primary Interrogator, Major Erwin Rhovan watched impassively as the guards lowered the prisoner into the waiting chair and unhooked the suspension line from the binders around the man's wrists. The Major waved his hand and the droid, which hovered nearby, moved back. The doctor was gasping, moaning, shuddering.

Rhovan pulled another chair over for himself and sat down in front of the prisoner. He did not like moving an interrogation on so quickly. He preferred to move slowly, to gain control - both physical and mental - over a prisoner. Ignoring essential softening up techniques and going straight to applying pain to a prisoner was risky. However, the doctor was not a soldier, had not had training on how to react to questioning and was thus a softer target, and time was of the utmost importance if they were to move on the Rebel pilot's position.

"We know you have been working for the Resistance, Doctor Yian," the Major explained, softly. "We know you have been treating the Rebel pilot. We know you have been visiting the Esplanade."

"Pr....private...patient..." Yian panted through his pain.

Rhovan smiled. "Indeed," he looked up at the man who waited by the door. "Prohibitive patient, more like." He commented.

Ayrn laughed in response.

Rhovan leaned closer to Yian. "Who is harbouring him?"

"I....wouldn.....n't know that..."

Ayrn stepped further into the room. "Come now, doctor. We have evidence against you which contradicts that."

"Show.... show me," Yian demanded and immediately yelped as he was dealt a blow from behind by one of the guards.

"A back brace, a pair of crutches, anti-inflammatories," Ayrn explained. "I could go on, but we all know that the Rebel sustained injuries - that much was clear from the flight suit left in the troop carrier."

"What type of injuries would be consistent with ejecting from a fighter in planetary atmosphere, and a hard landing?" Rhovan asked.

The doctor looked up at him, trying to focus, his eyes almost swollen shut, his face battered and bloodied. "Depends....on the species."

"Human," Ayrn stated from behind. "Male."

Yian was confused, not understanding the switch in questioning. He was exhausted, and sore. His throat dry, his breathing laboured. "Fractures..... are...likely, soft tissue damages," he gulped air. "Com...pression....damage to spinal area..ah..."

"Injuries which are consistent with the equipment and drugs you procured and never used to treat any of your patients," Ayrn told him, pleasantly. "Oh, and doctor?"

Yian tried to look around at him.

"You have no private patients in the Esplanade. We checked."

"Where is he doctor?" Rhovan questioned again. "Save yourself some pain, and tell me where he is."

Yian shook his head, slowly.

Rhovan's mouth turned down in anger. "Hoist him back up, bring the droid!"

"No! No, please!"

"Then where is he?"

"The Esplanade..."

"Where exactly?"

Yian hung his head, feeling defeated, feeling lost. "General Mahkren's townhouse."

There was silence, and then Rhovan laughed in delight, dark eyes dancing. He glanced at Ayrn who was also smiling. "I have to admire you doctor, I had thought you broken." He motioned to the guards. "A little more thinking time is required. Hoist him."

As the doctor squealed, and struggled in panic Rhovan turned to Ayrn. "We'll return when he's more willing to talk."

The chamber door slammed closed at their backs shutting out the man's screams.

"He's trying to buy time," Rhovan stated. "Waiting until it's past his time for visiting the Rebel again, waiting until the Resistance know he's been taken."

"Or he could be telling the truth about the General's house." Ayrn returned.

Rhovan chuckled again. "Your sense of humour is as warped as the good doctor's."

Ayrn laughed along, then turned serious. "Still, we shouldn't waste any more time. We know enough to raid the Esplanade. I'll contact the General, gain his permission first."

“I’m not sure that is such a wise move, Ayrn. The doctor…”

“It’s exactly the move we need to take in light of this information,” he clapped his hand on Rhovan’s shoulder., laughing again. “You’re just afraid to upset the General.”

"Where is he just now?" Rhovan asked.

"At this hour? Home, sleeping." He smiled, shrugged, and then joked. "With a Rebel as a house guest."

Rhovan slapped his colleague's back, laughing loudly as they passed the control desk at the entrance to the cell corridor and the Duty Officer who stood there. "Then, rather you than me, Ayrn," he commented as the man stepped into the turbo lift. As the door closed he turned to the officer. "Have the doctor taken down and placed in a holding cell."

"Yes, sir"

He began to walk away towards his private office off from the main atrium. Then stopped giving another order. "I do not wish to be disturbed, unless they pick up the Rebel pilot."

"Of course, Sir."

General Mahkren stirred at the intermittent and persistent sound of the holo-transmitter. He frowned, pulling the thick quilt tighter around his body. The noise continued and the General sighed and turned onto his back. He opened his eyes, anger immediately welling up when he saw that it was still night. He turned, sat up in bed, and answered the call, seeing the small figure of Major Ayrn flicker on the nightstand.

"What?" He barked.

"The Rebel is being hidden in the Esplanade, Sir, as I.... we thought," Ayrn reported, sounding elated, yet terribly nervous.

Mahkren had been afraid of this, had almost expected this. "And who, among my neighbours, would take such a risk?" Mahkren wanted to know.

Ayrn looked uncomfortable. "The doctor did not divulge that information, Sir. He... huh...stated the Rebel was in your house in an attempt to divert us, I believe, Sir."

"You disturbed me for this?" Mahkren voice rose in pitch. His home, indeed! His sleep interrupted on the unsubstantiated ramblings of a treasonous doctor.

"Uh, no, General, Sir. Rhovan believes the doctor is playing for time, to give the Resistance the opportunity to move the Rebel from the area. We need to search the Esplanade now, Sir, if we are to seize the initiative," he paused. "I need your permission, Sir."

