Chapter Text
Luke Skywalker didn’t remember leaving Coruscant but waking up on another world, probably Pantora, was memorable if only because he’d been so cold, lethargic, and numb, he’d had to be carried by two other Spire Operatives while he was dripping wet to his next transport vehicle and hearing them swear about it had been pretty funny. The air had smelled strange. Earthy. Watery. Marshy?
The pilot requested more credits as he strapped Luke into crash webbing. He seemed to be under the impression that Luke was being trafficked and was unsure if he’d need to monitor him for signs of a spice overdose.
His reasoning being: “If the boy aspirates, I don’t have the equipment to save him.” And he assumed he wouldn’t be paid for delivering a corpse.
Luke gradually grew more aware and, when he was able, explained he was recovering from a sedative not a spice.
He was promptly informed that the man didn’t need his life story and Luke took the hint to shut up, save a request to use the refresher.
The pilot grumbled a lot but allowed it.
Lasan… the name bounced around the pilot’s mind enough that Luke knew they were headed there.
The urgency and anxiety Luke had felt in Coruscant dwindled to a strange melancholy as he stretched his limbs and flexed his fingers—trying to feel more awake.
Father… wasn’t going to catch him this time.
Somehow, when he set foot on Lasan, he felt disappointed, which was bizarre. His success was obviously the will of the Force. He’d made it to Wild Space.
He watched the shuttle that had brought him here take off. The pilot hadn’t let him exit until he’d checked his accounts for payment. Tired by the whole ordeal, and unwilling to try a mindtrick when he wasn’t in the best state of mind, he waited the extra eight minutes without a fuss, choosing to watch the sun set through the viewport.
It wasn’t like he was eager to join back up. Every moment he lingered was one more minute of freedom before he had to commit to the path he chose.
With his Force abilities returning, he checked once more that he was on the right path.
To take down The Spire, he needed to be here.
It was unfortunate though… having to be here… and not…home…
The temperature was dropping and he was missing that poncho he’d had earlier. Throwing away a resource like that… it was proof he’d been getting spoiled during his time in the Empire.
And it was getting dark. Fast. This planet only had one sun so there wasn’t much of a lingering glow as evening set in.
It was an isolated place with very few settlements, mostly places that Xizor had created (he remembered reading that in another’s operatives notes once before he was told off for being nosy).
The sites didn’t have the organic feel of a village. While there were lifeforms, it was nothing compared to the bustle of Coruscant.
He was almost… lonely…
Absentmindedly, he started to reach for the chord that bound him to his father—
No! No, Luke admonished himself; he had made his decision.
He moved toward some nearby rock protrusions, hoping he could find some cover before the wind picked up and threw harsh sand his way. He needed to focus on the here and now.
He could sense M in the mountains.
“Welcome back,” X.V. greeted from above. She dropped down the top of the first rock formation in front of him. “M is waiting for you. I’ll lead you there.”
“…”
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud that you’re prioritizing the Greatest Good.”
“…All for the Greatest Good,” he replied quietly.
She smiled with more warmth than he’d ever witnessed in her and she almost bounded forth into the shadowy terrain as she beckoned him onward.
Blue eyes narrowed.
Sarlacc in the dark.
The wind whipped Luke’s clothes as he crossed the long bridge leading to a large utilitarian building with an XTS logo.
The meeting with M had gone… differently than expected.
He stopped and for a long time he stared at his boots.
On entering M’s lair, X.V. presented him with a long narrow case as a “show of good faith.” Or maybe it was just something to cut the tension?
The key he’d been given on Coruscant unlocked it. It was so fortunate that he’d stuck it in a pocket and not in the knapsack he’d been forced to leave behind. Had they foreseen that? Or had an additional key? He strongly suspected the box was boobytrapped to avoid being unlocked with the Force.
Still, there it was, his saberstaff.
It felt right having it strapped to his back once more. He felt more prepared. Stable. More himself.
And he needed that.
Because what M had offered next had been completely blindsiding:
His freedom. Total freedom. The ability to walk away from The Spire completely forever. And he hadn’t even been able to appreciate the tantalizing offer. Because on hearing what it would take to secure it, his heart had immediately rejected it. He negotiated. They haggled. What M wanted. What he wanted. Because he realized then what he actually wanted and it was strangely freeing. Hearing himself speak, it was like he’d finally become the person he wanted to be.
They came to an accord.
