Imperial Dining Room
Imperial Palace
Imperial City
Imperial Center
1 day later
Darth Sidious entered the dining room to find Prince Xizor and his replica droid bodyguard on their knees. The Falleen prince held a posture of complete humility, his usually proud head ducked low in submission.
Palpatine smiled slightly at this, then turned his gaze to the bodyguard Guri. She too bowed in apparent meekness, but of course for a droid it was merely excellent programming. The Emperor frowned slightly. It was slightly odd, and perhaps even a little unnerving, to be confronted by the droid's human appearance juxtaposed on a dead spot in the Force.
"Rise, Prince Xizor," Palpatine rasped.
Xizor rose, while the droid Guri remained in a bowed position.
"Your bodyguard will wait outside during our meal and conversation, Prince Xizor," Palpatine ordered.
There was the faintest flicker of something in the Falleen's eyes. Anger? Fear?
Obediently, the Dark Prince spoke to the droid, "Wait in the outer corridor."
"Yes, my prince," Guri replied as she rose, then turned to the Emperor and bowed more elaborately, "Your Highness."
She glided out with her typical grace.
"Please, be seated," Palpatine said with a wave of his hand. It was time to be gracious now, after asserting his authority over the Falleen.
It was a dance, really, this delicate forging of relationship between himself and his new second-in-command. Darth Vader had been such a wreck after his ordeal on Mustafar, originally physically, later emotionally, that Palpatine hadn't bothered with much subtlety in their arrangement. Vader was his slave, bluntly, though a very rich and powerful one.
The Falleen would prove different, Sidious knew. He was many years older than Vader, and far shrewder. Not that Vader was an idiot – the man was actually very intelligent, but the former Anakin Skywalker had always been more of a blunt than fine instrument.
Xizor sat as directed, keeping his face calm, attentive, and humble. He too understood well the subtle dynamics of this meeting. He had attached himself to Palpatine long ago at the dawn of the Empire, sensing that the man had the ability to exert nearly total power over the galaxy. And he had been correct. Slowly, over the years, Xizor's power and influence had grown. And with Vader's dramatic fall from grace, he had stepped into the next slot.
Eventually, of course, he would make the final move and seize power and become Emperor himself. But that was a long way off.
There was a gentle chime and a side door opened. A bevy of serving staff stepped forward and began serving the Emperor and Xizor.
It was, of course, the very best of food and Xizor was impressed, even given his long history as a noted gourmet. The wine (whose label he recognized as being an extremely rare Clone Wars vintage) was a delicate white, the appetizers were made of meat from the rare Naboo giant strab, and the soup, Palpatine told him, was served to the Queen of Naboo upon her coronation and no other time.
"I, of course, convinced the Royal Cook of Naboo to share the recipe," the Emperor said with a feral grin.
Palpatine lifted wine to his lips, took a gracious sip, and said courteously, "So, Prince Xizor, what was your opinion of the new opera at the Galactic Opera House? I know you attended the premier."
Xizor paused and took a sip of his own wine, savoring it with relish. He was a connoisseur, and it was a pleasure to serve a master who, while brutal in his methods, was cultured in his tastes.
"The plot was excellent, your Highness, and the pageantry and costumes alive and dramatic. I was disappointed with the lead singer, regrettably. While he used to be the very best in the galaxy, I fear his gifts are diminishing with age."
This too, was calculated. Xizor knew that Palpatine had chosen the lead singer for the opera, which was a thinly disguised retelling of Palpatine's rise to Emperor and Savior of the galaxy. To question Palpatine's choice was a very slight show of independence but not, the prince was certain, enough to bring on punishment.
The Emperor's yellow eyes narrowed slightly. (Why were his eyes yellow, anyway? It was odd.)
"Perhaps you are right, Prince," he murmured, "Do you have another suggestion?"
The following 5 minutes included an amiable discussion of the operatic stars of the galaxy, and was interrupted when the door slid open to reveal three beings.
