A/N: Still waiting on my second beta, which is why I'm not yet assuming a regular posting rhythm. I can, however, tell you that I have finalized the chapter breakdowns. Chapter 63 will be the final full-length chapter; Chapter 64 will be an epilogue. I'll let you all know when I set up the regular posting schedule. Reviewers, my apologies for not responding to most of you; I'm off to tackle a few of those now. :P Thanks to all the silent readers as well for giving me a hearing for so long!


Firmus Piett drew a deep, savoring breath as he stepped off the ramp of his shuttle. Artificial and polluted though the air of Coruscant was, it felt far less poisonous than the atmosphere of the Executor. The tension over the course of their transit to the capital system had become crushing; not even Vader's absence from the ship since their arrival had done much to relieve the pressure. Thank the fates that this action report gave him an excuse to come down to Naval HQ personally.

Determined to forget for the next two hours that he was in the process of committing high treason, Piett started briskly across the landing pad. Just as he reached the entrance of the building, he was intercepted by a stormtrooper. "Captain Firmus Piett?"

"Yes?"

"You're requested to accompany me to the security office briefly. The captain wants to speak with you for a moment."

Probably about his building security clearance. It had been awhile since he'd been on Coruscant, and the protocols had likely changed. He followed the trooper for a few minutes through the labyrinth that was the HQ building until they reached the security center. The door opened. Firmus Piett found himself facing an armed squadron.

There was sharp click behind him as his escort stormtrooper switched his blaster to stun setting.

"Captain Piett." The security center's CO had appeared. "You will come with us."

Piett swallowed. "Am I under arrest?"

"Not yet," the CO informed him in a tone that boded no bright futures. Several of the stormtroopers formed a cordon around him and marched him through the security office until they came to the landing bay, where a nondescript civilian speeder waited with ramp lowered.

At the top towered a fully-uniformed member of the Imperial Guard.

This is not good.


For being secret, these passages saw an awful lot of traffic. Without their Force senses, the two skulking Jedi would have been discovered at least a dozen times by now. Even with them, mapping out a path that avoided all company was a time-consuming task verging on the impossible. Ferus wiped a film of sweat off his forehead as he sensed a pair of fiercely intent minds ahead of them veer away down a different corridor. So far Yoda's expertise with mind tricks, honed to laser-like accuracy over the arc of centuries, had been enough to clear the path ahead of them – but the strain of subtly bending such determined intellects had to be mounting even for him. What the hells were they all so keen on doing anyway?

"Looking for someone they are," Yoda murmured in response to Ferus' thoughts.

"Not us, I hope."

Yoda shook his head. If he had any conjectures about who the Imperials were looking for, he didn't voice them. "Suspect, I do, that an entrance to the throne room we will not reach. If exist one does, using it these beings most likely are."

"Shavit," said Ferus, before remembering that swearing was not usually considered appropriate for a Jedi and definitely not in front of a master.

Yoda twitched an ear in stern rebuke. "Continue upward we will. To the east, the most used passages seem to be. Therefore to the west we will bear."

Space was in steadily shorter supply they ascended up into the spire that housed the private throne room, leaving them with fewer alternatives to avoid the traffic. The good news was that there was also steadily less traffic; their particular route didn't seem to be frequently used. The next cramped turbolift shot them straight up past the section of the building that housed the Emperor's quarters. Without an abbreviated tunnel twisted through power, air, and sewage lines, existing purely to connect with the next turbolift. Ferus worked his way past the pipes and other protruding infrastructure to examine it.

"Horizontal tube," he grunted. "But we can't be too far from the throne room…"

He switched on the locator function of his wrist receiver.

"Hmm," Yoda said with satisfaction. "Beside the west wall of the throne room we are."

Ferus squinted at the projection. They were actually in the exterior wall of the Palace, because the entire space at the top of the spire was taken up by the throne room. That other turbolift must take an arc around the throne room. They seemed to be standing at a point about four or five meters above the floor level, another three below the level of the dais. "Doesn't look like we're at the right height to find an entrance."

Yoda shook his head. "Examine these walls I will. Check the turbolift you must and see where it leads."

Ferus nodded and wormed his way down to the lift car. The short ride deposited him in a cramped square alcove, right behind a decorative grill. He caught his breath and tamped down his presence in the Force – he could peer through the openings directly into the chamber. Fortunately, it was empty at the moment. The grill afforded a clear view of the dais and the audience platform. Presumably this little perch had been made so that the Emperor's agents could listen in on important conversations without revealing their existence. He steeled himself and surveyed his position relative to the dais with a more critical eye, identifying the general area where Yoda was waiting in the short tunnel and comparing the two options.