The General deliberated on this. He had faith in his interrogator. Rhovan was good, and the information he tore from captives was frequently reliable. But he still didn't like this; didn't like that some very important people were going to be angered, didn't like to think that his neighbours and friends could be involved, that the Resistance could have reached such high positions in society. He grudgingly made his decision. "You have it, Ayrn. But no-one is hurt, and no damage done, unless I am informed first. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," he paused again, looking uncomfortable. "And your home General?"

"What of it?"

"It would work to your benefit, General, if you allowed us to look there also."

Mahkren considered the suggestion. If he subjected his own dwellings to the same treatment it may appease his more vocal neighbours. "Very well, carry out your search. Alert me as soon as you have the Rebel and his guardians."

"Sir!" Ayrn saluted, and the hologram disappeared.

Mahkren threw his covers aside and reached for the clothes his housekeeper had set out for him before he retired. He would have to waken his son, alert his staff to the coming search. He pulled his boots on, laughed out loud. His house!

Then he stopped, slowly placed his foot on the floor as a disturbing thought occurred to him There were areas of his home he had never ventured into, areas set aside for his servants, for storage. Where better to hide a fugitive but under his very nose - his own roof. He stood, drew on his gun belt and left his room. He made his way downstairs leaving his son sleeping and his staff ignorant.

          In the gloom of the detention centre, Dade reached for the comlink in his uniform pocket. In fear of signals being traced, the Network had been operating under communication silence since they had rescued the Alliance pilot. However, using the device now would be the only way to alert his operatives to the coming danger, so it was a chance he would have to take. He keyed the device, spoke quickly and shut it off hoping it was enough.

Taln dragged a sack out from under the cot and as Luke buttoned his shirt up and watched,  he drew out two blasters and tossed one onto the bed beside the younger man. He opened the bag Isla had brought down still filled with clothes for Luke and emptied the pilot’s medication bottles into it. He looked back at Luke. "You still got that feeling?"

Luke nodded. It was like a lead weight of fear knotting in his stomach, an urgency pushing at him from within.

Taln closed up the bag, glanced back at Luke, at his cast, at the crutches by the bed. He didn't know why, but he trusted this boy's intuition. However, if anything was happening they would have to move quickly and that cast would hamper them.

"Here," he knelt before Luke, dragging a pair boots from the bag. He then produced a vibroblade from the sack and sliced the cast open. "Doc said it was coming off anyway," he told him.

The comlink Taln carried buzzed to life and, as he reached into his pocket, the door behind them swept open and both turned with blasters in hand. Isla stepped back in fright and they relaxed a little, lowering the weapons.

"There's stormtroopers in the Esplanade!" she told them breathlessly.

Taln activated his comlink and Dade's voice snapped. "Get out!"

Their actions took on a new urgency. Isla jammed Luke's boots onto his feet. Taln shouldered the bag, reached for Luke and drew him up, slung his arm around him and, in similar fashion to his arrival, Luke was carried from the room. However, now he was able to move a little better, take more of his own weight, and so they travelled faster along the corridor and down the stairs, listening as they went to the thumping of stormtrooper boots in the house above.

Isla opened the passageway to the subterranean tunnels and the two men hurried through. Taln leaned Luke against the roughly hewn wall and turned toward the Twi'lek as the boy gulped for breath and grabbed at the wall for balance.

"Give me the detonator," Isla demanded.

Taln hesitated. "Isla, I..."

"There's no time, Taln. Give it to me. It'll be my pleasure to bring this place down."

Luke heaved in another breath as he listened to his helpers with interest and disquiet. He had a very good idea what they were talking about and the fact that the Network had wired the building for demolition did not completely surprise him. He watched as a mixture of emotions cross the woman's face; anger, grief, fear and determination. He gripped the blaster tightly taking small comfort in the feel of it in his hand.

Taln fished a small device from his pocket and handed it to his comrade. "Good luck," he wished her, his voice quiet with understanding.

"You, too," Isla returned.

"Thank you," Luke said, from the side.

She smiled at him. "You'd better be worth the trouble, Luke," she told him. And the door closed her abruptly off from them, plunging them into pitch darkness. A torch flared, shining in his face. He blinked, shading his eyes with his hand.

"Time to go, kid," Taln informed him, pulling Luke away from the wall. "And I don't think we have much of it."

They moved as quickly as they could along the tunnels, down slopes and stairs, along, up and around corners with the torchlight bobbing before them.

 Isla sealed the door shut, locking it with a code only she knew. She turned, dropping the detonator into her apron pocket, and calmly made her way through the sub-basement, trying to act natural, trying not to run. She passed the room where the boy had been hidden for the past weeks.

"El'lana."

The voice saying her true name was quiet, but gruff, and it stopped her in her tracks. As she turned towards the room she could feel the blood draining from her upper body down into the pit of her stomach, where it churned and gurgled making nausea a physical symptom of her fear.

"General?" She tried to sound bright, normal, but her voice shook, betraying her. "Did I miss your call? I..."

The General was sitting on the mussed up cot holding the cut bacta cast in his hands. "No, but it looks like I missed a guest," he lifted the cast and motioned to the crutches. "Perhaps you have something to tell me."

She stepped into the room and looked around. "No, Sir. I believe the evidence speaks for itself." Her fear seemed to dissipate as she spoke and a stillness, a quiet, washed through her. An understanding.

Mahkren's face reddened with rage. He stood, threw the cast aside, and took hold of her. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he whispered with revulsion. "Do you have any idea how this will look!" He slapped her at the end of every statement. "I let you into my home. Gave you employment! Trusted you!" His voice was rising, the slapping became punches. "And you bring the Resistance to my home! A Rebel into my house!" he thundered.