The first, Xizor vaguely remembered as his moonglow chef. The man had worked at the Manarai restaurant, which Xizor partially owned, for several years. While Xizor had only met him two or three times, the moonglow chef's employment attracted some of the best clientele to the Manarai, and was a source of pride to its staff.
But to keep Palpatine happy, Xizor could find someone else. Eventually. Someone who was well trained and completely reliable.
For moonglow, while exquisitely delicious, was possibly the most dangerous food in the galaxy. It was a small fruit, the size of a human fist, found only in one small forest on one small world far, far away from Coruscant.
It was extremely poisonous in its raw form, and had been responsible for the horrifying death of more than one unsuspecting immigrant to its planet of origin. When prepared properly, however, the poison could be removed through a careful 97 step process, resulting in one of the finest, and most expensive, meals in the galaxy.
The chef moved forward, bearing a silver plate with a delicate glass cover in the shape of the Imperial seal. He bowed low before Palpatine, and placed the dish reverently in front of the Emperor. He was followed by a stern faced Imperial official, who paused next to the chef.
The third man, another server, carried a platter which he placed before Xizor.
Fleek eel. It was a favorite dish of Xizor's, and he appreciated the gesture. The moonglow was exclusively for the Emperor at this meal, but the Falleen prince was being served a pleasant and expensive meal as well. It was, again, all part of the dance.
The Emperor smiled slightly, his thoughts mirroring Xizor's. Yes, he was enjoying this. The Falleen prince definitely had his gifts, and certainly talking with him was far more interesting than discussing starfighters with Darth Vader. Vader had always been the sort of man more excited about a landspeeder manual than the glories of opera. Perhaps appreciation for opera required a longer and more abiding evil streak, he mused.
Sidious glanced at the third man, who had thus far remained silent, and lifted one inquiring eyebrow. The officer nodded firmly, then gently grasped the moonglow chef's arm and guided him out. The third servant left as well, leaving the Emperor and Xizor alone.
The Emperor smiled and lifted a chunk of moonglow to his mouth. It was incredible even to his aged taste buds. Really, he should have stolen the chef a long time ago.
And the meal was, he knew, completely safe. Unlike the patrons of the Manarai, Darth Sidious was not willing to take even a minute chance that the chef made a mistake in the preparation of the moonglow. Thus, the man had been required to eat several bites of the dish a full hour before. The poison was quick acting, and the fact that the chef was alive and well meant that he had, indeed, done his job to perfection.
Sidious suppressed a slight moan of delight. He gave a slightly pitying glance at Xizor, who seemed to be enjoying his fleek eel but had to know that the Emperor had by far the better dish.
Which was as it should be. He was, after all, the most powerful, most important man in the galaxy. Possibly the most powerful and important man the galaxy had ever seen.
The Dark Prince lusted for the number one position, as ridiculous as that was. Only a strong Force sensitive could topple Sidious. But Xizor was arrogant and incredibly ambitious, as well as Force blind. He was incapable of understanding that reality.
/-/-/-
A small hanger bay in Imperial City
Kat Sloani was breathing hard, far harder than she should be after a rapid walk through the slightly derelict streets of this section of Imperial City.
The truth was, she was scared to death. Maybe she wasn't really cut out for this secret agent stuff.
A sudden hand on her arm caused her to gasp in terror. She turned suddenly, tugging, only to relax when she recognized her friend Lika.
"Did you do it, Kat?" he demanded in a soft tone.
She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Then come, we need to leave right away," Lika said, and pulled her toward the nondescript freighter sitting on the pad.
"My family?" Kat gasped out as she moved rapidly toward the ramp.
"They are safe, I promise you, Kat."
/-/-/-
Emperor Palpatine's private sitting room
Adjacent to the dining room
Imperial Palace
Imperial City
"Please, sit down," Palpatine said graciously.
Xizor sank obediently onto the chair, even as he cast a covetous eye at the leather. Gorraslug, but not the typical kind. No, of course Palpatine had chairs made from the leather of the rare blue gorraslug.