The tunnel would be better. If he had a clear view of the dais, then Palpatine would have a clear view of them if they attempted to cut through; he might even have some way of determining whether the spy perch was occupied. The tunnel, however, passed just under the dais platform. Provided they were careful, they might get far closer to the Emperor before being noticed.

Ferus took another long look at the room, memorizing as much of its layout and lighting as he could before taking the lift back to Yoda and describing everything he'd discovered.

"Acceptable, this place will be," the Jedi Master decided. "More difficult to cut through, this wall will be, but weaken it we can now if absent the Emperor is."

A quick check of the Force assured them no one was close enough to notice the sounds of the blades. Igniting them the two Jedi etched in the outlines of a cut that would accommodate Ferus. Yoda added a series of cross-slashes, cutting diagonally back and forth across the slab, careful not to penetrate to the other side of the wall. They stepped back to survey their handiwork. In the dim lighting of the tunnel and behind the array of infrastructure, the marks were scarcely visible. Just to improve the camouflage Ferus burned out the nearest glowpanel.

"Return to Vader, you must," Yoda said as they prepared to leave. "Conceal myself I will where first you met me. When the time comes, contact me you will."

Ferus nodded and wriggled into the lift car. He didn't relish going back to Vader; but with Yoda here to back him up, they might stand a slim chance of victory after all.


He was not actually in handcuffs yet. But if a mere captain was being escorted to the Emperor's office by the Imperial Guard after having been snatched away from routine business at naval HQ, then that captain was either a secret agent in disguise or in lightyear-deep poodoo. Firmus Piett knew for a fact that he was not the former. As he stood waiting with dry lips, staring at the ominous red doors of the Emperor's private office, he longed for an explanation that was neither of the two.

There wasn't one.

Several years of service directly under Darth Vader were all that enabled him to keep his composure surrounded by the bodyguards. He prayed it would preserve his dignity before the Emperor. Contemplator of high treason or not, he was still a naval officer, and he'd be damned if he was going to cringe like he'd seen some of his superiors do before Vader's lethal wrath –

The doors swung open. The guard's mask locked pointedly onto Piett. He clasped his hands behind his back so as to look professional and stop their shaking, and stepped inside.

The Emperor was indeed within, garbed in his customary hooded black robe, seated behind his desk with hands steepled. Protocol! What was the correct protocol? Unable to recall the lessons from Academy, Piett could only resort to the usual expectations when in Vader's presence. He came to a halt about ten feet from the desk, snapped to attention, saluted, and then added a deep bow for good measure. Navy officers weren't supposed to kneel, were they?

Force, he hoped not.

"Captain Piett," the Emperor's graveled voice acknowledged. "You may rise."

Piett eked out a hoarse, "Thank you, Your Majesty," as he straightened.

"No doubt you are curious as to the reason for this summons." The Emperor sat back and waited for a response. As it had not been a question, Piett did not venture one. It wouldn't do to look as though he thought people suspected him – or worse, to sound guilty.

But from that keen yellowed gaze, his monarch already suspected him. He regarded Piett for the longest minute in the history of the galaxy. "Captain," he eventually ordered his bodyguard, "escort my other guest in, if you will." The bodyguard bowed and exited through the side door.

"Captain Piett," the Emperor remarked into the subsequent silence. "Your service record is most impressive." He tapped a folder sitting on his desk.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Piett choked.

"Clearly," the Emperor continued, "Lord Vader agrees with my assessment. He gave you command of the Executor directly out of the construction docks, did he not?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. A great honor."

"Tell me." The Emperor settled back in his chair, stretching his withered arms out, idly stroking the ends of the armrests. "What has your experience been of serving under Lord Vader?"

Piett did not like where this was going at all. "I beg Your Majesty's pardon?" he stammered.

"What," the Emperor repeated with spine-chilling deliberacy, "has your experience been of serving under Lord Vader?"

"I – that is, Your Majesty, I have always been impressed with Lord Vader's capacity as a combat commander. I can attest that my squadron has always functioned with chief efficiency under his direction, and undoubtedly strict observance of discipline has always been one of Lord Vader's – "

"I am not interested in your opinion of his performance," the Emperor cut him off. "I am interested in your opinion of him personally."

"P-personally, Your Majesty?" Naval officers did not have personal opinions of Darth Vader – not the ones who enjoyed breathing, that was.

"As the commander of his flagship," the Emperor pressed, "you have had a unique opportunity to observe him. Therefore I am asking you, Captain, whether I should continue to extend my trust towards Lord Vader."

Piett blanched. "Your Majesty, I – I don't think I'm the proper person to pass such judgment – "

"The answer to the question is either yes or no."