Isla sagged under the barrage of blows, her lips burst, her skin bruised. He caught her, dragged her out, called to his stormtroopers. "Take this bitch to Rhovan!"

The troopers caught hold of her arms, pulling her along. She stumbled and fell to her knees. As they pulled her up she dipped her hand into her pocket and smiled as her fingers closed around the detonator.

The explosions rocked the area, knocking them off their feet, caused great cracks to run along the fragile ceilings above them. Rocks fell, more tremors kept them down. A rush of air and dust swept along the corridor, covering them. Taln, coughing and spluttering, dragged Luke up; ignoring his protests of pain, then ran on as the tunnel where they had lain was lost in a cascade of rubble. The noise was tremendous, all encompassing; the roar of fires, the rumble of falling masonry.

"Come on... help me here, kid," Taln pleaded as Luke stumbled again. He heaved him up, steadied him and they lurched forward through the gathering dust.

At last the thundering died, quietened and their pace slowed to a walk. Luke bent forward trying to catch his breath, hacking up debris from heaving lungs. Taln placed him down into the dirt, shone the light in his face and squinted trying to see through grit and tear filled eyes. The boy was caked in a light power. It was thick in his hair, and hot tears from irritated eyes streaked through it down his cheeks. Taln knew he looked very similar.

Luke spat into the dirt, sucked saliva into his mouth and spat again. All he could taste was dry grime. He groaned, rolled onto his back and covered his face with his arm, as he tried to catch his breath. "I don..." he started, but his voice dried up, caught in his arid throat.

He barked a cough, holding his rib cage with his arm as his healing ribs objected painfully. "Don't suppose.... you have any water in... that bag?" he finished, gasping.

"No," Taln croaked back, sitting down. He placed his blaster on the floor beside him and rubbed his face with his palms. His leg muscles cramped painfully from the exertion of the run and from carrying the younger man. "But there's a place we can go, not far."

Luke looked back the way they had come, but could see nothing beyond the torchlight. "I think you brought down some of your tunnels along with the house," he observed.

"The house was a bonus," Taln told him, and then explained. "It was the tunnels we wanted to bring down. If they had followed us they would have found the entire network." Then he laughed, the sound was hoarse, a little hysterical from relief at their survival. "Sounded like we brought down the entire block."

Luke found this news more than a little disturbing. One house meant several people dead or injured because of him. A whole block could push that figure into the hundreds, and he was afraid for Isla. "Taln," he started hesitantly. "This wasn't just to protect me was it?"

"Don't have such a high opinion of yourself, kid," Taln admonished quietly, catching on to Luke's train of thought. "It was done to protect the tunnels, to protect the Network as I said, and to protect us both. If Mahkren's house wasn't brought down just now it would have been soon enough."

"Mahkren?"

"General Mahkren. System Commander of Escaal."

"System Commander!?" Luke was incredulous, astonished. "You hid me in..."

Taln chuckled. "Yeah, right under his nose!" Then he turned serious, his words tinged with bitter hatred. "And if we're lucky the bastard was killed."

"And Isla? The other people living in the area?"

"I'm hoping she got out," Taln explained. In the torchlight he looked grieved, pained and Luke, having lost friends and comrades to combat, could empathise. "As for the others,” Taln went on, “This was the Imperial Esplanade where the higher echelons chose to live, and to us it was always a legitimate target."

"A residential area?" Luke's words were more biting than he intended.

Taln's face coloured with sudden anger. "You're judging us!?" he laughed, humourlessly.. "You of all people are judging us? How many civilians have you killed, Lieutenant-Commander? How many have suffered due to your attacks? What of the non-military personnel at the weapon's plant you took out? The surrounding urban area that burned down when the storage sections below them blew?"

Luke cursed his quick words. He hadn't intended to upset Taln, to appear as though he was condemning him and Isla for their actions. After all, he was only still alive and free due to them. But, the fact that others had to be sacrificed for his liberty sat uneasily with him. It always would. "I understand about war, Taln. I know that every time I pull a trigger someone dies," he explained quietly, regretfully. "I'm not judging you. I'm grateful to you, and Isla. It's just, all this....seems deliberate."

As Taln thought about that word, his burst of anger subsided and he gradually realised what Luke was struggling with. He nodded. "Yes, it was deliberate. The Empire will condemn it as an act of terrorist aggression. That's your point isn't it? What is the difference between a bombing run on a munitions development factory, and the bombing of the homes of Imperial ranks?" he shrugged. "Let me tell you, in the eyes of the Empire there is no difference. You. Me. We're both terrorists. To us, to ourselves we're whatever we chose to think."

He rubbed more grit from his face. "Me? I'm a Resistance fighter. I do whatever it takes to make the Empire's presence here difficult. You? You're an idealist."   

"Maybe once I was," Luke agreed, thinking about himself when he first became involved, his naiveté, his obvious enthusiasm and verve. Now, two years on, he was tired, soured somewhat. He had seen too much death, had caused too many deaths. He had lost and grieved. He had run and continued to fight, because now he had gone too far to turn back and had nowhere, but the Alliance, to call home. However, beneath it all, he still believed he was doing the right thing, following the right path, and he had the memories of his aunt and uncle, Ben Kenobi and Biggs to spur him on when he doubted. "Maybe I still am and..."

"Maybe this isn't the place for philosophical debates," Taln interrupted, pushing himself to his feet. "You think too much, Luke. Sometimes you just have to do the thing!" He held out his hand. "Come on. We've rested enough, we need to get to the hide."

Luke took Taln's offered hand and was pulled upright. He groaned, his legs threatened to fold, his ankle pulsed painfully, his back cramped. "I think my drugs are wearing off," he complained as they moved forward.

"It's not far," Taln reassured him as he steadied him.