Honestly, he hadn’t expected M to be so lenient. But then, M hadn’t expected him to reject the initial offer. Or mention his Force visions. Concessions had to be made on both sides.
Maybe he was in denial? The shock of what he’d done, what he’d be signing up for hadn’t caught up? Or was he at peace with it?
And now he was heading to that building in the distance to enter Xizor’s competition.
Only, there was a whirring of servos and wheels behind him.
Assassin droid?
Hand on the hilt of his saberstaff, he turned, intending to spring the trap, and nearly tripped from sheer disbelief. “Artoo?!”
There was a long, rude blat followed by a flurry of beeps that sounded suspiciously like Luke was being reprimanded.
“You followed me?”
There were two beeps that sort of sounded like “Of course. You can’t ditch me so easily.” Or maybe his binary was improving?
Luke frowned and set his hands on his hips. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is here?”
The astromech whistled as it rolled past him.
“No, I’m serious. There’s The Spire, there’s Xizor, and there’s whoever-the-kriff volunteers for this stupid contest.” It was probably going to be filled with a bunch of sadistic psychos and desperate debtors. It was a sad day in the galaxy when “Fluke” Skywalker was going to be one of the more normal people in a lineup. “You’re going to have to be careful. Someone could try and attack you and hawk your parts. Or use you for target practice… I-I can’t promise I’ll be able to protect you. I’ll be competing in Xizor’s tournament, you see? That’s gonna keep me on my toes.”
Artoo Detoo gave a rude response.
“Well fine, but…” He sighed. “Did you tell… him or-or anyone about… what you helped me with?”
There was a blat that meant “negative.”
“Good and on Coruscant…you were able to pull off…?”
There was an affirmative beep.
“Good. Very good. Thank you, Artoo.”
The dome of the astromech spun.
“Say, um, do you still have that cylinder from when you found me?”
The hatch opened.
“Good. Thanks.”
There was an apologetic bleep. He could guess the reason.
“No, it’s alright. I didn’t ask you to show him.”
And then the hatch closed. He wouldn’t have to worry about Father getting ahold of it and guessing his motivations for being here.
Burn your bridges or we’ll burn them.
“Look, Artoo… if… if you can promise me that you won’t be a snitchbot. And at this point I think you have proven yourself… so as long as you won’t send any messages to Father or Leia or anyone in the Empire… I’ll…” He swallowed nervously. “I’ll tell you everything.”
There was an excited trill. He felt a smile pull at his face.
“So it’s a deal?”
There were two beeps that sounded like “uh huh.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
It was nice not having to go into this totally alone.
“We just have to handle this first.”
They crossed the rest of the bridge.
When the large imposing doors at the entry swooshed open, air conditioning blasted him. It was so high compared to the desert temperatures outside, he was immediately shivering.
He used the Force to try and improve his body’s homeostasis, but he’d never been great at doing it.
He looked around to try and distract himself from his discomfort. It was a very sterile environment with hints of wealth: shiny black floors made of stone, inset lighting, lots of screens displaying the Xizor Transport Systems logo, crisp uniform architecture.
There was sort of an abandoned feeling though. He hadn’t seen anyone else. Though, the display chrono did say it was 0200 hours.
His circadian rhythm must’ve been off. He felt so awake or maybe it was the ride while sedated? His body wanted to expend some energy. Or maybe it was leftover adrenaline from meeting up with M and disbelief that he’d left unscathed?
The kiosk was kind of impersonal. There had been multiple data pages of terms and conditions emphasizing that he knew what he was getting himself into and that XTS wasn’t going to be held liable for any incidents that occurred on account of the games, directly or indirectly.
It ended with “Thank you, Participant 7789.”
Luke blinked at the number. Wow, there were a lot of players. Yet, he didn’t sense them all gathered here. Though, the competition didn't start for another three days. So Luke had time to better acclimate to his surroundings.
The screen changed over to a new message: “Victory, Glory, Splendor.”
Apparently, that was the tournament’s motto. Were those the organization’s core values? Or what the players were hoping to achieve?
It reset to its home operating screen.
There was a whirring sound near his knee. The machine had issued him a complimentary flimsy booklet with instructions.
It told him to report at the far end for his tracker. It was easier for the tournament to know where all of its participants were.
Yes. That made sense.
He tried not to squirm as he approached the machine. It wasn’t a limiter. It wasn’t a slave chip. It was just… a tracker.
He thought of the necklace he’d been gifted.
