Packing was always an unpleasant task, but when it was the one task that was stopping her from leaving to save her friend right now, it really took the cake.

"Your Highness, are you sure you won't need—"

"I'm sure, Ana." She ignored one of her aides to glance at herself in the mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before she grabbed another pair off trousers and threw them into the case. She'd need to be prepared, every time she visited a Rebel base—she never knew what she'd have to do there, or how long she'd be stuck there, but security reasons.

"Your Highness—"

"Not now—"

"Your father is calling you."

Leia froze.

Spun around.

Snatched the commlink from Ana's hands and glanced at the caller ID. Sure enough, it was Bail.

"Thank you," she said. "You are dismissed."

Ana nodded at her and left the room, her heavily braided hair thumping against her back with every step.

Leia stepped into the privacy of her bedroom in her senatorial apartment, took a deep breath, and answered. The comm sat in the palm of her hand; she smiled at the miniature of her father when he materialised. "Papa, I have to tell you—"

"You need to come to base—"

"—I need to come to base—"

She cut herself off, laughing a little; he jerked in shock. He looked so confused—for a moment, she regretted not telling him who Angel truly was a long time ago, so they wouldn't be in this situation.

But she'd had her reasons then, and she had her reasons now.

She… she would inevitably tell someone once she got to Yavin IV. This secret was dangerous, but she wouldn't see Luke hurt by his own allies for it.

She refused.

After a moment of awkward silence, Bail said, "I presume Angel has already informed you of what transpired."

"They did," she confirmed. "They and their associates." Because Luke's description of this event had been significantly different to the chaotic mess Han had described—and significantly further from the truth.

Bail sighed. "I understand that holding this… prisoner… here is a dilemma—morally and politically. Kidnapping is not a record I want the Alliance to have, nor do I want to treat…" He glanced at Leia, but he knew that Ahsoka had told her the truth. "…your brother this way. But my unbending stance is not shared by those of the council who are of a more… pragmatic mind, and I cannot deny that the advantages we could gain from this are astronomical."

"They are far less than you think, Papa," Leia said. "You will understand that—at least, Mon may—once I am there. There is something important I need to tell you."

"I know you are friends with your brother—Ahsoka told me about your reaction to him." Leia flinched; it was obvious that Ahsoka hadn't told her father the classified part of why Leia had reacted that way, which she was grateful and glad to hear, but this would be hard to explain. "But he is the heir to the Empire we are seeking to destroy."

"So he should be worked with, not alienated."

"He has not helped his own case there, I'm afraid," he said wryly. "Even Mon, who is… inclined to treat any relative of your mother, Padmé, with grace, found him… patriotic and imperialist to a fault. She was quite disgusted." Leia opened her mouth— "Leia, I do not understand what your friendship—"

"You will, Papa. I promise that." She reached to pull the sheets on her bed up to her pillow, then smiled a little sardonically at him. "I will be there as soon as possible. And even if that is not enough to persuade you not to hurt him—"

"I have no interest in hurting him at all."

"I know. But persuade the others not to hurt him knowing this." She leant forwards. "Vader loves him—no. No, I see you doubting, and listen to me. Vader loves him, as much as you and Mama love me. Hurting him would be…"

Bail gritted his teeth.

"Leia," he whispered, "don't you think we know that? Why do you think the idea of holding him hostage is so appealing?"

Leia sighed.

"I'll be there. Don't you dare hurt him."

She bent her head.

"Just imagine if it was me who was kidnapped."


Now he was still and silent in his cell, instead of snarking against Senator Mothma, he could finally embrace how much his nose really hurt. He was struggling to take deep breaths, whether he sat upright, lay down or on his side, and blood had been steadily trickling from his left nostril until it stopped, finally, and he could stop staining his sleeve red to mop it up.

What sort of trouble was he in now?

That conversation had gone terribly.

What was going to happen to him now?

He wanted to believe that the Alliance wouldn't stoop to levels like assassination or bodily harm. They… they were better than the Empire. But now he was here, he was finding that his faith was starting to run dry, his doubt a twin sun system that scorched any remaining hope to dust.

He could hope that they would be merciful.

But he had no power to prevent it.

What would happen now?

Mothma's words echoed in his head. It is a shame that Padmé's son gained so much of her intelligence and wit, yet so little of her goodness.

That stung.

He wished it didn't.

But it stung. Perhaps it was why he was going on this whole self-deprecating, depressing spiral in the first place.

His mother was his idol. Since he'd learnt who she was, since he'd met her family—Pooja had become a particularly close friend—she had been the woman he aspired to be like. Though his heists had originally had nothing to do with her… the more he thought about it, and the Rebel cause, the prouder he was that she had been one of the founders.

At least—it seemed that way. From what Leia had told him, and what he had uncovered in his own research, it certainly seemed that way.

Mothma had no way of knowing that. No way of knowing him. Her comment was impersonal, meant to strike where she'd hoped it would hit.

Well, she'd been right. It did hit.

He missed his father.

He missed his constant reassurances, his validation of Luke's uncertainties, his undying support.