They walked on through the tunnels, footsteps muffled on the dry dirt of the floor, sweat beginning to bead on their foreheads, run down their faces. They wiped it and the cloying powder away. Luke's limbs were tight and sore from activity, he was dizzy, nauseous and, by the time Taln stopped again, each breath he took was quietly punctuated with a low exclamation of his exertion.

Taln leaned Luke against the wall. "A few minutes more, Luke, then you can rest."

Luke merely nodded, unable to do anything else except concentrate on staying on his feet.

Taln swept the torch across the wall, prised his fingers into a gap in a brick and worked it out. Underneath was a door panel and he quickly punched in a code, a split appeared in the wall and Taln shouldered it open. He swept the torch around the darkness highlighting packing cases, emergency lanterns and a thin mattress on the floor. He took hold of Luke and brought him into the room, lowering him onto the mattress. Then he turned away activated one of the lights and brought it over and set it beside Luke before rummaging in the crates and withdrawing canisters of water.

"How are you doing?" he asked, helping Luke sit up straighter, back against the wall. He handed the pilot one of the bottles, then cracked open one himself. They both took a drink and washed out their mouths, then took long gulps, relishing the coolness, the wetness on their dry throats. They used the remaining liquid to wash their faces, to cleanse the grit from their eyes.

"Better for that," Luke told him as his breathing became less laboured.

Taln opened the bag he had carried and took out Luke's medication. He tossed the boy the bottle then retrieved more water from the case.

Luke threw some tablets to the back of his throat, and washed them down. "Now what?" he asked, looking around the tiny underground room, clearly not relishing his new surroundings.

Taln sat back on his heels. "Well, there's enough food and water in here for several days. Take it easy with it and it might last into a couple of weeks. You've got clothes, your drugs, there's blankets and a blaster." He looked up at the low ceiling. "After tonight...things'll be worse..." He trailed off, sounding troubled.

Luke didn't like the sound of Taln's words, his use of "you" and not "we". A small flutter of anxiety rippled in his stomach. "You're leaving me here?"

"I need to contact Dade," Taln explained, seeing the flare of fear in Luke's eyes, the reluctance to remain by himself in this place. Taln couldn't blame him; he would be loathed to stay here himself. "It's going to be difficult to get to him so I need to be where he can get to me, and this isn't it. Given what's just happened I could be gone a few hours, or a day or two. Shouldn't be anymore. Okay?"

"You mentioned a couple of weeks," Luke reminded him, sounding sullen and suspicious.

Taln smiled at that. "Worst case scenario," he assured the younger man, he stood, brushed more grit and grime from his clothes. "Okay, code for the door is seven one six. You should be able to hear if anyone approaches. If they're Network they'll give a codeword."

"Seven one six," Luke repeated, and then questioned. "Which is?"

"For you it's 'Flyby'."

Luke wilted in resignation. "I don't suppose there's any reading material in those boxes?" he asked motioning over to where the packing crates lay.

Taln shrugged, retrieved his flashlight and blaster. "You could have a look, but I doubt it." He turned towards the door, but the soft voice behind stopped him.

"How do you think they found us?"

"The doctor. I think the doctor was taken," his voice was grave. "It's the only thing I can think of just now."

Luke nodded. After over hearing the two men argue he had been thinking the same. "Don't the Imperials know about the tunnels?" He'd asked this before and gotten the brush off from Taln, now however he was pretty sure Taln would answer a lot of his questions.

"In sections, yes. But they gave them no importance, and in places they filled them in before building on top. The Resistance re-opened them, tunnelled more, and found a larger complex the Imperials hadn't."

Luke was wanting to ask who had initially built them and why, but he had a more burning, more significant question. "And if the doctor tells them?"

"Lets hope they don't ask him, huh?" He moved toward the still open door, was almost through when Luke had another question for him.

"Uh, Taln?" he sounded uncomfortable, embarrassed. "Where do I... You know. Uh, take a leak?"

Taln flashed him a grin, surprised that there was still humour in this dark place. "Pick a tunnel."

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him, and Luke was left in silence. He leaned his head against the brick wall at his back, starting to feel the anti-inflammatories take effect, grateful that the pain was beginning to subside somewhat, but utterly dejected by the turn of events. He could not see any way back to the Alliance, and if he believed what Taln had been saying there would be little chance of him getting out of the city, let alone off world. The Empire appeared to be only one step behind him now, and if the doctor had broken under questioning, then all it would take was the right question asked and they'd be in the tunnels and at that door.

The most irritating thing was his inability to help himself. He was at the mercy of the Resistance group, had to follow their directions, had to bite back his impatience and let himself be carried. He shifted on the mattress, uncomfortable, the back brace chafing his skin. He was sure dirt and powder had worked its way underneath the brace, but if he took it off he wouldn't get it back on without help. His stomach rumbled and he glanced at the packing crates wondering what supplies were on offer.

Carefully, he manoeuvred himself to the side and, gripping onto the bricks with his hands, he pulled himself upwards onto his feet hissing with pain as he did so. He paused to allow the discomfort to subside and then gingerly crossed to the pile of boxes. Once there, he slowly lowered himself to his knees and lifted the lid.

The box held several bottles of water, some sealed packages of emergency food rations and some basic medical supplies. Luke lifted another bottle of water and some rations. Just as carefully he returned to the mattress with his goods and sat back down. He was discouraged at the amount of effort it took to complete simple acts, at how much energy he had to use, at how he had to concentrate. He hated this, abhorred this weakness, this whole situation.

But surely this rather than the fate the Imperials would have in store for him, he chided himself. At least here there was still a glimmer hope of getting out and back to the Rebellion - even if he couldn't yet see it.