And it wasn’t even a trick. There was no detonation device. It was a simple bracelet that went on his dominant hand. It would help them keep track of him during the events and recover his body if he died.
It would also grant access to certain areas like the lounge space which would offer “amenities.”
Didn’t he want to see that?
He set his wrist into the machine’s arm slot—shutting down the morbid thought that it was going to slice his limb off for being gullible.
There was a hum and a flash of blue light as his wrist was scanned and measured. A thin ring of metal was fitted to him.
“Complete” the machine intoned. “You will be notified to return if the tracker is damaged.”
“Okay.”
A door opened. “You may now enjoy full access to the facilities.”
Han would say it was swank.
There were fancy lighting fixtures.
Still, there was an edge of utilitarianism. Everything was bolted down. It was like Xizor knew he was dealing with the “lowest class” and they might be tempted to rob him so he just removed the possibility.
There were complimentary rations and other goods. There were powders and heated water dispensers to make porridge. He just had to swipe his tracker bracelet.
It was kind of suspicious. But then again, well fed competitors would make for more interesting bouts.
He made himself porridge and tea.
Hopefully, it would warm him up.
Artoo followed him over to a seating area.
He ate his porridge as he leisurely read through the booklet.
So, the building he was in was considered a “sanctuary.”
Players weren’t permitted to kill other players while within this designated space.
Interesting.
He turned another page.
Han was in a bar on Cloud City trying to lay low without looking like he was trying too hard, which wasn’t the easiest thing when you were sitting next to a Wookie that liked to complain.
He was nudged again by a big, hairy elbow.
“Ease off, I’m thinking,” he snapped.
There was another yowl.
“Yeah, I know I’ve had two months,” he knew his tone was defensive. He’d yet to make much progress on figuring out his next move.
It was just…
What kind of criminal vocation did he want to undertake? Since all chances of respectable work were out of the question?
His face was going to be labeled in every registry as a deserter and being identified would summon the local Imps to come arrest him.
He’d then be hauled off as a consolation prize for Vader.
Interrogation and then Execution. Yeah. Pass.
It wasn’t like he was a stranger to rougher living but…
Maybe the kid had rubbed off on him? He was becoming more aware that there were lines he didn’t want to cross.
Smuggling seemed doable. He and Chewie had already managed a handful of pick ups and drop offs with a little fancy flying in between. Easy credits. Very doable. He just needed to commit. This was gonna be his life… from now on.
If he stuck to the outer rim, he would avoid the Imps.
Maybe it was all the talking about Tatooine? It would figure that the big name in smuggling was Jabba the Hutt and he was based in Tatooine.
Jabba, for all his ruthlessness (and, man, were there stories), generally kept his word when it came to jobs. And he paid well. Really well.
That… kinda decided it.
After all, he didn’t dare access the Imperial account he’d had as a guard.
Lando had been surprisingly sympathetic. Or maybe Chewie had softened him up?
The tabloids and talk shows that mentioned the kid had been an interesting mixture of haughty pity and outright disdain.
Kid…
No. He had enough problems. He had to focus on himself.
Chewie asked if he was alright.
He nodded. “O’course.” He threw his shot back.
It burned its way down, reminding him he was alive.
Hopefully, Luke was too. Somewhere.
The bartender began shushing everyone. “It’s time!” He pointed to the Televid overhead and dialed up the volume to compete with the dull roar of drunken excitement.
Ugh, Xizor’s tournament. That Royal asshole was monetizing a bloodbath. That was probably their cue to go. He had no desire to see someone get disemboweled. He put his credits down on the counter.
“Oh come on, you should stay,” the man insisted. “This one’s even more stacked than last year’s. Fiercer competitors, better arenas-”
Han was about to wave him off when he glanced up at the screen where a journalist was interviewing a participant who was dreadfully familiar.
His blood ran cold.
“Sithspit.” Er… Sithspawn… a blonde-haired, blue eyed one that he knew too well.
Leia was seated at a round table between her father and grandmother Jobal. Theirs was one table of many in the banquet hall of Queen Kylantha. It had a white cloth, fine crystal flutes, and pristine porcelain wares. All details meant to show respect. It should’ve been an honor to be here.
The Emperor was seated at the high table beside the ruler of his homeworld.
The remembrance that had taken place earlier for Padmé Amidala had been a particularly hard one for Leia. Her grandparents were grieving. She could feel it. They felt they’d lost Luke anew which compounded the grief they always felt for their daughter.
