Chapter 1:

A/N: This is a rewrite of my former story Enigma, published 8/11/06. The original version was betaed by Sithspawned - thanks, Sithspawned!

The story starts out light and humorous, but it gets quite a bit darker. The rating is for violence and torture in later chapters.

Luke Skywalker was actually a very good spy, but his acting talents had pretty much three settings. They were called innocent-and-naive farm boy, straight-backed Commander, and serene Jedi. He had those three down cold.

Unfortunately, none of them really fit into his current persona – a lowlife drug dealer aboard Drinn Loekai's smuggler ship. Still, even if his cover had nearly been blown by an old friend earlier that same day, he had still managed to salvage the situation.

But as it turned out, it didn't really matter. As Luke stepped around a bend in the hallway, he was forcibly jolted out of his thoughts by a shocking sight. So shocking, in fact, that he barely noticed the hulking mass of nerfhide and muscle that went by the name of Viin Nord, #37 on the New Republic's Most Wanted list strolling down the corridor. A mistake, as it turned out.

But it was her!

Luke froze, then regained his senses and lunged toward the woman. Before he could see her face under the shadows of her cloak, she whirled and tried to flee. Luke caught her arm, but she yanked it from his grasp. "Who are you?" he shouted after her.

He received no response but the muffled clatter of rapidly fading footsteps.

Then there was a jolt, and a warm, burning pain blossomed between his shoulder blades. Luke Skywalker belatedly turned around. Viin Nord, with a blaster. He was only beginning to feel the astonishment – that the smuggler had managed to surprise a Jedi Master – and then . . . .

There was a brisk knock on the door. "Enter," called out General Airen Cracken, head of New Republic Intelligence.

Agent Iella Wessiri and her former partner, Jedi Knight Corran Horn, obeyed.

"Sir, there's been a Code 4-7-446?" Iella asked. It wasn't really a question. Cracken had messaged that statement, albeit in more words, to her. Routine codes were typically numbered as an action-object-enemy. A Code 3-5-446 Emergency was Intel-speak for the capture of a high-ranking or important officer by Admiral Talinia's forces.

Ordinarily, Cracken would have insisted on making the system more efficient. But most of his agents enjoyed impressing civilians with complicated codes, and if the system was that popular, it could stay.

I have to get recruiting numbers up somehow, Cracken thought defensively.

"That's correct, Iella," he replied grimly.

"Who's been captured?"

"Commander Skywalker."

"Luke Skywalker! Airen, please tell me I've miscounted the time and it's Corellian Fools Day!"

General Cracken didn't even bother to correct Iella Wessiri's inappropriate use of his first name. Or chew her out at the mention of that repulsive holiday . . . in a fit of unCrackenlike behavior, he had forbidden anyone from doing so after that last horrible, horrible, incident involving Wes Janson, gelmeat, his Commenorian bolo-ball cap, and a holocam. Especially the holocam.

He winced, both at the memory and the words he had to say. "I'm not happy to have to tell you this."

Of all people, why did it have to be Luke Skywalker? This was the man who had faced down (and bested) both the Emperor and Darth Vader. This was the man who had blown up a Death Star as the founder and original leader of Rogue Squadron, who singlehandedly reestablished the Jedi Order a few years later. This was the hero that was admired and looked up to by quite a few sentient beings on the New Republic's side of the galaxy. And more than that, he was a symbol.

This on its own was not what was eliciting a somewhat melodramatic reaction from Iella. As powerful as he was, and as much as he would be missed, Luke was only one person.

But the problem was, between diplomatic work (which even Jedi had to deal with) and all the confidential missions he had been on, he knew so many state secrets that Iella was getting a headache just thinking about how much work this would mean. Not for the first time, she wished she had chosen to be a pilot. Or a commando. Or a garbage compressor maintenance worker.

There was another troubling thought as well. How much work would it take for NRI to figure out how they able to incapacitate Commander Skywalker? Luke Skywalker was a Jedi. And whatever Imperials said about him, Luke had not accomplished what he had through sheer luck. Or at least, not JUST through sheer luck . . . .

Iella's mind snapped back to the present as she heard Corran ask General Cracken a question. "Sir, who else knows about this?" The information would have to be withheld from the general public as long as possible. Not that the Imps going to cooperate with that idea for long.

"Besides Wessiri, you, and me? I have the list right here. Chief of State Organa Solo, General Solo, Wedge Antilles, Booster Terrik, and your wife."

Corran sharply let out a breath. "You told Booster the smuggler? Booster, my father-in-law, the smuggler?"

"Actually, Booster and Mirax told us," Airen admitted, raising an eyebrow at Horn's accusatory tone. "Skywalker left Coruscant three standard days ago. He's not even supposed to return for at least another standard week. He ordered communications silence; he was infiltrating Drinn Loekai's organization."

Loekai was a notorious bounty hunter-turned-smuggler known for such ruthless business practices that not even accused "smuggler-loving" factions of the New Republic could ignore him.

"That's a dangerous mission," Iella said. "At least he's not Imperial. We have a little bit of time before this gets out."

"We're in a difficult position right now. We need to put together a team, and with every person we add, there's a higher chance of a leak. I'll let Booster and Mirax brief you on what they know in a moment."