"Get a grip, Luke," he told himself, his voice sounding strange in the silence. He popped a seal on one of the food packs, grimaced at the look of the dried meat, checked the use by date, bit down and chewed using a drink of water to help wet his mouth.

By the time he was finished eating, the pills he had taken were having their full effects and he was tired and drowsy. He grabbed a blanket and rolled it into a pillow, placed his blaster on the dirt next to the makeshift bed, then he lay down and tried to sleep.

For the second time in just over two weeks, rescue teams were scouring ruined and burning buildings. Men and droids were carrying dead and injured beings from the huge pit their homes had fallen into; the dead to join  growing rows laid upon the ground, the injured to waiting emergency vehicles, to be stabilised and whisked away to the nearest medical centres. Fires were burning intensely in several areas throwing up a pall of black smoke, casting out the stench of charred building materials, burning fuels and flesh.

Major Ayrn watched the activity from his speeder, the canopy closed, the air filters on so it was only clean air he breathed. His thin face was strained with worry and he ran his gloved hands nervously through his hair.

They had found the body of the General's teenage son just over an hour before, and Ayrn's thoughts alternated between hoping that his superior was also dead, to hoping he would be found alive, to knowing that he would be the one held accountable for this mess.

The comlink in the speeder crackled to life. "We've found the General, Sir."

"Thank you," Ayrn responded tightly, his mouth suddenly growing dry. He left the vehicle striding toward the bank of waiting ambulances, passing the rows of the dead. He spotted the General immediately, shouting and arguing with his helpers as they attempted to assist him. His hair and beard were thick with dust, matted with blood that streamed from a head wound. He was batting away the hand of a female rescue worker as she tried to cover the wound.

"Find my son!" Mahkren was barking, he grabbed the dressing from the emergency worker, placed it on his own head and glared at her. "My son?"

"Sir!" Ayrn greeted with a mixture of trepidation and relief. Apart from the head wound the General looked relatively unscathed.

Mahkren looked his way, his mouth turning down in fury and distaste. "Major, you have failed in your duty to find the Rebel and this is the result. I ought to..."

"You were the one who initially forbade me to search here, Sir," Ayrn threw back at him, surprised at his own courage, or stupidity. "You cannot blame this totally on me."

Surprise at the retort flared in the General's eyes, then anger. "Ayrn, you..."

"Your son is dead, Sir," Ayrn told him abruptly, immediately feeling relief that attention was diverted from him, but regret as the large man before him suddenly shrank with grief.

"Where is he?" the General asked, quietly.

Ayrn stood to the side giving Mahkren a clear view of the bodies lying on the ground. The man stood and pushed him aside as he stumbled forward, and the Major watched coldly as Mahkren fell to his knees beside one prone figure. He walked slowly to the General's back, glancing at the dead youth. He was eighteen, dark haired like his father had been, smooth skinned. The back of his head was smashed opened and blood and brain matter leaked, his night attire torn and charred.

"The medics say he was killed in his sleep," Ayrn noted.

"That's supposed to make me feel better about this?" Mahkren questioned dryly, calmly despite his heaving emotions, his compressed anguish. He gazed at his dead son, at the blood on the ground around his head. Then he looked up at the Major. "Have you found El'lana?"

"Yes, Sir. She was found near two troopers. All dead."

"It was her, Ayrn." He spoke quietly, stroking his son's thick hair, ignoring the gore gathering on his hand. "She brought the Rebel into my house."

Ayrn looked toward the rubble of the General's home. "Then he may still be in there," he stated hopefully.

Mahkren shook his head. "No, he's gone. I found where she hid him in the sub-basement, just before the explosion. But he was gone."

Ayrn's mind raced. Just before the explosion? The Rebel was gone. The troopers were still being deployed at the time, running into the General's home and those surrounding it - using all exits. The Esplanade itself had been cordoned off and no one had been allowed in or out during the exercise. But the Rebel had escaped, before the explosion. How had he got past the stormtroopers? Sub-basement, meant a stairway...

Sub-basement meant under ground level and all the buildings in the immediate area had sank into a void. The captured doctor had told the truth about the Rebel's hiding place! He had told the truth and he and Rhovan had laughed dismissing the comments as stubbornness, as delaying tactics. Perhaps then Doctor Yian knew more.

"I want you to find that Rebel bastard, Major. I want you to find him, and I want him to suffer for this." Mahkren told him, softly, the calm words venomous.

"He will, Sir,"" Ayrn confirmed, for him. "I give you my word."

Mahkren glared up at him. "I will take more than your word if you should fail me, Major," he warned.

Ayrn balked at the threat, then pushed away his fear. "I will not fail you, General.“ He already knew exactly where to restart the search. He saluted his superior and turned on his heels, striding back to his speeder, leaving Mahkren to grieve alone among the debris and the dead.

Taln heaved himself out of the hole in the ground and stood on the cool concrete floor of the basement storeroom. He was surrounded by crates, boxes and barrels. A low hum came from the giant freezer compartment at the far end of the room. At this early hour of the morning he knew the diner would not yet be open and he would have time to clean up and change before taking a table and waiting for Dade. A public meeting would be risky for them both but it was important that he see Dade face to face to discuss what options they had left. Another private meeting was out of the question so soon after his last visit to Dade's apartment and sending a transmission was impossible. It was standard practise to frequent identified friendly public eateries on a rotating basis - this week it was Saa-Raa's.

His boot heels clicked on the floor as he crossed the room toward the door then jumped as it swung open and a large figure entered.

"Taln!" the Gran exclaimed, its three eyes blinking furiously. "You're safe! I was worried, when the Esplanade blew..."