Father was…
Devastated wasn’t a strong enough word.
Leia was still in shock. Two months had passed since her brother’s abrupt departure. She hadn’t expected Luke to deceive and abandon her. She hadn’t expected father to fail in his quest to recover him. She hadn’t expected the hollow feeling of loss that pervaded her being every time she called out in the Force and Luke didn’t answer.
He’d given up everything… and for what? Freedom? Was it even really freedom when he’d be looking over his shoulder for the rest of forever? She couldn’t see Father truly giving up on him. He was just discouraged right now.
Why wouldn’t he be?
She’d overheard Veers in the Officers’ Lounge last month, discussing the matter with Piett that the most obvious answer was the probably the correct one: Luke had returned to The Spire willingly—that they’d collaborated for his escape.
She lost her temper. She made a scene. Father had to be summoned to calm her.
It was just…she knew her brother better than that. He’d wanted nothing more than to leave that kriffing cult of psychos and never go back.
Daughter, her father chided softly. Tiredly. You are distracted. Pay attention now.
She flushed a little as she realized the Emperor was addressing them all. She forced herself to sit up straighter. Even though her heart felt like it was a star collapsing in on itself.
“I daresay after such a solemn day, some levity is needed.” He glanced at a large projector screen which had earlier played tributes to Leia’s mother. “Governor Lamox of Chandrila, your son is a participant of Xizor’s tournament, is he not?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. My fourth son, Ryen, went there just last month to try his luck and bring our household glory.”
“I see. And have you had news?”
“N-no, sir. It’s been my wife’s desire to have no news on the matter.”
“He has not returned then?”
The Emperor seemed the picture of concern. But Luke’s warnings continued to circle in Leia’s head.
“No…Though I understand it’s customary for the participants to stay onsite until the show begins airing to reduce the risk of spoiling the amusement for others.”
“Ah, is it her nerves?”
“Mothers can be… sensitive.”
“Indeed.” The Emperor smiled consolingly. “Will it trouble you, dear lady, to watch his adventure now and liven the atmosphere of this gathering?”
Leia stared. What? He was going to interrupt her mother’s remembrance with a sporting event?!
Father should’ve been outraged.
The lack of emotion was concerning.
The woman’s voice trembled a little. “For you, I can manage, Your Majesty.”
“Such courage. I hope he has it, too. Let us see how your young son fared in his first event. Perhaps, he will be returned to you soon?”
Hopefully not in a coffin, Leia grimaced.
Her father admonished her wordlessly but didn’t seem to disagree. He seemed… depressed. Listless.
She wasn’t used to him feeling this way. Even in sorrow, there was usually more energy in his reactions.
A large viewing screen descended from the ceiling.
They watched a brief interview with the governor’s son who seemed young and brash and doomed.
Two hosts. She was having trouble concentrating enough to learn their names. A recurring issue. Her scores were reflecting it. If she didn’t improve, she’d need to retake a course for the first time in her life. It was hard to explain to her instructors how much harder everything felt since her brother had left.
She eyed the screen with weary resignation.
There was the main host and his guest who hadn’t been keeping up with the tournament: “I blame my wife, she never wants to watch anything like this.”
“Bleeding heart?”
“Yes and I’ve heard this one is poised to be even more graphic than last year’s.”
One minute into his first event, Ryen watched a fellow contestant get shot in the head by a droid and he froze.
Her grandparents gasped and reached for her.
She pushed her chair closer to Father’s.
They were going to watch this Ryen person die. Leia hardened her heart for it.
There was a soft wail of distress from the young man’s mother which incited a mixture of pity and malice from those around her.
“Hello, you look like you could use a hand?”
Leia’s jaw dropped.
The commentators paused the video.
“That’s him.”
“That’s who?”
“Imperial Prince Luke Skywalker.”
“He’s in the tournament?!”
“He is a contestant, yes.”
“I have so many questions.”
“Ask away,” the main host laughed.
“Isn’t he too young?”
“Well, the tournament is in Wild Space so Imperial laws and the typical age restrictions don’t apply. He signed the paperwork and entered himself without coercion. So it’s valid. He can also leave the competition at any time.”
“Wow. So unexpected. Lord Vader is allowing this?”
Her father was miserable. So then. The Emperor wanted Luke to remain in the competition and wasn’t allowing Father to retrieve him. But why?
