Chapter One
A few months earlier . . .
Blend in. Don't attract attention. Stay hidden.
The woman once known as Padmé Amidala Naberrie repeated the mantra in her mind. She had lived by it for the past nineteen years.
Blend in. Don't attract attention. Stay hidden. Don't let him find you.
So far the mantra had worked. Though every day Padmé feared it would break. All it would take is one small slip. She hated how much fear seemed to run her life now. How much fear seeped into every facet of her life. She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves.
It's for the children, she told herself. Her second mantra she lived by. It's all for them.
Nineteen years ago she gone into hiding with her twins. Nineteen years ago her death was faked. A funeral was held. Nineteen years ago Padmé lost her husband, and now hid from the monster he had become. She took another deep breath. Finally mentally prepared for the day, Padmé set out.
The small room was still dark. Two bunks sat on either side, one occupied and one empty. Padmé had gotten dressed without the lights not wanting to disturb the still sleeping figure. She dressed as she always did, in simple spun clothes to blend in. She wore loose light tan pants, a long flowing brown tunic with a long blue vest. Her long brown hair was done up in loose braids, which then collected into loose bun. She quietly left and closed the door. She descended the thin, narrow stairs and stepped into the street.
Mos Eisley was relatively quiet in the dawn hours. The twin suns had yet to breach the horizon and as such it was still cool out. Padmé made her down the street. She wasn't alone on the streets. Other individuals were starting their day out as well. Traders carting their goods. Others scurrying around on the roads to their jobs or families or who knows what else.
She came to a marketplace. A few vendors were setting up their stalls for the day. It was still very quiet, especially compared to the loud ruckus it would become in a few hours. She made her way through the stalls until she found the one she was looking for.
Unlike the other stalls, a small crowd had gathered. They were all women. Most were human but there were a few of other races. They were all drinking caf or tea. A few munched on some breakfast. The woman who ran the stall had found a good customer base by opening in the early morning hours offering drinks to those who were starting their day off early.
The owner was an older, plump human woman. Her wrinkled face was tan and hard, etched by the many sandstorms of the planet. The woman nodded at Padmé as she came up to the stall. Without saying a word, the owner handed Padmé a cup of caf.
"Well if it isn't Lady Vader," one woman said noticing Padmé. Padmé visibly winced at the name. While the other woman may come to the stall in the mornings for camaraderie and gossip, Padmé ventured here for news.
She was obsessed with any news about Darth Vader. She spent hours almost daily scouring the holonet. She wanted to know every detail about the man, the monster. Most importantly she wanted to know his location. Often there was no public knowledge of where he was currently, only where he had been. Her obsession had earned her a nickname amongst these women. Lady Vader. Little did the women know how accurate that name was.
"Please don't call me that," Padmé said in small voice. Some of the women chuckled and went back to their previous conversations.
Padmé turned to the owner. The owner had a pretty well connected social net including traders, smugglers, and criminals. She often had gossip on either Vader or his flagship the Devastator. The owner smiled knowing the unspoken question. "I haven't heard anything since Scarif," the woman said.
Padmé's lips formed a small thin line. She tried not to frown. Padmé turned around holding the cup of caf letting it warm her hands. The holonet had been filled with the story about Scarif. A rebel attack of a military installation. Thousands dead. There was a large outcry for the heads of the rebels. Of course Darth Vader had been there to help defeat the rebels. Hailed as a hero on the holonet. It was said he was off in hunt of those who had escaped, but no word of where that was.
Padmé sighed and glanced at the sky. The suns were just starting to peek out, and the light was changing color. Padmé thanked the owner, returning the cup, and walked back to her room. She pushed her fear down. Paranoia some said.
Nineteen years and she still remained hidden. Nineteen years and her children were still safe.
Padmé had work to do in Mos Eisley before she could return home to the Lars Homestead. She hoped to be home this afternoon, but it may not be for another day. Her fear nagged at her.
Blend in. Don't attract attention. Stay hidden.
She desperately wanted to drop the job and just return home. She had done this on more than one occasion in the past.
"You can't keep jumping at every shadow and rumor," Owen Lars, her brother-in-law, had said. He was right. Padmé pushed the fear down, something she grown used to over the years, and walked back up the stairs to her room.