When he teared up, he didn't realise it until his vision blurred and the blood on his face was cut through by saltwater.

He missed his father.


With Luke gone, their home was more full of him than ever—Vader could feel his presence in every room, every doorway, if only because his absence was so strong.

A part of him wanted to avoid the place. It was hard to deal with under normal circumstances, when Vader had been forced to stop on Coruscant for a few nights in between missions but Luke had been parsecs away at the junior academy, the apartment empty and lonely. But this…

Knowing where his son likely was…

It was impossible.

But also, it was the closest connection he could get to his son, in a time when both distance, circumstance and the Force had cut him off from him. He was caught in an ebb and flow, wanting to be there, closer, to hold onto memories of his boy… and also to stay as far away as possible until Luke was returned.

Now, he was in the ebb—and storming through the control rooms of the Palace, where the search for Luke had been coordinated by the best experts in the Empire—that is to say, experts Vader had insisted be brought down from the Executor.

"Have you found anything yet!?"

"We have searched for DNA and other traces in your apartment, my lord, but found nothing outside of what you and your son have left. Some threads of black clothing—"

"Analyse them," Vader ordered. "Luke wears colourful clothes, not black. That will be Angel's wear." He did sometimes wear black—he'd used to like white, before he branched out—but only when Vader forced him to; otherwise, it was almost like he was actively trying to oppose his father—

"It could be from your clothing, my lord."

Right.

Still. "Analyse them and we will know."

"Yes, my lord."

"Is there anything else?"

"We ran comparisons between the recording of Angel's voice and voices identified in the records—of dignitaries, troopers, pilots, any visitors to the Palace, anyone in Imperial records, including between Angel and your son when they spoke at different parts of the message, to gauge a baseline."

"And?" Vader insisted.

The officer hesitated.

The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

He swallowed.

"We have found no close matches, my lord," he reported.

Vader wanted to roar.

"There were some weak matches with certain individuals—a pilot, a stormtrooper—"

"Have them thrown in the cells. I will interrogate them and find out if the similarity is more than superficial." He jabbed a finger in the officer's face. "Continue with your work and do not fail me again."

He constricted the man's throat slightly, to get his point across. The sharp, attempted intake of breath; face draining of colour; reaching for his throat—

Vader let go.

The officer gasped for air; everyone around them studiously ignored them both. He rubbed at his neck, the cuff of his uniform falling down to reveal…

A bright pink woven friendship bracelet, with thin yellow beads clinging to a few strands for dear life.

Vader clenched his fists and turned away sharply.

Luke protected these men even when they failed to protect him back.


Time was liquid in the cell.

Luke had lost count of how long he'd spent here now, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't bothered counting at first, and he didn't want to ask his guards how long it had been—his nose still hurt—so he had no idea what time it was when that Togruta woman approached.

He sensed her coming for fairly far off, with nothing to do in the cell except give himself to the Force and listen, unpicking any anomalies he could sense. There was buzzing around the base, but no Force-sensitives that he could feel—the Rebellion's token Jedi must be away, or not based here—other than her. She spent the whole time feeling anxious, flitting around talking to people like a nervous butterfly, and only once did she contact him in the Force, though they'd been monitoring each other for hours:

I will come soon, she promised.

Luke had no idea what that was supposed to mean. He had no idea how to respond.

So he didn't.

He just waited for her to show up, and when she did, he was sitting up before the guards had even opened his door for her.

The moment it closed, she said, "You are strong in the Force. You are trained."

"Partly."

"You could have escaped at any moment, couldn't you?"

Luke quirked his lips to the side. "I don't think your Rebellion is equipped to hold Jedi or Sith."

"Well, that would be because of the lack of them." She folded her hands behind her back in a way that reminded him of his father's familiar gesture, if a little smoother and more natural, and tilted her head towards the bunk. "May I sit down?"

He was getting a crick in his neck from craning his head up to look at her, so he appreciated that. "If you wish."

She perched on the edge, notably pointedly giving him personal space, and he appreciated that too—appreciated that she was trying to give him a little agency in a situation that he had no control in whatsoever.

"My name is Ahsoka Tano," she said once they were seated.

After a moment, he said, "I assume you already know who I am."

"I know what you're called," she confirmed. "But I don't know who you are, Luke Skywalker."

He gave her a self-deprecating grin. "I'm the Imperial Prince."

"You're Anakin Skywalker's son. You're Padmé Amidala's son. Senator Mothma takes great offence to the fact that you claim to be so loyal to their killer."

Luke said nothing.

"Leia told me what you've done for us," Ahsoka said. "So I ask again: why haven't you broken out of this cell and already escaped?"

"You know why." He gave the walls of his cell a mournful look. "I'm more use to the Rebellion as a hostage prince than I am as Angel."

And he… didn't want to go home yet, as dull as it was here.

He didn't want to face his father after—

Ahsoka cocked her head. "I wouldn't sell yourself short on Angel."

"I don't. But nor do I sell short what they could get out of having the prince captured and in their custody. Especially if they ransom me back, and I can go back to working as Angel."