“Again, the competition is taking place in a quadrant of space outside the Empire’s jurisdiction. Vader’s presence would most probably be seen as a violation of treaties regarding Hutt Space and other civilizations beyond.”
Father’s hands tightened into fists.
“Talk about a rebellious phase! Oh! What about Ryen? Does Ryen survive?”
“He does!”
There was a cry of joy from the other side of the room.
A sped up version of events played showing her brother guarding the young man, using a saberstaff to deflect blasterfire so Ryen could safely move through the gauntlet and, from the looks of it, coaching him on how to overcome certain obstacles.
“Now, this year there are a variety of events the participants can partake in for more points, like races, sports, contests, gauntlets, puzzles, and arenas. Some gauntlets can be played multiple times for increasing points. However, as established in previous years, arenas max out at the final level but give tremendous points advantages.”
“If I remember right, the points are part of a ranking system for the participants on who will be eligible for the finale?”
“Correct.”
“Ryen?”
“Spoilers. He makes it through one more event and then retires gracefully and with all his limbs intact. Which is more than I can say for some others.”
Ryen’s mother sobbed in relief.
“Smart man. His…uh… Highness? Does he still have his title?”
“Yes, as far as I’m aware. And yes, he continues competing. He started competing right at the start.” The first host then explained how not long after saving Ryen, Luke would save a toddler Rodian from being run over in a swoop bike race. Her parents were gambling spice addicts who couldn’t be bothered to watch her. Luke wanted Ryen to repay him for rescuing him by taking her with him when he returned to Coruscant and finding an alternate relative.
“I sense a but.”
“Ryen refused.”
Leia’s eyes darted over to Ryen’s mother who she vaguely recalled now from the memorial. She looked appalled that her son could turn down such a request from the one who’d saved him.
“Well, that’s not good PR.”
“But a mercenary stepped up and volunteered for the task.”
“Ooh. What do we know about him?”
“Not much, but he introduces himself to Luke as ‘Rex’ and it seems like he’s a retired Clone.”
Her father stiffened in surprise. Did he know him?
“Well, it was an expansive war so those vets are pretty much everywhere. Can’t blame them for wanting to make some credits. Xizor’s got enough to spare.”
“He does indeed. Back to Prince Luke?”
“Yes. Well, he spends the first few vid streams doing the ‘right thing’ here and there which audience members have found performative. You know? The usual? Helping little old ladies with groceries. Dealing with some diner thugs. Couple of spicers try and give him a hard time and he dishes it back. And there’s just the whole Cult thing. And the Senate.”
“Yessss. Yes. That. The space port, too. It’s the albino nekko in the room.”
“It really is. Really. There are other Spire operatives in the tournament.”
“The gall. And his Highness has allied himself with them after all their terrorist activity against the Empire?”
“Here. I’ll let him speak In his own words.”
No, it couldn’t be!
She reached for her father who refused to respond.
The main host played another video.
Luke glanced wearily at the microphone that had been thrust in front of his face. “Um, I’m with The Spire, but I’m not of The Spire.”
The video ended.
“And that means… what?” The second host raised an eyebrow.
“We are puzzling through it together, my friend. What we’ve noticed is, and again, the way Luke explains it, is that he’s a ‘Jedi Mercenary’ and not a ‘Jedi Operative.’ Apparently, there’s a hierarchy in their organization. So the Grand Master Jedi orders the Knights who order the padawans who order the youngest ones. Age, experience, power, and skills influences this pecking order.”
“And Luke?”
“He’s a contractor.”
“What?”
“He’s a contractor. I’ve got a few buddies who gave deep dives and have analyzed the feeds intensively. Since the competition started up a few weeks ago. Luke only answers to M, the Jedi Grandmaster. This has not endeared him to his Jedi colleagues. Though, it doesn’t seem like they were fond of him before.”
“Why go back? He was living as royalty!”
“Psychologists say that it’s not an uncommon response but… they are a little confused. Luke doesn’t seem to have a sense of community there. And from the moment he’s returned, he has set up some boundaries and accepted sacrifices that are just unusual.
He’s making no attempt to ingratiate himself. Again, he only takes orders from M. He collaborates on his own terms unless M specifically instructs him to do more. He’s not welcome on their compound without having an express mission requiring him there. It’s up to him to provide food, shelter, and security for himself.”
“What’s he getting out of it?”
“They do have to pay him.”
“What?”
“Yep. They have to pay him for services rendered.”
“What does he do?”
