All things considered, Leia thought they had found a nice spot to watch the race.
Yes, it was one of those bars that usually catered to crime lords and other people of technically illegal profession, but Leia was starting to get used to that; after all, the Rebellion was more or less in the same lot. This at least aimed to the classier sort of outlaws, which was why Lando was completely in his element, schmoozing with the crowd. She had seen him flirt with at least three women (and two twi'leks) already, and they had only been in the bar ten minutes. But it would be only a half-hour until the race started, and they had prime seats in the box attached to the bar for the main event. The skybox meant that all they could see were colorful specks, but the plethora of screens would more than make up for it.
She had almost been feeling confident: the finished speeder actually looked quite elegant, in its own way, and Vader had actually gotten four hours of sleep. He claimed it would be more than enough, and Leia had been honestly quite amused at seeing him sleeping stretched out on another one of the speeders, enjoying the plush seat, resting his arms on the handlebars and head propped up by his hands. In fact, Leia felt quite cheerful up until she saw the constantly updating board of odds right next to the droids and scantily-clad girls ready to accept bets. 'Unidentified Racer - Rebel Alliance' was solidly placed in the bottom third, with extremely low odds.
"Well, it could be worse," she said bravely. "500 credits on the Rebel racer to win, please."
The twi'lek girl twittered a little. "Oh, that's not the odds for winning, ma'am. That's the odds for surviving the race! Just a moment and I'll pull up the odds forwinning. ...There you go!"
Three spots away from dead last. Well. It could be worse. She supposed.
"Still want to place that bet?" The twi'lek fluttered her false eyelashes.
"On second thought, I'll just... I'll spend those credits on another drink."
"Wise idea, ma'am! The bar's just over there but you can place your order at any kiosk and a waitress droid will bring it right out!"
Leia somewhat dizzily turned around to go find their private skybox, flopping into one of the seats and massaging her temples. She wouldn't get out of this without a headache, that was for sure. Just as long as she got out of this without having to plan a funeral. At least she could count on Ahsoka's team, their mission already underway to gather Imperial data, ready at the first mention of trouble to swoop in and enact plan B. She slyly looked at the menu on a holoscreen built into the comfortable chair's armrest, and debated with herself what to order. By the time Lando had shed the last of his adoring female fans, the race was nearing its start, and she was sipping her drink.
"Corellian iced tea?" He raised an eyebrow, half-grinning. "I think Han's rubbing off on you. Isn't that a mixture of at least seven types of hard liquor?"
"Sixteen, actually, at this bar," she said smoothly, taking another sip.
"Do you always drink like this, or just on special occasions?" he teased.
"Only when I'm stuck holding Vader's leash," Leia said morosely before taking a gulp and immediately regretting it. The burning sensation went straight down her throat onto her cheeks in a heavy, alcohol-induced blush.
The skybox looked down on the immense stadium, packed full of what easily could have been a quarter of Taris' population. Colorful banners wove through the crowd, held aloft, half of them made of cloth or paper and half made of elaborate holodisplays. The large screens around the stadium constantly refreshed with new angles of the racers lining up at the start as cameras whizzed in dizzy patterns all around them. Leia could even see a few of the elaborate faux-skyhooks, massive repulsorlifts outfitted with small gardens where the elite of Taris milled about with drinks in hand; with their vantage points so mobile, they could lazily move around the track to keep the racers in view. Leia was instead quite content with the skybox.
Somewhat anxiously, she watched the screens as the cameras panned over the racers. All of the swoops lined up so far were intimidating, loaded down with heavy shielding systems and blaster arrays. It was that much more shocking when Vader finally made his way onto the track. She recognized him immediately - plain white jumpsuit, accented with an armband bearing the Rebel Alliance's starbird in red. In mockery of warpaint, three red slashes accented the eyes of the plain helm on either cheek. Hidden completely from view, there was certainly something more Vaderlike about him than usual, even if being clad in white instead of black brought about an entirely different effect. He drew stares as he led the swoop through the other racers.
Compared to the other swoops, it was small. In fact, it was minuscule. There were no obvious weapons systems or shield generators, which was completely unheard of, given the nature of the bloodbath Taris called a race. Leia glanced out of the corner of her eye at a nearby holodisplay, watching the odds that Vader would survive plummet until he was dead last below the clearly-marked novices.
With a sigh, she found the right button on her comm set. "Vader, are you sure this will work? You seem to have brought a knife to a blaster fight."
She saw him raise his hand to his helm as he responded, busily setting up the flag on the back of his swoop for the parade lap. "I prefer to think of it more like bringing an X-wing against an orbiting battle station. I was led to believe that was the Rebellion way, after all. Besides..." He grunted a little, fitting the plain flag on more properly. "With my lightsaber, I already bring a knife to every blaster fight."
Leia's mouth drew into a tight, humorless smile and she reached again for her drink. Vader was in a good mood. Force preserve them all.