Piett imagined that he had the spine of a krakana and a mind like a durasteel trap. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Indeed?" Suddenly the look in the Emperor's eyes had gone from being merely intimidating to downright terrifying. "I would not like to think you had given me an answer out of fear of Lord Vader," he continued conversationally. "After all, you will find that I have the power to either exact greater punishment or dispense greater mercy. Therefore I have taken the liberty of inviting one other guest for you to meet."

The side door whirred open and the bodyguard reappeared. He flung down on the carpet what had perhaps not very long ago been a man. The blood, burns, disfigurement, ragged breathing, and inability to stand made it difficult to tell.

"This man," the Emperor said above the low moans of the prisoner, "inadvisably chose to defy my authority and withhold information concerning treasonous activities. I suggest that you think long and hard before doing the same, Captain."

Piett stared at the human wreckage crumpled before him. Long minutes passed.

"Is that your final answer, Captain Piett?" the Emperor murmured.

Piett whispered, "No."


After the psychological hell of the past weeks, returning to the bridge of a hyper-capable warship was a vast relief. Clasping his hands behind his back, Captain Landre heaved a deep, cleansing breath and eased his eyes over the stars of the Borleias system. The bridge of the Warlord was cramped compared to that of any Imperial-class Destroyer, but the nimble Victory-class warship still boasted a finer view of space than the dirtside command center at Bast Castle. As great an honor as it was to serve as commander of Lord Vader's private security force in the Vjun system, the captain was properly a Navy man, and there was no place like home.

"Captain," his XO called from the far side of the bridge. "We have an incoming live response from Imperial Center."

Quickly Landre reached up to adjust his cap with one hand, then strode across the bridge to the com suite. He nodded, brisk and smart, at his XO and stepped inside the captain's com station, activating the security systems before accepting the call.

As expected, it was Lord Vader.

"My lord." He snapped an abbreviated bow. "As per your orders, the squadron has assumed a covert position in the extreme edge of the Borleias system and is prepared to hyper to Imperial Center within one hour."

"My orders?" Vader snarled.

Landre blinked and swore internally as momentum deserted him. "Yes, my lord – "

"Which orders do you imagine those to be?" the Dark Lord seethed.

Landre could only gape. "My lord – you contacted me by Holonet a few days ago and personally ordered me to muster the squadron and deploy to Borleias."

"Whoever contacted you" – Vader seemed somehow to loom larger than the projector's settings should have allowed – "or whoever you are pretending has contacted you, it was not me."

"My lord," Landre pleaded, "the call carried your personal encryption key! It could not have come from anywhere but the Executor's com suite. Forgive me, but I spoke with you myself – there must be some mistake, I don't understand" – think, Landre, think, you can't make it sound like you're accusing him for Force's sake –

Vader suddenly hammered a fist into his console, so violently that sparks flickered across the transmission image. "Miyr," he hissed.

"M-my lord?"

Such was the dark lord's fury that it was minutes before he responded, instead pacing tightly across the transmission zone and venting his wrath on the console a few more times. "Disregard it, Captain," he finally barked. "I will deal with the responsible party."

"My lord, I'm sure the administrator – "

"I ordered you to disregard it!"

Landre snapped his mouth shut, trying to ignore the cold crawling thing in his belly. There was nothing he could do to help the administrator; he'd only be loosening his own precarious grip on the crumbling precipice of Vader's favor.

"Now that you are here," Vader continued in a marginally less murderous tone, "I may as well make use of you. Your squadron is to make the jump immediately to Coruscant. Upon arrival you will rendezvous with the Executor, retrieve two passengers, and conduct them out of system back to Vjun. Do you think you can accomplish that much, Captain?"

Landre ordered himself not to wince at the shearing sarcasm. "It will be done, my lord."

"It certainly will," the Dark Lord fired in parting, "or your service in the Imperial Navy will have ended. I assure you your retirement benefits will be superfluous."


Throughout the last hours of the day cycle of the ship, until the chimes sounded and dimmed the lights into night cycle, and now for several hours more, Leia had sat motionless on her little bunk, Vader's shout ringing in her ears. The shock was so tremendous she couldn't even be angry. Her heart pounded – slow, so slow. Her mind lay blank with horror and incomprehension. Daddy, Mother, and Alderaan – even Ferus and Luke and his little sisters – seemed as if they had never existed at all. This one day had swelled up and filled her whole world; everything before it must have happened to someone else. Absently she twisted a fold of her jumpsuit between her fingers, staring at the black wall opposite.

Could it be?

Leia tried to consider the question rationally. But there was nothing to be rational about. How could it be true? How could that – that demon really be her father, after the things he had done to her? That would mean he'd known the whole time, that he'd used her anyway – threatened her life to hurt the people she loved – could even Vader be so inhuman?