“THAT was the big question on so many cyber forums.”
“Is he… professional leverage for Vader? Did Vader dodge a blaster bolt, losing him?”
He chuckled. “We figured out quickly as we got to watch them that the operatives are specialized by directives usually connected to their innermost talent or strength. There’s Intel. Menagerie. We’ve got the explosives girl, Metal Mouth, who’s developing quite a fanbase I tell you. We’ve got combat units and healers. We’ve got some serious drama because we can already tell some of those teenagers are fighting stirrings or dealing with spice addictions. And the tragedy of a fallen Jedi order has really struck a chord with our viewers—”
“What does Luke do?”
“At the start, before the tournament began, we only got to see him empty some pallets and tell some journalists that his big talent is swordsmanship. Even though he's carrying a saberstaff rather than a sword. Otherwise, we see him hanging out with some space pirates bumming some meals off them. Or wandering around with his astromech. Sometimes he’s practicing with his staff or he’s exercising.”
“And?”
“And some viewers really related as to why the cult doesn’t like him. They are struggling to keep their organization running and he’s loafing around… until Day 3 of the Tournament happens.”
“What happens then?"
“Now, all Spire affiliates wear pauldrons on their shoulders that light up when they’re being summoned. His turn on.”
He played another video clip.
“Talk, you old fool!” The Inquisitor hissed, pointing one end of his lit saber staff at the throat of an old Bimm woman.
She was small to begin with, due to her species, but compared to the towering Inquisitor…
Leia’s teeth clenched. It was such an unfair match up in strength, but the woman was shockingly courageous.
“There is no Jedi here,” she insisted in rough Basic.
“Speak now or I’ll dice you into pieces.”
“No Jedi.”
“I’ll burn down your hovel and all of your pathetic descendants, ending the embarrassment that is your legacy-”
“No Jedi.”
“Leia, don’t look,” Grandmother begged, hands reaching to cover Leia’s eyes.
Leia squirmed away, even closer to her father.
“You were seen! In town with him! SKYWALKER!”
Father’s anger was deep but he maintained his composure.
“NO JEDI!”
“Now, Auntie,” a third, younger voice cut in, “just because my training has been unorthodox, it doesn’t invalidate my title.”
They turned to see Luke standing there with his saberstaff hilt in hand.
“I am Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker and it sounds like you’re looking for me?”
The pauldrons he was wearing had indicator lights on the front and back that shone a bright green.
“For the harmony of the Empire all Jedi must die,” the aggressor stated.
“Are you an Inquisitor?” Luke asked.
Leia almost slapped her forehead in exasperation.
The man laughed. “You must be slow. No wonder Vader kept you close and cloistered.”
“Humor me?”
“I am. And your days are over.”
Luke continued smiling. “Thank you for answering truthfully.” He pressed a button in one of the pauldrons that seemed to contain some kind of comm mic. “L.S. checking in and confirming. Primary Directive in effect.”
“Copy that. All operatives are being advised of risk. May the Force be with you.”
“And you.”
“Saying your goodbyes, little one? I’ll give your father your regards and send back what’s left for his lovely little memorial on Coruscant,” the Inquisitor sneered.
“Are there more Inquisitors or just you?” Luke asked.
“Just? Oh, I think you won’t need to worry about that,” he spun his saberstaff menacingly. “I-”
He broke off.
Several people in the auditorium shrieked while others gasped.
Because there was, quite suddenly, a green lightsaber bisecting him from the head down. And then there were two additional slashes for good measure.
Force speed, Leia realized.
Luke then exhaled and concentrated as the pieces of his opponent fell to the sand. He was likely sweeping the area for more Inquisitors.
He then nodded and activated his pauldron’s comlink again.
“L.S. checking in. Threat contained. Mulchers requested. Use current location to mark coordinates. Over.”
“Roger that. Thank you for your service.”
“All for the Greatest Good,” Luke replied.
“All for the Greatest Good.”
The video then cut to a female Chiss in early adulthood.
Her red eyes widened and then her lips curved in amusement. “His Highness’s primary directive? I didn’t think we were keeping it a secret? You mean to say it didn’t come out in ALL of those debriefings the Empire ordered?”
Leia glared. This was X.V. Years older now than the memory Luke had shared with her months ago, but still just as smug.
“…” The reporter waited expectantly.
She answered, savoring every word, “L.S.’s Primary Directive… is to eliminate Inquisitors.”