A.N. – Another thank you to all my reviewers! I'm delighted that you're all enjoying this!
Now, just so someone doesn't call me on the carpet for unoriginality, I deliberately wrote one part of this chapter to resemble a scene in A New Hope.
For me, the bit when Vader is strangling Leia's Captain is the only time I truly see his anger from ROTS coming into play – that's when I can believe it's Anakin inside the suit.
Anyway, enjoy!
Over the years, he had found that space remained cold. It never truly bothered him – he hadn't noticed it in the thick of battle, blaster and cannon fire raining past his fighter like a lethal hailstorm.
On the command deck of a Star Destroyer, it was another story.
The officers gave no indication that they took any notice of the way his arms curled around his torso, holding in what little warmth his blood could provide. They would have been fools to mention it anyway – that was well understood.
Outside, the Corellians were still trying to run – their blue engine beams glowing white-hot with the added strain of attempting to break free of a tractor beam.
Fools.
"Shall I give the order to fire, my lord?"
"No. Raise the traction power to maximum, and arm the boarding party. I'll lead them myself."
The commander swallowed nervously and gave a stiff bow, as Vader stormed down the deck and into the corridor, his black cloak curling about his body like smoke.
Dozens of eyes followed him, some carrying nothing but raw fear, others anger, and still others pure hatred…
The Coruscant Interplanetary Child-Refugee Center had been hardly deserving of the name when Padmé located it in the public service district – only a handful of outdated E-model droids were available to look after the rapidly growing number of little ones pouring in from far-flung worlds, their parents slaughtered in the war.
Anakin had given her full control of the project, still pre-occupied with increasing reports of anti-imperial activity in the Chommell sector and elsewhere, and Padmé had flung herself into the work, outraged by the new government's apparent lack of compassion. The holo-reporters on the imperial network had scoffed at her "obsession", and called it a "human nesting instinct."
No one wanted to speculate when the same reporters were found dead only days later. Padmé was still horrified by the incident, though she had convinced herself it had been only a grim coincidence….
It had taken thousands of credits, and even more patience, though she had insisted that the labor be completed as quickly as possible – with more child refugees spilling onto the planet every day, needing care and nurturing.
It had taken three long months, but the final reward was worth the wait.
Now three hundred stories tall, with five wings devoted to respectively to education, sleep, pediatric wards, meals, and entertainment, Padmé could set her mind at ease with the thought that the empire had brought some good to the galaxy…
Her first visit to the renovated Center had been chilling to say the least – it was uncomfortable enough that her husband had insisted on half a clone battalion accompanying her transporter, but the fear she saw in the eyes of the chaperones and droids was near to heart-breaking. Did high office truly make one so intimidating?
If there was another possible reason for their terror, Empress Vader did not wish to consider it.
Fortunately, the children had been too young to share the adults' fear of their patroness, and Padmé quickly became an adored presence in their lives.
It was the very least she could do.
Now, with Anakin halfway across the galaxy, she found the company of the infants to be a soothing distraction. It was pleasant to escape for a time from the confines of the palace, and the crush of ambassadors begging audiences and privileges and could she please ask His Highness to address the new taxation policies…
The Nubian garden provided peace and quiet, but for the wistful feelings it instilled in her mind… the longing for home and her beloved…
Suddenly a little cough brought her back to the present.
The baby Deslik coughed again, his small beige-colored body tails curling around her arm as she cradled him to her chest. A sheen of pale sweat had coated his delicate skin membrane, his body's final desperate attempt to regulate the heat surrounding him.
Padmé could feel the tears pricking her eyes as she held him close, the life monitor nearby beeping frantically. Desliks were accustomed to an arctic environment, at temperatures so low even life-support computers couldn't fully replicate them. The infant was, in actual fact, dying of heat frustration in a room that resembled a carbon- freezing vat.
A tear finally slipped down her face…
Blaster fire continued for eight minutes, until all the screaming and moans had stopped.
Blue eyes wandered over the piles of corpses lining the corridor, and the slight sting of remorse was beaten back, howling.
One of the troopers lifted a gauntleted hand and waved him over, a barely-alive corellian moaning at his feet.
Vader locked the man's watery gaze with his own, sheer agony and terror spilling from his weak mind.
Weak was good. Weak was useable. Breakable.
The smuggler emitted an embarrassingly high-pitched screech at the first hum of the now infamous blue light-saber, the heat prickling his skin.
"Don't scream – not yet." Vader muttered, the blade leaving black scorch marks where it hovered over fabric…
"My lady?!"
For a moment, Padmé ignored the protocol droid's frantic tapping on the envoi-chamber door, stroking a pale brow as the final shades of warmth slipped from the little Deslik's icy skin…
"My lady, please!"
Biting back her disappointment, she glanced up to the door, the rims of her eyes swollen and pink.
"What is it, Threepio?"
The droid clattered into the room, his voice modulator panicky.
"Commander Thane is on the communicator – he's requesting instructions!"
Padmé felt the blood drain from her face.
"W-why?" She finally managed to gasp.
"He says that they've encountered heavy weapon readings on the rebel freighter – and all communication to the boarding party has been temporarily lost due to frequency inequa-!"
"Ani…" She breathed before rushing past the hysterical droid and into the corridor, terror freezing her veins like the tiny body left inside the cradle…
The captain struggled for a desperately needed breath under the unrelenting grip of a leather-sheathed hand, his boots kicking at the metal deck as he was crushed against a cargo container.
"Who employed you for the mission?! Who are your superiors?!"
"I'm – we're a spi - spice carrying vessel – We were employed to – to ship merchandise from Kessel –"
Vader snarled, his palm tightening against the man's air passage.
"Spice smugglers don't transmit calls for defiance through hyperspace relay. So who does?!"
The captain's eyes rolled back into his head seconds before he was thrown to the floor.
"Commander!" Vader roared, his eyes glowing eerily.
"Rip every man on this ship apart until you have an answer, and bring me names and coordinates!"
"Yes sir!" The clone replied instantly, before dashing through the blast doors with his squadron.
"That…will earn you… nothing…" The former captain rasped through his crushed windpipe, an unsettling smile beginning to break across his bloodied face as his hand reached inside his jacket…
"For.. the re...pub…lic…"
The force surged in a warning, and Vader felt the heat explode across his body.
Then it was all black.
And silent.
And cold.
TBC
A.N. – Please put down the torches and pitchforks. This IS a two, maybe three-part episode, and I promise I'll update soon!
Thoughts? : )