Sith spit!

He sure as hell hadn't considered this as a possibility! Not even remotely! Damn Sidious!

Vader had never moved so damn fast while wearing the kriffing suit. He had the Force, and he used it now to give him enhanced speed, making him almost a blur of motion as he raced for the turbolift.

The suit was usually too heavy to run that long in. Then again, as a Sith Lord, he rarely ever ran. He had no need to. But, when a ship was in the process of blowing up, one tended to move quite quickly and forget about insignificant trivialities...like the weight of their armor.

No, getting to the hangar bay and getting the hell off this doomed ship was all he cared about.

He reached the lift in record time, praying to the Force that it still worked. Thankfully, the doors swished open, and he was stuffing himself in, punching in the level of the hangar bay he'd left his ship in. Reaching out with the Force had him confirming it was still intact, but it wouldn't be for long. As long as the lift doors didn't open up to a fiery inferno, he didn't give a damn.

He'd never cared about the speed of a turbolift until that moment. For the first time ever, it felt agonizingly slow as it descended. All around him he could feel death in the Force as explosion after explosion ripped apart durasteel and rattled the imploding structure, slaughtering hundreds of innocent men and women aboard the ship in the process. Men and women Sidious had willingly sacrificed without a care in his attempt to kill Vader.

Or perhaps just to teach him a lesson. He highly doubted Sidious expected him to die here. No, Vader was much too resourceful for that. He'd proved that fact countless times over his entire life. So, all of this death, all of this panic and terror of innocent soldiers who had just been doing their jobs, was all for nothing.

For the first time in a long time, Vader felt a sickening jolt churning in his gut. Guilt.

Guilt that he hadn't destroyed Sidious when he should have two years ago. Guilt that it had taken him this long to come to his blasted senses. Guilt that there was nothing he could to help the poor souls on board this ship.

Guilt that he couldn't save them.

No. He had to save himself so that he could turn around and save his own crew and, most importantly, Padme. He was sure he could make it in time. The Executor wasn't that far. A few hours jump, if he pushed the hyperdrive to its very limit. There was nothing he could do except hope Piett could keep the Executor going until he got there. It certainly helped that it was the only super star destroyer in the entire galaxy, and it would take quite a bit for the ship to be brought down...but it didn't help that Sidious knew what it took to bring it down.

Kriff.

Suddenly, maddeningly, the lift jerked to a halt before it reached its destination. Vader cursed in Huttese, pulling his lightsaber out and igniting it as the lights in the lift blinked off. Power was down in that section of the ship. Maybe the whole ship. He stretched out again with the Force, judging the distance between the lift and where he needed to be. It wasn't that far. He'd climbed longer distances in turbolift shafts by hand with two full grown men hanging on him. He quickly pushed that memory aside as he stabbed his blade into the floor beneath him and quickly cut a hole out of the bottom just large enough for him to jump through.

For a few feet, he let himself fall, his cloak whipping in the wind rushing past him. Then, as his desired destination came closer, he stretched out with the Force and slowed his descent, pushing himself closer to the wall until he reached out with his mechanical hand and grasped one of the dangling, thick metal cords. He jerked to a halt, his shoulder joint complaining instantly with stabs of sharp pain shooting through him from the impact of it, but he ignored it. He didn't have time for the pain. He didn't have time for any of this, dammit!

He had to get to Padme!

So, gritting his teeth, he rappelled himself with the cable the rest of the way down the shaft to the appropriate door, bracing his legs against the lift shaft walls and using his lightsaber once more to cut out a hole big enough for him to get through.

This set of doors was thicker, so it took him longer than he would have liked to get through. When he did, he used the Force to push the metal out of the hole he'd cut and leapt through it, just as another massive explosion rocked the ship...and the lift he'd been in collapsed, falling behind him so fast he barely had time to realize that a mere moment later he would have been crushed.

An unfitting end for a Sith. Or whatever he now was. But that was a conundrum for a later time.