"So, Prince Xizor, do you have any additional information about the young Skywalker?" Palpatine demanded.
The prince turned his attention to the Emperor and nodded courteously.
"My master, I have vital information that I hope will be of great use to you. You may remember that there were reports of an additional individual, a middle aged female, living with the Lars' family for the three years prior to Vader's descent onto Tatooine."
"What of it?" Sidious demanded. He had a vague sense of unease. If Xizor really had uncovered something new and momentous, it was disquieting that the Sith Lord had not sensed such a thing in his probing of the Force earlier today. He really must deal with Vader soon. His former apprentice continued to recover in strength, and the skeins of prophecy and knowledge continued to be tangled, twisted, and confused by the growing Light blasting through the fabric of the Force.
Xizor leaned back and waited a moment, then continued softly, "The woman has been positively identified, my Master. She is Padme Naberrie of Naboo. I believe she is Luke Skywalker's mother, and Vader's former lover."
Darth Sidious froze in incredulous disbelief.
Padme Naberrie alive.
Well, yes, if the child lived perhaps the mother lived as well.
If Padme was alive…well, that really was quite a problem. Because Padme had always been Vader's weak point. 19 years ago, she had been a convenient weakness. But this time? If the woman was even moderately lucid, she could probably convince that pathetic idiot to do almost anything. Anakin Skywalker had been completely enamored with the woman, to the point of marrying her, and her "death" had cemented Sidious's hold on Vader.
"You are certain?" he suddenly barked, causing Xizor to start in surprise.
The Falleen recovered quickly, however.
"Yes, my master. We learned that the woman's name was Padme, and after obtaining a holo of Padme Naberrie, we confirmed her identity with several individuals who entered the Lars' home, mostly tradesmen and agents for Jabba the Hutt."
Again, there was silence. The Emperor's lips hardened into a thin line, and his teeth ground together.
"Yes, Prince Xizor," he finally said in a tone that would have frozen Mustafar itself, "That is indeed most useful information."
/-/-/
4 hours later
Aboard the Varykino
In orbit around one of the moons of Trinovat
Darth Vader's room
Darth Vader was deep in sleep, and dreaming.
Padme was there, and he was too – but not the worn out, burned, broken man that he was now but the man he used to be – young, vibrant, handsome, strong. Hopeful.
They were on Naboo together, standing in the field where they had picnicked one day, staring at the waterfalls and watching the rainbows in the mists.
He suddenly felt Padme's small but strong arm around his waist and he turned to look at her.
"I love you, Ani, and I always will," she said with a smile.
"I love you too, Padme. Thank you…for forgiving me. I'm so sorry."
"I know."
Padme stood on her tiptoes to kiss her husband on the lips. For one long, glorious moment, he reveled in her sweet scent, in her kiss, in her hair which brushed against his hands.
Then suddenly, she pulled away, her eyes wide with horror. Vader spun around. The waterfalls were no longer there, but instead a dark, roiling, twisting mass was approaching them, a mass filled with forked lightening and malevolence. He reached out his hands, attempting to draw on the Force, but instead the Dark Presence of Darth Sidious seemed to cling harder to him through their bond.
And then he and Padme were torn apart. He was alone, but not alone. Sidious was there, but his master was a raging torrent of anger and spite and yes, terror. He felt the liquid pain of Mustafar, and the crawling agony of Force lightning. His mind was ripped apart by the anguish of a thousand deaths, intense hatred battering his fragile soul. His spirit grew cold with despair.
"Father, Father!"
"Anakin, Anakin!"
He felt hands shaking him and he battled and struggled his way through water and fire and ice and cloud, following his son's bright light into consciousness. The terror and horror were still plucking at him, but at least he was awake. And Padme was leaning over him, her eyes wide with concern, but she was all right.
"Father, what is it?" Luke gasped, obviously sensing his sire's distress.
"Sidious," Vader choked out, "Sidious."