He trailed off, craning his neck to look beyond the man at the hole in the ground. "You... haven't brought him here have you?" he questioned anxiously. "I agreed to let the Network use my place, but not to harbour any..."

"Relax Saa-Raa," Taln told him. "He's not here. I need a shower and change of clothes," he explained quickly, not wanting to get into a discussion with the creature. "Has there been word from Dade yet?"

Saa-Raa shook his head - a human habit he had picked up. "No, nothing," he said then gestured to the back of the storage room. "You'll find some human clothes back there. You can use the public facilities to wash - but lock the door. I'll be opening up soon to serve breakfasts."

"That sounds great," Taln enthused, as his stomach grumbled. "You could rustle me up some," he suggested raking through the crates Saa-Raa had indicated. He gathered up a clean shirt and pants and followed the Gran up into the cafe itself. He disappeared into the bathrooms as Saa-Raa fired up the cooking facilities.

Rhovan's mood was ugly as he waited for Ayrn to arrive. He had been heading home when the news of the explosion at the Imperial Esplanade had broken, and so he had turned back, took the elevator back down to maximum security and had waited in his office for prisoners to arrive. He had seen very little of his own home, his own comforts since the Rebel raid, had been spending most of his time questioning the suspects Ayrn's searches had brought to him. None of them were Resistance, many of them just citizens who had objected to the way the searches had been carried out, and most of them Rhovan had ordered to be released. It was good policy to show leniency, as well as ruthlessness, to the general populace as without balance respect for the authorities could not truly exist. It was an area where he and Mahkren did not agree.

He reclined into his chair and placed his feet on the computer terminal before him. He had been looking forward to getting home, had been looking forward to stripping out of his stark uniform, to taking a hot shower and getting some decent sleep. But, as yet, there were no sign of any prisoners, and he had been about to try leaving again when he received a quick transmission from Ayrn that they needed to speak to the doctor again. His mood had further deteriorated; no shower, no sleep, only further torment of a broken man.

He stood up as the call came through that Ayrn had arrived. Tugging his tunic down, he walked stiffly from his private chamber. "This had better be worth it," he warned falling into step with the Major, heading for the cell corridor.

Ayrn was animated, eyes bright with excitement and agitation. "It was the General's house the Resistance used," he babbled. "The General survived, but his son was killed and..."

"What?" Rhovan exclaimed in horror, in disbelief at the teenager's death. "How's Mahkren taking it?"

They stopped by a cell door. "As a father would," Ayrn told him, succinctly. Then he smiled thinly. "I wouldn't relish being that pilot once he's in custody."

Rhovan, reaching to palm open the cell door, hesitated at this, at the tone used to express the words. "Once he's in custody his fate is in my hands, Ayrn. Even the General cannot argue with that. I've let you in with the doctor as his information has aided you with the search." There was a warning along with the words." However, with the Rebel, policies dictate that..."

Ayrn chuckled humourlessly. "Lighten up, no-one's going to step on your precious territory, but I suspect the General will wish to dictate his final punishment. Once your job is done, of course."

"You sound convinced we'll get him?"

"I know where he is," Ayrn shared with a conspiratorial whisper. "I just need the doctor to confirm it for me and to tell me how to get in." He bent forward in front of Rhovan and opened the door himself, stepping down first into the close, fetid atmosphere of the holding cell.

Taln placed his sixth tumbler of hot beverage on the counter of the diner and shifted his buttocks on the stool. He glanced up at the holo-player in the corner watching the newscaster spew more rhetoric propaganda. He sighed, covered his glass with his hand as Saa-Raa passed by with a new pitcher, and shook his head. Anymore of the sickly sweet tea and he'd be violently sick.

Despite being late afternoon the diner was still moderately busy and Taln hoped that enough people had come and gone for it not to be noticed that he had remained in place for the whole of the morning and into the afternoon. He would have to move soon, take a walk for a while before returning. That might mean that he could miss Dade, but remaining too long in the same place would be too dangerous. He had already sat for far longer than was wise.

Saa-Raa passed again, paused and whispered. "Imperial Company," before moving on.

A quiet fell over the diner as the door opened and conversations waned as the customers noted the newcomer wearing a black Imperial uniform and a much hated insignia. Taln didn't turned around as the man took up the stool next to him. Saa-Raa reluctantly approached again. "How may I serve you, Sir?" There was barely disguised disgust in the Gran's voice.

The man glanced at the menu above and behind the serving counter. "Just a hot spache, leave out the herbs."

"As you wish, Sir," Saa-Raa bowed minutely. He hated all this man represented but remained courteous, not wishing unwanted attention. He moved away to attend to the order.

Taln took another sip from his glass.

"They got to the doctor..." The Imperial spoke softly, as conversations began again. He was looking directly ahead, over the counter watching the Gran work.

"I figured as much," Taln responded, looking down into his drink. "How's he doin'?"

"He'll be dead soon. Rhovan's going to have a private chat with him."

"It's too bad he's waited until after the doc had spilled his guts," Taln observed, dryly. "So, now what?"

They paused as Saa-Raa placed the man's drink down, waited until the Gran had responded to the call from another customer.

"The tunnels are compromised. Ayrn's deploying troopers and seeker droids as we speak. Where's the Rebel?"

"The main hide, for now. We'll have to move him on though, it won't take them long to reach him."

"No, Taln. It's time to take Isla's advice. Leave his body where they can find him." There was regret in the smooth voice.

Taln chilled. "Dade, I...I think..."

"Don't call me that in public," the soldier warned, tightly.

Taln shook his head. "I'm sorry. I just think we should give the boy a chance. Luke's....." He stopped knowing he'd slipped again by mentioning the youth's name.