The hangar bay was sheer pandemonium. Soldiers and technicians dashed to and fro in a frantic attempt to get off the doomed it wasn't a fiery inferno, per se, (at least not yet) it was most definitely on fire. Multiple ships were either gone or had exploded already. Men lay dead or dying all across the hangar bay floor, men that he stepped over in his rush to get to his own ship which, thankfully, was still there and intact. Not that anyone could have stolen it. It required clearance codes to fly that only he and his own personal pilots were privy to.

But as he approached the ship, a warning trilled through the Force that had him pausing before the open ramp. While it wasn't possible for anyone here to fly his ship, it was possible to sabotage it.

Especially if the Emperor had known Vader would potentially betray him.

Ignoring his screaming instincts to get on the damn ship and fly straight to Padme, Vader stormed around to the front of his ship, prodding it with the Force even as he ran an expert look over the system. There! Sure enough, someone hadn't properly sealed the plate concealing the engine of the ship. Using the Force to rip the plate off, he peered inside.

Just as he suspected. Dammit!

A bomb. Wired into the ignition. Had he turned the ship on, it would have exploded, ripping it apart and killing him instantly.

Vader snorted in derision as he reached in and, with practiced fingers, removed the bomb. Of course, this triggered the count down, but he threw it far to the other side of the flight deck with the Force as he began checking the other parts of the ship. Clearly, whoever Sidious had ordered to sabotage his ship, didn't realize the Dark Lord was an excellent mechanic in addition to being an ace pilot and deadly Force wielder.

Imbeciles.

Finding a tracking device that suggested Sidious had anticipated Vader would likely locate the bomb, he crushed it with his metal hand and, now satisfied Sidious had no other nasty surprises waiting for him on his craft, he boarded the ship, entered his cockpit and began the take off sequence.

Technically, Lambda class shuttles were better flown with two people, but Vader was more than a skilled enough pilot to successfully finish the take off sequence in record time. None of the men on his own ship could have done it any faster. The ramp was lifted up, the engines roared to life, and the thrusters were pushing the ship out of the hangar bay and away from the now imploding ship with lightning speed. Vader didn't look back as he sensed the Emperor's flagship sputter for one last moment before it heaved and lurched, finally breaking apart in a massive explosion, pieces and chunks hurling like missiles in all directions throughout space.

A split second before he could activate the hyperdrive, however, something slammed into his shuttle, causing the whole vessel to shudder and roll sharply to the right. Instantly, an alarm began sounding in the cockpit. Righting the craft while looking down at the control panel with a frown, Vader cursed long and loud in every language he knew, his hands clenching around the controls reflexively. Dammit to all nine of the Corellian hells! A piece of the exploding ship must've pierced his hull, severing the landing gears hydraulics and preventing their use. Kriff! This certainly complicates things. Damn you, Sidious! Immediately flipping his shields on to maximum, he began contemplating different landing scenarios once he reached the Executor. Ruefully acknowledging his rather extensive prior experience with happy landings, he set his jaw with determination. He was the best pilot in the galaxy, dammit! He'd survived crash landings before. He'd survive this one, too.

But, if he didn't hurry, Vader knew his own star ship would meet a similar fate. All thanks to that conniving, black-hearted bastard he'd called Master.

Checking to make sure no further damage had occurred to his shuttle - specifically the hyperdrive - he heaved a sigh of relief to see it was fully functional. With rapid fire movements, his fingers flew over the navicomputer, inputting the coordinates for the Executor. The moment they were in, he modified the hyperdrive sequence so that it would push the shuttle as fast as the ship could go without breaking the vessel apart. Once he was satisfied, he pulled back on the lever, engaging the hyderdrive, and the star lines expanded until the ship blasted into the hyperlane.

Two hours. He had two hours to reach the Executor to save his wife and crew. He didn't know what he'd do once he got there-he'd need to assess the situation when he saw it. But he would make damn sure Padme survived. She had to. He couldn't lose her now.

And Luke and Leia needed her.

