Pax Blank - Into the Storm

Then the troopers fell back in a flurry...and a huge, dark form strode purposefully into the ship, the dense black smoke swirling in perfect eddies about him.

Leia backstepped as Chewie threw out a howling challenge.

For long seconds all the blasters stopped, the silence ringing in Luke's ears...

Loud and heavy, Vader's breathing dragged through the air... Then Luke took two long steps forward and fired.

And again...and again...and again.

He knew of course that it wouldn't stop Vader. It didn't even slow him, as he lifted his black-gloved hand to deflect the bolts; simply batted them aside to burst into showers of incandescent sparks against the walls.

But it didn't stop Luke firing.

And it didn't stop Vader stalking forward.

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Leia watched the surreal vision unfold, swirled about with heavy smoke and bright, flaring flashes as Vader stepped closer, unstoppable, and Luke kept on firing. Just...kept on firing, like a man possessed.

Finally Vader stood level with Luke, towering over him as Luke held his blaster at arm's length with his one good arm, pointed squarely at the Dark Lord, the tip of the barrel almost resting against his chestplate.

For long moments they remained frozen like that, silence screaming in her ears after the battery of noise.

"Shoot," Vader rumbled deeply, his voice laced with barely-controlled anger.

Leia could see Luke's arm trembling, his whole body tensed against the need to act.

Yet he stood -- he just stood stock still.

She wanted to yell, to shout out that he should shoot. Kill him. He won't be able to deflect a point-blank shot. Shoot! Pull the trigger!

And still Luke hesitated, though he must know this, somehow unable in that moment to act, though she couldn't conceive of why. Luke had fought against this nemesis for all the time she had known him -- against Vader; his father's murderer, the Emperor's henchman. Pull the trigger!

They remained still, Luke's finger on the trigger, Vader staring down in still silence, the moment stretching for eons...

The movement, when it came, was shocking in its speed.

Vader's hand whipped around, violently knocking the blaster from Luke's grip to clatter away to the deck, though he didn't respond at all, his eyes remaining locked on that dark mask, as if he could somehow see past to the man hidden within.

Still they stood, frozen, immersed in some private battle.

With the speed of a viper, Vader brought his arm back in a massively powerful swing. The backhand blow connected with Luke's face to snap his head to the side, the strike so strong as to throw him backward into the bulkhead though he remained somehow upright, as Leia cried out in shock.

" Never point a weapon at me again," Vader growled, cold fury in his voice.

Slowly, very slowly, Luke pulled his wits about him then turned, taking a single step to stand in exactly the same spot, arms down, eyes unyielding.

Without hesitation Vader landed a second blow, no punch pulled, the motion combining all the considerable strength of his shoulder and arm to power Luke back into the bulkhead.

Leia cried out his name, stepping forward to be caught by Lando's grip tight on her arm, everyone's eyes locked on the bizarre scene playing out before them. Luke remained leaning against the bulkhead, head lowered for long seconds, breathing heavily. Several drops of deep, viscous scarlet dripped to the deck plates at his feet, the silence dragging like a bowstring across Leia's fraught nerves, taut with anticipation and shock.

Finally Luke hauled himself straight again and paused, wavering dangerously, his hand to the bulkhead. Then he turned to face Vader, his chin lifted in resolute defiance, the blood from a deep cut which split his lip trailing a crimson line down his chin to bloom in a spreading stain on his tattered jacket.

They faced each other, the stillness brittle, stretched to breaking...

Vader's arm wheeled back again.

Luke tensed for the blow -- but he would not blink.

Vader's hand stopped inches from his face, the blow stayed, though Leia couldn't imagine why; the Sith Lord was not known for his mercy -- nor his compassion.

For several seconds they remained like this, that same private battle of wills being fought out...

Slowly Vader's hand lowered...and Luke's shoulders slumped just slightly. Leia stared in shocked silence, unable to even begin to reason what was taking place, knowing only what this must be costing Luke.

Knowing he couldn't maintain it...but knowing he wouldn't back down.

Finally, with a shallow sigh Luke's head rolled slightly...then he pitched forward, unconscious.

Vader stepped in, arms stretching out -- for what, Leia couldn't guess...

Then he caught Luke gently, one hand to his chest, the other about his arm, and lowered him softly to the ground, taking his weight as he fell and crouching to one knee beside him, one huge black-gloved hand beneath Luke's head.

"Luke..." he said quietly, his voice wracked with feeling in that moment; genuine, human emotion.

Leia could only watch in bewildered confusion as Darth Vader twisted back to the officer at the Falcon's hatch, voice tight with warring emotions.

"Where are the medics!" he hissed harshly, making the officer pale as he turned to shout out onto the deck.

They were there in an instant, three of them crowding about Luke as Vader stepped back. In an instant ...had they been waiting? If so, for whom...for Luke? Why would Vader bother to summon medics to tend to a Rebel? Everything was happening too fast, spinning away from Leia's comprehension with dizzying speed. Stormtroopers came rushing in now, crowding about Leia, Chewie and Lando to bind their hands and push them forwards past the medics in the hold, still gathered about Luke's unconscious form.

"Luke!" Leia finally found her voice at the realization that they would be separated.

Vader looked up, faceless mask swiveling to her.

She yanked at the trooper who held her, dragging him to a momentary halt. "Where are you taking him!"

"Away from you," Vader rumbled, turning back dismissively.

The trooper wrenched at Leia, hauling her forward again, shocked into silence by the accusing venom in Vader's voice.

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To be continued...

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Chapter 2

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CHAPTER TWO

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The prisoner lay very still on the medi-bay scanner, his breathing slow and shallow, his face covered in innumerable grazes and fine cuts, others slicing deeper into the fabric of his ragged jacket and the flesh of his shoulder and arm. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open, jaw relaxed in unconsciousness.

"Well?" Vader prompted curtly.

The medic, Nathan Hallin, glanced up at Lord Vader nervously, unsure of why the unconscious man was here anyway, and not in the dedicated but rather more limited medi-bay within the detention level, where all the others had been taken. He'd been summoned with a small trauma team to the docking bay as a dilapidated freighter had been taken aboard and forcibly grounded, given no further explanation as a deafening firefight blazed about him then, after agonizing moments of absolute silence, called into the ship to treat what was clearly a Rebel, judging from his uniform.

Hallin had been on Vader's personal staff for less than a season, chosen by Vader to replace an existing member whose skills he exceeded, and wasn't yet well-versed with the finer points of his promotion. But he was a fast learner.

"Aside from...the obvious--" Hallin hesitated, then said it anyway, "the loss of his hand--he has contusions, several deeper lacerations and concussion. More seriously, some acute nerve damage to his upper thoracic spine; compression and displacement of discs and vertebrae consistent with an impact or a fall. Nothing irreparable, if it's treated immediately."