Corran left, but Iella lingered at the door. "Sir, I have one more question."

"Yes?"

"I spoke with Commander Skywalker just a few days ago, and he seemed pretty set on taking a few weeks of leave." Iella paused, but Cracken remained silent. "How did you manage to convince him to go on another mission?"

Cracken grinned. "How do you think I did, Wessiri?"

"Honestly, sir, Commander Skywalker seems pretty unlikely to be meeting a secret lover on Mon Calamari, plotting embezzlement with the Nemoidians, or hiding a secret addiction to glitterstim. I just don't see how the normal blackmail tactics would work on him."

"You'd be surprised," he replied, remembering that time he had needed an escort for the Diktat of Corellia.

Cracken had finally sighed in defeat. "Okay, Skywalker. I suppose I'm never going to convince you of the selfishness of your actions." He shook his head regretfully. "Go ahead and leave." Luke had been slightly suspicious at Cracken's giving up so easily, but still made for the door.

Before he got there, Cracken nonchalantly added a few words.

"You know, Luke . . ." Luke apprehensively turned back. "The tabloids might be interested to learn about this. Cracken whipped out a stack of photographs and spread them over his desk, all with a common theme. In most, Luke was shown passionately kissing (at best) a married holostar he vaguely recognized as Amber Jevanche.

Luke's jaw had dropped. "I've never even spoken to her, let alone . . . . You've got to be kidding me!"

Cracken shook his head kindly. "I'm afraid not. I had a tech edit quite a few of these, just in case you persisted in this thoughtlessness."

Luke had still been trying to comprehend it. "You can't just manufacture evidence saying I have affairs with holostars and then threaten to leak them to the public! And what does she have to say about this?"

Cracken had contradicted Luke with the air of explaining basic truth to a particularly naïve six year old. "Actually, yes I can. It's arguable as to whether or not holoimages constitute written defamation in our legal system, but it doesn't really matter. I'm allowed to leak false information to the press for the good of the New Republic. I've talked to Amber Jevanche, and she doesn't mind in the slightest. Having an affair with a Jedi Master would certainly increase her press time."

By that time, Cracken had been hiding a victorious smile. "Don't be too upset. You still don't have to leave for another two days."

". . . Sir?" Iella interrupted his memory with a raised eyebrow.

"As a matter of fact, this time I didn't even need to persuade him," Cracken informed her virtuously. "Commander Skywalker was still recovering from the last guilt trip-slash-blackmail knockout."

Minna Arcasite glanced down at herself, checking to make sure that her blaster, her back-up-blaster, and her back-up-blaster-for-her-back-up-blaster (and so on) were secure. Of course, her professionalism didn't allow for the possibility of actually having dropped a weapon, but she confirmed it just for the record.

She was every millimeter the personification of death, destruction, and imminent distress she worked so hard to be, and the contemptuous glance she shot at the man in front of her would have put the Emperor to shame.

Luke Skywalker, the man that was the unfortunate object of her disdain was in fact unconscious and slumped against the cold metal wall. Still, Minna was planning on taking no chances. The paralyzing concoction that her partner, Viin Nord, had obtained on the black market was due to wake him up any minute now. Actually, they were due to wake him up half an hour earlier, but the dose they had prepared was calculated for a larger person.

She felt a sudden stab of annoyance at herself. Viin had certainly told her off for that. Well, she should have checked his weight, but who ever expected Luke Skywalker to be that short?

Minna eyed the chilled glass of water that she had poured herself a few minutes earlier, but hesitated. Sure, it would be satisfying, but Skywalker could wake at any minute without her help anyway.

She dismissed her concerns. Skywalker was bound and surrounded by yslamiri. What could go wrong?

Famous last words.

She picked up the glass of water, and threw the contents of the glass into Skywalker's face. Sure enough, something went wrong. She and Viin had not skimped on the ElectroCuffs 8000, illegal even in the Empire, that bound Skywalker securely and painfully to the wall. They were protected against blasters, lightsabers, vibroblades, electrojabbers, fireknives, and even thermal detonators (granted, probably not MULTIPLE thermal detonators) as well as any sort of lock pick, droid, or code slicer thought up by the likes of Nasdra Magrody to Bevel Lemelisk, and they delivered a series of highly painful electrical shocks at the slightest hint of resistance.

But apparently, liquids weren't very good for them.

They shorted out the very same moment that the icy water woke Skywalker, who barely had time to look up dazedly into the face of a swearing Minna Arcasite pointing a blaster at his face. She had a shocking repertoire of profanity, even considering the number of pirates and smugglers that she knew. But Viin was going to kill her! The ElectroCuffs were worth their weight in vine-silk. Her only lucky break was that the cuffs had, in fact, shorted out rather than frying Skywalker.

Somewhere, the Force was cackling. Oh, she was going to sue those manufacturers . . . or she would have, if she hadn't bought them on the black market.

Minna made a mental note, written and signed in triplicate, to never, ever, use the words "what could happen" with Skywalker less than a light year away. Of course, Skywalker was worth more than his weight in vine-silk, so she was going remain calm, use another set of stun cuffs, and make sure that he didn't escape.