A few times, the consequence – that Luke and Sara and Sandra would be her siblings – tried to sooth her tormented mind, but the light of that thought was far too faint to drive back the shadow cast by Vader. Even absent, the terrible force of him shrouded her like that black, billowing cape. Maybe Luke and the little girls were nice, maybe she wouldn't even mind being their sister, but it was just a fantasy – had to be, because there was no way in heaven or any of the nine hells that he could be her father…

But then…why had he said it?

The door whirred open without warning and the lights came back on. Miyr, bringing her dinner. "Leia, I'm so sorry I forgot about your dinner – "

She stopped in her tracks as Leia pulled her eyes slowly up without budging her head. A deathly pallor wiped her face over. She put the tray down on the floor. "You heard him, didn't you?"

"Is it true?" Leia asked dully.

Miyr sat down next to her on the bunk, hands folded and leaning forward. "I only have Lord Vader's word for it myself."

"Do you believe him?"

"I believe that you are a point of unusual concern to him," Miyr hedged. "I've just spoken with him. He is sending a squadron to take you back to Bast Castle. You'll be leaving in an hour. He must be very concerned for your safety this close to the Emperor."

At Leia's bewildered expression, she added, "We're orbiting Imperial Center now."

"What if he's just worried my father will find out where I am?" Leia bit back.

"He's sending his personal physician with you, Dr. Siler," Miyr answered. "From that I have to conclude he does not trust your wellbeing to anyone else, which implies your wellbeing is of great importance to him."

Leia couldn't find a point at which to attack this argument, so instead she said, "But you're not coming. I thought you were supposed to be his babysitter."

"Administrator," Miyr corrected. "And I very much doubt you or any of his children will be seeing me again." She turned a wan, resigned smile on Leia. "I broke quite a few rules in the past few days, you see, and he's…not happy. In fact, you'd have more cause to be worried if I were coming with you."

Leia worked her tongue over her dry cheek. "What did you do?"

Miyr's laugh was short and weak. "Something I had to."

"And...you mean he's going to…"

Miyr straightened and flicked a bit of escaped hair back into Leia's braid. "You're my concern, Princess, not the other way around. Let me worry about Lord Vader. You should eat. There isn't much time and Lord Vader was very clear that he wanted you out of the system as soon as possible. We'll meet the shuttle as soon as it docks. I'll get some things ready for you."

"Thank you," Leia said miserably. Miyr gave her hand a strong squeeze and left.

Once she'd closed the door, she leaned heavily against it. Vader had listened in dead silence to her brief, volunteered confession. Not even a reprimand – only icy passivity, followed by a dismissive I will deal with you later. Someone less familiar with the man might not have thought him to be remarkably angry. Oh, but he was – that she had been ordered to loiter on the Executor alone rather than returning to her duties at Bast Castle proved his presumptuous administrator would no doubt soon become his ex-administrator.

Unless she became his late administrator instead.


Grand Admiral Octavian Grant was not delighted to see four uninvited Victory-class destroyers waltz into Imperial Center space, a fact he made no effort to conceal in his personal call to the squadron captain. Landre actually managed a smirk at his XO as he ended the conversation. "The Grand Admiral seems bent out of shape, doesn't he?"

"Can't imagine why, sir," his XO answered innocently. "We do have clearances from Lord Vader, after all."

Landre chuckled for the first time in weeks. All Navy officers were patriotic, but only the most zealous devotees of the New Order received the prestigious assignments to Capital Fleet. Grand Admiral Grant, commander of that fleet, possessed a rabid dedication to Imperial glory that quite possibly exceeded that of the Emperor himself. It was common knowledge that the admiral eyed Vader with suspicion at best; his flirtations with insubordination to the commander of the Imperial Navy were a fixture in the political editorials. Only Grant's unassailable loyalty to the Emperor had kept him out of the Dark Lord's stranglehold for so long.

Although forced to accept Landre's clearances, Grant evidently did not feel himself compelled to make the squadron's rendezvous with the Executor any easier. The Warlord's entire bridge was kept occupied by concerted harassment from Capital Fleet's com lieutenants, each with some petty complaint about the squadron's interference with patrol routes and traffic flow and regulation battle-readiness zones and a hundred other operating protocols. Thus distracted, nobody realized that a shadow was slipping around their sensors. If ComScan had noticed the anomaly, it might have concluded this shadow was a small ship, hiding in the sensor blind spot of the sublight engine interference of the last destroyer in the formation.

The stronger sensors of Capital Fleet could have examined the bogey more closely. But of course they had no way of knowing there were only supposed to be four ships in the squadron.


tbc