Dammit! If only he could contact her. He'd left his encrypted Sandstorm comm back in his quarters on the Executor. He could try Piett, but if they were already under attack, Piett might not respond. He was running out of options, faced with the prospect of being confined to tight quarters while he waited, anxiously and helplessly, to get to his ship and his beloved wife.

Unless….

No. It was madness. Insanity. The idea was so preposterous that he instantly recoiled. He hadn't touched that bond since he'd turned to the Dark Side. He didn't even know if it still existed. At least not in a usable form. Sure, he could feel it deep down. He could practically feel the dusty Force cobwebs on the bond he'd once shared with his previous master, broken and left to rot. Kenobi had clearly severed their bond on Mustafar.

But what other choice did he have? If the battle had yet to start, he needed to warn his wife, warn Piett and his crew, and if his wife was on board the Executor, he was certain Kenobi was, too.

He had run out of options.

This was the only other thing he could try.

So, with a scowl, he tentatively reached deep down to that broken bond, grasping it tightly and broadcasting his message…

Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.


"Well, there it is."

"I still say this is more like...like suicide."

"You would say that," was muttered under her breath.

"Excuse me? What did you just say?" Arched eyebrows reached the hairline of her copilot, as he turned to stare at her.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, she replied, "I said, Duly noted," while typing in the comm codes Vader had provided to hail his ship.

Narrowing his blue-green eyes, the Jedi Master simply leaned back in his chair, reaching up to stroke his ginger beard, "Hmmm…"

At that moment, the comm beeped, and she reached over to flip it on.

"Greetings, Lady Nightblade. You are cleared for landing." A woman with a cultured, imperial accent said over the ship's comm frequency. Padme didn't bother to respond as she switched the comm off and began to guide the ship towards the indicated hangar bay. Even on a massive star destroyer like the Executor, she could tell it was the primary bay.

Likely meaning, it was Vader's personal one.

As she guided the ship, she tried not to think of what would be awaiting her, or the possibility of this being a trap. But to be fair, Vader hadn't captured her either during their last few meetings as Vader and Nightblade, nor during her unknowing meetings with him as Sandstorm, even though he'd had ample opportunity to do so...even after having found her hiding place on Gandle Ott and literally visiting her in her own home.

No, he'd walked away, left her and the children alone, unharmed. Which she still didn't understand.

However, the idea of confronting him made her stomach twist into knots and her mind swirl in confusion…and indecision on what to do. To the side, Obi-Wan had the holovid on, playing what was now being broadcast on every known station across the galaxy.

Vader's message.

So far, it had been basically what he'd told the Alliance. He had killed the Emperor. He and his men were retreating into exile, and he had no desire to take up the mantle of Emperor. The transfer of power would go back to the Senate immediately, and the Empire would dissolve as the Senate deemed appropriate. It was as he was mentioning the removal of bounties and war crimes on members of the Rebellion that she finished docking the ship into his private hangar bay.

Just looking out the viewport at the fancy, modified ships was enough to confirm this was definitely his personal hangar.

When she powered the ship down, the holovid switched off, too. "He's not here yet." Obi-Wan stated grimly in response to her unspoken question, turning to give her a pointed look. "Honestly, the galaxy doesn't feel any different than it did yesterday. Or even an hour ago. I should think if Sidious were dead, a massive shift in the Force would've occurred, and yet, I've sensed nothing. So, how do we know he really killed the Emperor? How do we know this isn't a trap?"

They didn't. "It's a little late to turn back now." She pointed out dryly, reaching up to place her mask over her nose and mouth, hiding her lower face. "If we attempt to escape and it is a trap, the tractor beam will keep us from getting away from the Executor."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "He might very well decide to throw me out of an airlock the moment he senses me here."

"He promised us both that we'd leave here unharmed, Obi-Wan. Have a little faith, hmm."

"I don't need faith. He's a Sith. Sith don't keep promises." He was right, of course. But again, it was too late to turn back now. Even if it was a fool's hope, even if it was so small that she could barely feel it, she had to know.

She had to investigate. To know what happened...and why.