Down in the arena, Vader slowly wound the light swoop around its tank-like competition. There would be a good enough spot - visible, yet out of the way of the main packs of Taris gangs fighting for control. The Grand Prix was as much about politics as it was about racing, though with all the weaponry on almost every swoop, it was perhaps less a race and more like gladiatorial combat.
Vader thought he couldn't be more excited.
Very pointedly, he made sure his swoop lingered next to the official Imperial entrant. Behind his goggles, the other man glowered at him, huffily making sure the bland grey banner behind him was completely straight. His goal in the race was very obviously to not die - winning was out of the question - but he was there as a token effort from the Empire to show that they at least had some political clout left on Taris. Behind the safety of the helm and its shaded visor, Vader carefully examined the man.
He gave a haughty huff. "I could have you arrested for treason right now, you know."
It took Vader only a moment to confirm his suspicions on the holonet, and he flipped his visor up. "I'm sure you could. But where would be the fun in that, Lieutenant Aran?"
Immediately the other man sat up a little straighter. "Lieutenant-Commander Aran now, actually," he said with a haughty sniff. Vader knew full well of the promotion: it was mainly to keep the brat out of harm's way. His father was one of the top men of the local Moff, and his entire career had been based riding on his father's coattails.
"I'm surprised, given your performance aboard the Executor." Immediately Aran's face flushed and then drained of color as embarrassment gave way to fear. Oh yes, both of them remembered the incident quite well: the navigation error would have been fatal, had it not been caught by another officer.
"That was stricken from my record," he spluttered. No doubt one of the terms of his exile to Taris. "Besides. How would you know about that? If you're some sort of spy..."
"I know about it because I was the one responsible for making sure you never stepped a foot aboard the Executor again."
The last remaining bits of color dripped out of the Imperial Lieutenant's face, and he froze like a startled wild animal. He only became more pale as Vader leaned in, whisper coy and full of false sweetness. "So good to see you got over that fractured hyoid bone. I do hope the bruises didn't linger for too long."
As he drew away, Aran was already starting to pant in panic. He flicked the visor down and continued walking the speeder through the crowd, but he could still hear the Lieutenant's voice as he warblingly yelled into his comm line. "Sir? I can't - I can't do this, sir, I have to - I have to pull out of the race, you don'tunderstand! - I don't care if it's too late to pull out, I refuse, I can't do this -"
A slight bit of guilt gnawed at Vader even as he walked away. But what was a race without some pre-game trash-talking?
The Tarisian anthem began to blare over the loudspeakers, and as he finally mounted the swoop, he could hear the race announcer. "Welcome to the five-hundred-and-seventh annual Taris Grand Prix!" The crowd's cheering overwhelmed the sound of even the motors as the group of racers began to lurch forward, each building up enough speed to make sure their various banners and flags were shown off. "I'm Jezza Klark, your host tonight! Fifty racers are primed and ready for tonight's entertainment!" Most of the gang members were waving; a few were notably besieged by tossed tokens from adoring fans. While an especially handsome (he supposed, anyway) young man blew kisses at a wave of screaming girls leaning over the ledge and nearly falling into the raceway, Vader flinched, a wayward offering managing to stick to his helm. ...Panties. Pink mesh with little bow-ties on the skimpy, stringy sides. ...Cute, maybe? Not like he really kept up with the trends in that department. Vader tried not to think too hard about where they had just been before flinging them off so that they could distract some other swoop racer.
"Quick reminder, everyone, betting is closed at the end of the parade lap, so get in those last minute wagers!"
It was a drastically shortened course for the parade lap - into the pit lanes and out again, really, but the course itself was long, and Vader understood the logic. As they filtered through back into view, flags removed and settling into their assigned positions, the other racers began to rev their massive engines. The furious roar echoed off the walls of the stadium.
And it was one of the most beautiful sounds Vader had ever heard.
Not that his swoop could contribute much to the noise. Of course not. He would leave the sound and fury to the rest of the idiots. Who needed a massive engine when you could be light and quick... and dodge with supernatural ability, thanks to the Force?
The announcer's voice was completely drowned out, but every eye was fixed on the starting lights. A steady countdown began, a wide half-circle of lights going from blue to red as the arc grew steadily smaller and smaller. Vader pawed at the handlebars, making sure his grip was firm. And he would later be unashamed to admit that underneath the helm, he was grinning like a madman.
The arc of lights filtered down into three illuminated ovals.
For a moment there was nothing else. Just him, the swoop, and the sound of the blood rushing in his ears... and the Force. As excited as he was, it was only natural to reach out to it for the sort of strength and resolute determination that came from calm.
A soft beep that nobody heard. Three lights became two.
Up in the skybox, Leia leaned forward in her seat, biting her lip, drink completely forgotten.
Two lights became one.
The entire arena collectively held their breaths. Every racer stared as if willing the last light to fade.
"Aaaand..." The announcer's voice could finally be heard above the roar of the engines.
One light became none.
"...GO!"