Dade glanced around, caught Taln's eye, then stared forward again. He took a sip from his cup. "The Doc told us he called himself 'Luke'," he whispered, with sorrow. "You like him," he noted.

"Yes."

There was an audible sigh. "It's gone too far, Taln. For the good of the Resistance, for his own good. It has to end now. Too many people have died." Dade's expression was final, fixed.

"Then why kill one more?"

“Because it will end with him. We can go quiet, rebuild as was done before." Taln was silent, took another sip. Dade could feel his reluctance. "I can get someone else to do it, if you can't. But the pilot must die."

"No," Taln said quickly, horrified at the thought of a stranger placing a pistol at the boy's head, picturing Luke's fear and confusion. He wondered if Luke would be able to sense his betrayal before it happened, if the youth was sitting now, contemplating 'something' happening again.

"I'll do it." He felt he owed Luke that much. Taln took some coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the counter paying from his drinks. Without looking at his commander, he headed for the back door, toward the public facilities, then cut to the left and entered the store room heading back to the tunnels.

Luke screwed the pill bottle shut and washed down his medicine with a mouthful of water. He shoved the bottle into the pocket of his pants then leaned back against the dry wall of the hide. Since Taln had left, the quiet and silence of the place had seemed to grow, seemed to expand and get bigger as each hour had passed. It was an uncomfortable feeling; sitting alone in an empty maze of catacombs several metres under a bustling city and being totally reliant on one person. Coupled with that was the sense of still not being safe, still being under threat of discovery. His adrenaline levels had dropped but not completely dissipated. However, considering what had happened within the past day it wasn't entirely surprising that he was still somewhat unnerved.

He had tried to shake off the feelings, tried to settle his mind and focus on other things. He had tried to sleep, but only dozed fitfully. He had tried to do the exercises the doc had shown him, but the escape through the tunnels had left him sore, and after only a few minutes he'd had to give up as the muscles around his back wrenched, tearing a cry of pain from him. He'd returned to the mattress and, using the wall for support, he'd slid down to sit. His ankle hurt, his ribs were aching again, and the pins and needles were back in his legs. He fervently hoped that he had not done himself any lasting damage.

He absently scratched at his side where the back brace irritated and rubbed his skin, wondering how long he had been here, how long he would have to remain here. He didn't like it, didn't want to be here and, if truth be told, the loneliness scared him. He lifted the water canister placed it to his lips again and paused as a sound sliced quietly through the silence.

It was high-pitched, electronic, repetitive, and it was getting louder, getting closer! Droid noise! A seeker!

He reached for the blaster Taln had given him and, gripping it tightly, he stared apprehensively at the door waiting for it to glide open and...

Footsteps! Muffled voices! Luke's heart drummed in his chest, as he realised he'd left the lantern on and he prayed that the door was totally sealed and there were no spaces for dribbles of light to betray him in the tunnels beyond. He listened and waited for them to pass - or to burst in - fighting down his fright, his consternation.

Then it grew quiet, silent once more and Luke began to relax as he lowered the blaster.

"Flyby."

He almost yelled with shock at the whisper, almost swung the blaster up and pulled off a shot before sense prevailed at the recognised code word. The door swung open and Taln entered looking nervous and agitated.

"There's someone in the..." Luke began needlessly.

"Troopers. Seekers," Taln told him quickly, almost absently. "We need to get out of here before more arrive. Give me the blaster, I'll help you up."

Luke handed his gun over, gave his hand to Taln who guided him to his feet. "Where're we going?" he asked as they entered the tunnels.

"Another temporary hide, further from here," Taln's tone was tight, brief and Luke didn't probe further, unsettled further by his protector's abrupt manner. Things seemed to be twisting out of their control and into the hands of the searching Imperials. Luke didn't think he had ever been so utterly at the mercy of fate, it was a feeling of helplessness he didn't like.

They walked in total darkness, in silence, Luke clinging onto Taln for support. They cautiously made their way through the tunnels, pulling into alcoves or corners at the sounds, and at the lights, of droids and troopers. Taln helped him up a level of steps. Then he stopped suddenly at a tunnel junction.

"We'll rest here."

Luke sank gratefully to his knees, trying to catch his breath, fighting each new flare of pain as it burned through the painkillers he had taken and grated along his spinal column and into his limbs. Taln moved behind him and switched on a flashlight. Luke glanced around, frowning as he realised they had forgotten their gear in their rush to vacate the hide.

 "We...need to go back," he gasped, grimaced at another wave of pain. "We forgot..."

He stopped as he noticed Taln still held his blaster, as he noticed Taln's own gun was still in its holster, as he noticed they were at a junction of a main tunnel way. He looked at Taln, who turned his eyes away.

Taln hadn't brought his bag of clothes and medicines because he wasn't going to need it.

"Shit…“ Luke breathed, fear punching in with his sudden understanding of the situation. Fear and fury. "Shit!" He looked around wildly, looking for something, looking for a way out, seeing none. "You're going to kill me? You brought me here to shoot me, so they could find me?"

Taln shifted uneasily, gripped the blaster tightly, angry at himself for hesitating, angry that he'd given Luke time to gain an insight into what was about to happen, and sorry that he still had to go ahead with Dade's order. He glanced at the boy on his knees before him, raised the gun to Luke's head. "I'm sorry."

"Wait!" Luke cried, throwing up a hand. Hating this, hating begging, feeling humiliated and defeated by a man he trusted. "Not like this, not on my knees. Please."

Taln licked his dry lips. This was taking too long, prolonging the Rebel's agony and his own. But he nodded, put out his hands and drew Luke to his feet. The boy swayed, but stood and lifted his chin to stare Taln in the eye. In the torchlight he saw fear there, he saw strength.