Her Anakin would have done the same for her, had the tables been turned. She didn't respond to him as she keyed in the release on the ramp and got out of the pilot's chair to leave the ship. With a sigh and muttering under his breath about stubborn Skywalkers being the death of him, Obi-Wan pulled on his hood and grudgingly trudged after her.

Waiting at the bottom of the ramp was a lone man. None of the grand Imperial fanfare that she'd so often seen presented for important visitors, meant to intimidate and impress. Just one lone man.

An Admiral, if his insignia on his uniform was to be believed.

As she appeared, he gave a short, stiff bow. "Lady Nightblade." His accent was also cultured. Inner core. Imperial. Yet, there was nothing but respect in his tone. How odd. And, rather unexpected. She'd anticipated frosty civility at best. Not courteous politeness."It's a true pleasure to finally meet you, Madam."

She tilted her head, observing the man with a keen eye. Admiral. Every admiral she'd met before had been sniveling, power hungry bootlickers. She assumed the Admiral on Vader's ship would be no less, given that he served on one of the most powerful vessels - if not the most powerful - in the known universe under the command of the junior Sith Lord in the galaxy, the Second in Command of the entire Empire. But if he was, he was excellent at hiding it. "I highly doubt that." She replied, as she strode down the ramp with firm, determined steps. Behind her, Obi-Wan followed closely on her heels. "I have, after all, killed many of your fellow officers."

"Try not to upset him, Milady. There's no need to remind him of that." Obi-Wan stated dryly from beside her, his face hidden deep inside his hood, his hands folded together inside his cloak sleeves.

Still, as the man straightened, he didn't look that concerned at all. Quirking an eyebrow, his lips twitched and his tone was, dare she say, almost amused. "To be fair, Milady, so has your husband."

She raised an eyebrow herself. So. Vader had told him at least the bare minimum of their legal relationship. She ran another appraising look over the man, re-evaluating him and the situation. An Admiral, and a man Vader trusted enough with their deepest secret. "Your name?" She demanded.

"Admiral Piett, at your service, Milady." He replied with another smart bow of his head.

Piett. Interesting. She'd never seen his name come up on lists of Imperials who had committed awful atrocities. In fact, she hadn't heard his name at all. Strange, for someone so high up. How very...peculiar. "Where is Lord Vader?" She would still not admit openly that he was her husband.

But then again, she hadn't denied it, either, this time.

Feeling something long dormant stirring to wakefulness deep within her gut at the thought of her husband, she ignored it and focused instead on the moment, and matter, at hand.

"He has not returned from his—ah, mission." Piett cleared his throat and stepped aside. "Please. Follow me. I've been instructed to guide you to the conference room in Lord Vader's private wing of the ship. He will meet you there when he returns."

A conference room. Impersonal. Business like. Again, not very much like her husband. Had he been acting as a husband, he probably would have sent Obi-Wan to some secluded holding cell while he brought her to his personal quarters in an attempt to persuade her to stay with him. Her lips twisted behind the mask at that thought. But of course, it wouldn't have worked. Vader likely knew that now, and…what, did he genuinely just want to talk?

Meeting in a conference room, especially with Obi-Wan present, suggested that yes, he just intended to talk. Nothing more.

It only added to her confusion. And, her unease.

Admiral Piett led them through the corridors of the ship. While it had an updated feel to it, it was eerily similar to the ships the Republic had utilized under the Jedi's command during the Clone Wars. Because, she reminded herself bitterly, the Republic had morphed into the Empire. Her sworn enemy was once the very thing she'd fought so long and hard for. Now, everything once useful for good had been put into the service of unmitigated evil. Even the very ships the Jedi, and therefore her husband, had commanded.

There were no soldiers or Stormtroopers in the hallways. The only beings they passed were droids of various makes, models, and sizes. "Where is everyone?" Obi-Wan wondered aloud. A surprise. She'd doubted he'd speak to the Imperial, but she supposed even The Negotiator couldn't keep himself from making polite conversation...or fishing for information. Jedi, she couldn't help but think with a snort.

"This is Lord Vader's personal wing of the ship. Members of the 501st typically patrol these halls, but given today's, ah, unusual circumstances, all hands have evacuated this section of the ship and are ready at their assigned battle stations." Admiral Piett replied with a quick glance to Padme before turning straight ahead again.

But she ignored the look, instead focusing on the last part of his statement. "Battle stations?" She echoed, slowing her steps a little, her eyebrows arched.

Piett nodded. "Yes, Milady. In case Lord Vader fails."

Force!

Padme's mouth went dry at the thought. She admittedly hadn't considered that possibility. No. That thought hadn't even entered her mind. Vader seemed so much stronger than the frail Emperor. In fact, he'd killed Dooku. Why would he fail in killing another Sith?

"So, he's really doing it then?" Obi-Wan questioned tensely. There was clearly still disbelief in his voice.

Piett didn't reply for a moment before he stopped at a door and turned to face them. "So our briefings say, yes."

Padme tilted her head, considering him. "And you're just going to follow him into an unknown future? Into exile to who knows where? You and all of your crew?" Surely, there had to be those who didn't want to leave their families and lives behind.

"If that's what Lord Vader asks of us, we will do it." Piett replied with only the slightest hesitation. "We knew what we signed up for in joining Lord Vader's crew, Milady...just as you knew what you agreed to when you became an assassin for the Rebellion. Perhaps one day we can return to a galaxy at peace, but until then, we will serve Lord Vader faithfully."

She frowned behind her mask, even more confused than ever. She'd heard stories of how Vader killed his men for the slightest of mistakes, the merest infraction. She'd assumed his people would be absolutely terrified of him. Perhaps they were, but there was still something akin to unwavering loyalty in Piett's demeanor. Shocking and most unexpected to say the least. There were likely people aboard who were more hesitant than their Admiral, but still...She didn't understand it.

Piett cleared his throat and motioned to the door as it swished open to reveal a simple, plain conference room with a viewport showing the black emptiness of space. "We will wait for Lord Vader in here. I've been instructed to wait with you until he returns."

Great. She didn't exactly fancy making small talk with the man. But, she supposed if he was waiting with them, they weren't likely being thrown into a prison cell. Or…whatever else Vader could do given their unusual circumstances. Like the airlock scenario Obi-Wan mentioned.

Thankfully, Piett didn't seem to mind the silence, oppressive though it was. As Padme and Obi-Wan settled down in the not-too-comfortable chairs surrounding the oblong conference table, Piett pulled out a data pad and began to work, tapping away at the keys when it became clear neither she nor the Jedi were interested in idle chit chat.

Padme thought it would continue that way until Vader returned, but suddenly Obi-Wan stiffened, his body going taut as his blue-green eyes narrowed. "Admiral." He bit out harshly, shaking the other man from his work.

"What's wrong?" Padme asked, going tense as well. Her hand inched toward the lightsaber at her side.

"Vader failed. We're about to be under attack."

The words were pained, with just a hint of shocked disbelief, as if Obi-Wan couldn't quite believe he was uttering the words himself.

Padme's body went ice cold. Failed. What the kriff did that mean? Was An…Vader dead? Or had he turned on them once again? Or perhaps the Emperor had captured him….?

Admiral Piett frowned, but he was already opening up communication channels with the bridge on his data pad. "How do you know this, Master Jedi?" He was asking as he moved, his fingers quick and precise as he punched in orders on the data pad. Shortly afterwards, the wail of Imperial alarms began resounding throughout the ship, making Padme wince, a shudder racing through her.

Battle stations.

"Because, Admiral, Vader told me himself." Obi-Wan's voice was tight with displeasure. Padme's frown deepened. She hadn't known any shred of their Force connection was still there, let alone that Vader would use it.