"Don't do this, Taln," Luke spoke quietly, almost calmly. "You don't need to do this."

"Luke...don't..." The Resistance fighter lifted the blaster again.

"Don't?" Luke rasped with an abrupt surge of anger. "You're telling me not to....?"

Taln glanced away, focused behind Luke, pulled off a shot and destroyed the seeker that had appeared around the corner. Luke fell back at the shot he had thought was intended for him and he landed hard on his tail bone, crying out at the wave of pain which blasted through his back. Taln gave him no time to recover as he took hold of his shirt and dragged him up. Lights appeared suddenly at the end of the corridor, sweeping over them and a shout went up from the first stormtrooper around the corner.

"You there! Stand where..."

Taln blasted him and didn't wait for another to take his place as he ran, hauling Luke roughly along. They moved wordlessly, Luke struggling to keep going, tripping and falling over legs and feet that stung and pierced with every step. They were only just one turn of a corner in front of the pursing soldiers. They turned again and Luke gave in to his growing desperation as he saw a blank wall, highlighted by a stream of sunlight from above. "It's a dead end!"

Taln heaved Luke up to standing, saw the flush on the boy's face, the hair plastered with sweat, the tears brought by pain. "You need to climb," he told him, indicating upwards.

Luke glanced up, saw metal rungs fastened into the rock wall, saw day light about ten metres above. "I can't," he gasped, exhausted, in pain. He couldn't do this, couldn't do as Taln asked.

"Get your friggin arse up the ladder, now!" Taln shouted, lifting and literally throwing Luke upwards.

Luke caught onto the rungs and started to climb, drawing himself up as quickly as his body would allow, feeling the surge of adrenaline, knowing it and Taln's presence were the only things keeping him going.

The troopers reached the corner and immediately opened fire. Taln drew off a few shots of his own before grabbing the first rung and pulling himself up to climb after Luke. Blaster bolts thudded into the rock under them, next to them. "Move! Move!"

Luke did, closed his eyes and climbed, pulling his strength from the very dregs of his stamina. He ignored the spasms in his back, the stabbing pain from his rib cage, the ache of his ankle. He quelled his fears and focused on one thing; moving hand over hand, grasping rung after rung until he was pushing a metal grid to the side and pulling himself into sunlight, grabbing onto grass and dragging himself out of the hole.

There was more blaster fire from below. A red bolt of light shot out from the opening and there was a scream of fright from nearby. Luke glanced around to see that he had emerged from the ground into parkland, and that there were people nearby enjoying the peace of a sunny, late afternoon. He turned back to the hole as Taln was drawing himself out.

He reached forward, offering Taln his hand. There was a sudden blast of light from below the Resistance fighter and Taln stiffened, grunted, a look of horror and pain crossing his features. Luke reached for him as he was struck again, body jolting from the force of the shot.

"Go!" Taln told him, blood bubbling from his mouth. Then he fell back into the darkness. His body landing below with an audible thud.

"No!" Luke yelled, horrified.

"Hey! Hey you!" a voice called out anxiously. "What are you doing there?"

Luke turned saw a young man looking his way.

"Over here! He's over here!“ Another voice cried.

Luke saw the white armour of more troopers running over the rise of a small ornamental bridge. A woman with a child was pointing in his direction. He could hear the clanging of metal from the hole in the ground and knew that the soldiers from below were nearing him. He scrambled up, fell, pushed back up and staggered on, running over dew damp turf towards a monolith which rose, granite grey, from the grass around it. It was a statue of the Emperor, rising up to dominate the surrounding park, arms spread wide in a gesture of dominance. More laser bolts sang through the air around him.

His feet hit the gravel path that lead to the steps around the statute. There was another shot from behind him, the bolt cutting a hole in the folded rock of the Emperor's robes. He could hear the pursuing soldiers, hear their boots crunching through the stones as they closed the distance on him.

"Take him down!"

He was shoved from behind, pushed by a tremendous heat hitting his upper right shoulder. It pitched him forward, twisted him around and he dropped onto the steps of the statue, shouting out from the sudden intense pain of the laser burn. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to retain his consciousness, trying to keep his wits about him, opened them to see a shuttle pass overhead through the wispy clouds and across the blue of the sky. Then the shuttle and the sky was blocked from his view by the first stormtrooper to reach him, by the white armour and the black gun pointed at his head.

"Don't move, scum."

He was grabbed by the shirt, dragged off the steps and thrown onto the gravel path at the feet of the troopers' comrades. Ignoring his injuries, his sharp cries of agony, they turned him onto his belly, kicked his legs wide and spread his arms. They searched him roughly, removing the small pill bottle from his pocket.

His arms were brought behind his back and cuffed tightly despite the blaster burn. He struggled and protested as his boots were removed from his feet. They knelt on him, knocking the breath from him, cracking his healing ribs, holding him down as cool metal fetters encircled his ankles. He struggled more, but could not move, felt as though he was suffocating from their weight, from their armoured knees cutting into his muscles, from the barbed chips of stone digging into his face. Suffocating from the sheer horror of his situation.

"You are under arrest on suspicion of treason..."

As the toneless voice spoke, he was hauled back to his feet, whooping in a gasp of air as the pressure was relieved. A shadow passed overhead and he heard the waning throb of a shuttle's engines as it landed. And then he was being dragged towards its opening maw.

He was lost, severely hurt, absolutely terrified and he knew, this time, there would be no Resistance, no Network to save him. His feet trailed on the steep ramp of the shuttle as they carried him up, and Luke could see no way to escape, no way to avoid what was happening. No way out. Caught in absolute hopelessness, overwhelmed by panic, Luke's mind gave him some moments of relief.

He was unconscious even before they dumped him on floor of the passenger compartment.