If Piett thought that was weird, he didn't let on. Honestly, he was probably used to the eccentric ways of his Sith commander. Communicating through the Force with a Jedi from wherever he was in the galaxy was probably not on the top of strange things Piett had seen while working for the Sith Lord. He stood up abruptly, and the doors to the conference room swished open. "I must go to the bridge." He said as he left, but Padme and Obi-Wan were already following him. He paused. To the left of them was a large viewport peering into the endless blackness of space. "Lord Vader would likely prefer you stayed here…"

Padme stared out. So far, there were no signs of them being under attack.

"Be that as it may, Admiral," Obi-Wan growled tersely, "I was a general in the Clone Wars. I commanded Star Destroyers…albeit smaller ones. What's more, I have the Force. I can help."

"Why would you want to help us?" Piett asked, obviously surprised, though he did his best to hide it.

Obi-Wan glanced at Padme, who barely noticed. Her eyes were still searching out the viewport, looking for the first signs of the danger that was to come. "Because we're stuck on this ship with you. It's the least I can do if I want to get us," he motioned between Padme and himself, "out of this mess alive."

Padme flinched. Unlike Obi-Wan, she had no experience commanding starships or battle cruisers. She wasn't a military tactician. She had been aboard Star Destroyers before, yes, but only as a passenger. Her assassin training didn't exactly cover this sort of military combat. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt helpless in the coming battle. She wouldn't be of much use unless, Force forbid, they were boarded. She highly doubted she'd be able to negotiate a peaceful way out of this looming conflagration either, especially given that she was supposed to be dead and Sidious no doubt wanted her to stay that way.

Diplomatic aspirations would therefore be futile.

Piett hesitated, but just as he did, six Star Destroyers appeared out of hyperspace in the distance. He swore, turning on his heel and running for the lift doors. "Let's go, General!" Piett called back over his shoulder.

Obi-Wan was already moving. "Nightblade, stay here!" Obi-Wan shouted over his shoulder before he too disappeared into the lift, leaving Padme alone and feeling utterly alone and worse...helpless.

She stared out at the fast approaching ships, dread coiling in her stomach, as they began to fire upon the Executor. The ship shuddered, but the shields held. But, for how long? She didn't know. She didn't know all that much about a normal Star Destroyer's capabilities, other than the very basics. She couldn't even begin to guess how long the shields on the Super Star Destroyer would hold. She didn't know if, despite its size, it could win against six destroyers. If Sidious was still alive, and Vader had failed…then the entire galaxy knew of his treachery by now. Sidious would have made sure of it.

Thus, there would be no one coming to help, to render aid. With dread, she realized...they were on their own. One ship against probably the entire Imperial Navy.

Kriff!

The ship was shifting, turning to face the oncoming attackers head on. TIE fighters began to pour out from some unknown hangar bay, screeching past the viewport. She began to move, unconsciously, looking for another viewport to better watch the unfolding battle. She wished she'd gone with Piett and Obi-Wan, if only so that she could see the technical readouts of the battle. She supposed she could try to find the bridge on her own, but she'd likely get lost, and she was sure all of Vader's personnel were a little busy at the moment trying to keep the ship from being annihilated.

She found another viewport that brought the six star destroyers back into view. The Executor was firing back now with all its laser cannons, and other TIEs from the other destroyers had come out en force to defend their own ships. They were now locked in a brutal dog fight with the Executor's own fighter pilots, explosions lighting up the immediate vicinity, as ships were hit and broke apart in a molten shower of debris.

Other than the clanging noise of the ongoing alarms and the occasional shuddering of the ship, she couldn't hear anything. Space was silent. The only noises you could hear out there were from your own ship. Here, stuck alone in the massive expanse of rooms that made up Vader's private quarters, the scene playing out before her, as chaotic and frenetic as it was, stayed eerily silent. She shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms.

It was like being stuck on Coruscant again. All those times…watching Anakin leave her, never knowing when or if he was going to come back home. She knew he was capable. If anything, he was the most likely of all the Jedi to come home to her, alive at least. Still. It was war. Accidents happened. Even to Jedi. She'd thrown herself into her work in the Senate, hoping that if she could maybe find a diplomatic solution, she could help end the war sooner rather than later.

And thereby increase Anakin's - and the rest of the Jedi's - chances of survival.

Now, here she stood. Alone. Helpless. Watching. Waiting. And this time, there was no Senate to throw herself into. Perhaps she should have insisted on taking a TIE out there. True, she wasn't as accomplished a fighter pilot as Anakin, but she was still a Skywalker, dammit! She was still just as good, if not more so, than many of the TIE pilots under Vader's command. But, no question that Obi-Wan wouldn't have let her. TIE's didn't have shielding, for one thing. And, she hadn't ever been alone in a dog fight before, either. She'd always had Anakin or Obi-Wan with her whenever she'd gotten into a battle in space.

She uncrossed her arms and clenched her fists, hating the feeling of impotence that gripped her. She had become an assassin, in part to never feel this way again, and yet here she stood. Powerless. Ineffective. Useless. It was galling, really.

She didn't know how long it was she stood there. Minutes? Hours? She didn't know. It seemed interminable, but she stood so long. Eyes glued to the raging battle until her feet began to ache and her back strained from staying still for too long. At one point, the lead attacking Star Destroyer's shields broke under the Executor's overpowering offensive, and soon enough, she watched the hull of the ship break up into smaller bits with explosions ripping through it's underbelly.

Her jaw clenched. One down, five to go, she thought grimly. How much shielding did they have left? How much shielding did the other five ships have?

More importantly, where the hell was Vader?

Something suddenly caught her eye. Blinking, she whipped her head around, squinting to try and get a better view. A Lamda class shuttle, damaged but still moving swiftly to adjust course away from the fire fight it had almost dropped out of hyperspace into. She frowned. What was that doing there? Again, she was no expert in ships, but she knew enough about that particular model to know that it was a luxury ship with very few weapons. They usually carried important Imperials or other dignitaries. She figured one day she'd have to know the basics of that model of ship if she needed to assassinate someone onboard one. The last place she'd ever expect to see one then would be in the middle of a space battle.

For one absurd moment, she thought it might have been the Emperor himself come to view the destruction of Vader's precious flagship. She quickly realized that wasn't possible. The Emperor would have been on one of the Star Destroyers if that were the case, but if he was stupid enough to take a shuttle to the battle, he wouldn't do it on an already damaged ship. Plus, there would be an escort with him. There was none of that.

So, no. This couldn't be Sidious.

As it looped towards the Executor, coming in at full speed, Padme gasped aloud as understanding hit her, her right hand flying up to clutch around the base of her throat.

Vader. It had to be him.

It was coming right for the hangar she herself had arrived in hours before. There was smoke trailing behind the ship, but it held steady. It raced away from the battle at such a high rate of speed, that she thought it might make it away safely.

At least until a stray blast, or a particularly well aimed one, hit one of the wings of the ship.

She cried out, both her hands flying up to her mouth, which was still shielded behind her mask, as she watched the ship veer off course, the whole ship shuddering and shimmying, then barely straighten itself out. It was almost to the Executor. Just a little further…

But it wasn't slowing down.

She was moving before she even made the conscious decision to do so. The doors to the conference room whisked open. She ran down the corridor at a flat out sprint, running faster than she'd ever run before. Her feet leading her unerringly toward the hangar bay, desperation driving her every step.

No. Not today. Not now, not when hope was suddenly so close…

She reached the hangar just in time to see Vader's ship come barreling in out of control, slamming to the deck with tremendous force, skidding and screeching across the deck plating, leaving a trail of fiery sparks in its wake, until it finally went careening headlong into the far opposite wall, smashing into the durasteel with an ear piercing boom.

And practically disintegrated in an explosion of flames.

Force, no!


Whew! Another chapter down! Sorry for slow updates. Someone made some mistakes at work and I'm trying to clean it up...so I'm a bit stressed out right now. I will try to update the next chapter faster (especially with that cliffy).

Review!

Love,

Sarah