"That would be the best outcome of all these things," Ahsoka agreed. "But are you not afraid the Alliance will kill you, in order to make a statement?"

Luke swallowed.

"Of course I'm afraid of that. I don't want to die."

"But you're still here."

"But I trust that the Rebellion are moral enough not to kill an eighteen-year-old for war crimes he didn't commit, even if it was for a reason, like to stop him from ever committing them. I didn't choose to fight for this cause because I thought they were ruthlessly pragmatic the way my father is. I did it because they had an ethical backbone the Empire lacked and I didn't want to see them disadvantaged because of it." He swallowed. "And now I guess my life depends on whether or not I chose right."

Ahsoka smiled.

"I like to think you did," she murmured.

It was not a confirmation. It was just an empty reassurance.

But Ahsoka was close with Senator Mothma, clearly, so it was a reassurance all the same.

"I just came from a meeting with High Command," she continued with little preamble. Good; that was reassuring too, and implied it was relevant somehow… "They have allowed me to come and speak to you, and trust me to say whatever I think is necessary considering the delicate situation I've hinted at but not fully explained to them."

"You haven't explained it to them?" He tried—and failed—to keep the nervousness out of his tone. If they still didn't know, and Ahsoka refused to tell them…

"Leia is on her way. It is not my secret to tell, but I trust Mon and so does she. I'm sure that with your safety on the line, she will tell it."

Luke nodded, relaxing minutely, a little further.

"Until then, they've decided to use you as a hostage. They will make demands in exchange for your continued safety; I'm sure your father will agree, so you have nothing to fear—"

"He won't agree."

Ahsoka blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"He loves me," Luke said, watching how Ahsoka's expressions fell further and further into… horror, shock, distaste… with every word, "but he is dedicated to the Empire. If the Rebels' demands err too closely to bringing it down, that is not a decision he will decide to make."

Ahsoka was silent for a long moment. "Then your father is far changed from the man whose apprentice I used to be," she said gravely. "I find that difficult to believe."

Luke shrugged. "It's been nearly two decades, and he's Darth Vader. He's… changed a lot from how you knew him, I assume."

"Yes," she said. "Evidently."

There was a beeping outside.

Luke jerked his head up in surprise—he hadn't sensed anyone coming, but after a moment that made sense. The guards grumbled as they let Artoo in, quietly cursing in his wake. It sounded like he'd run over someone's foot.

Two of Artoo's retractable claws were clutching a small tub, with an icepack and a medical pack in it.

"I asked Artoo to bring some of this so I could set your nose, if you wanted," Ahsoka said. "Unless you'd prefer…?"

"No, you can do it, thank you."

She turned to face him on the bunk; he turned to face her, closing his eyes and trying not to flinch when he felt her cool fingers on his face. He gasped, lightly, as she did it, but then it was over, tears were flooding down his cheeks, and she was pressing the icepack to his face.

"Thank you." His voice was muffled.

"You're welcome." Once he had a good grip on the icepack himself, she lowered her hands. "You have nothing to worry about, Luke. You might have your doubts about your father, but—"

"I don't think you know him as well as you think you do."

"I don't think you do," she retorted. "Or there's been a fundamental miscommunication between you. I saw Anakin walk through hell and fight the Force itself to protect your mother, during the Clone Wars. He fought for the Republic, but he fought for it for her. You cannot convince me it's not the same for you."

"And then my mother refused to support the Empire, and he killed her."

There was a moment of silence.

That had shocked Luke as much as it had Ahsoka.

He… had known that. His father had admitted that it was why it was so painful for him to talk about her—he had hurt her, he had lashed out and lost her by his own hand, and he regretted it with every fibre of his being—and Luke had known it for years.

He hadn't realised how that fed into his fears about Vader finding out about Angel.

His father loved them both fiercely and deeply. But it had not stopped him from defending the Empire—as the Emperor had put it, the one time he'd tried to bring it up, in the conversation that had caused Luke to ghost him for so many months—then, and it would not now.

"I don't think that's what happened," Ahsoka said.

"You weren't there."

"But I've spoken to someone who was. And I know Anakin. He lashed out, he hurt her—but I don't think he did it for the Empire. He did it because he was afraid of losing her."

"And then he did."

"And then he did. But he didn't kill her."

Luke glanced up at that. He wished he could grimace without his nose hurting so much.

"Padmé survived for over a day after that confrontation on Mustafar—"

"It was on Mustafar!?" The place of his father's Sith retreat, the one Luke had barely ever been allowed to visit with him, and no wonder

"—and was healthy enough to give birth to you and Leia, before she died. It was not Anakin who killed her."

"Then who was it?"

Because she was dead.

She was dead, and Luke had never met her.

Ahsoka looked pained.

"The medics say she was perfectly medically sound when she died," she said. "And we have long theorised that Palpatine managed to steal her life from her, somehow."

Luke blinked.

He… that…

The darkness he'd felt for years, in Palpatine's presence, the darkness he'd thought was familiar because he'd met him as a baby in his father's arms—

Had it been familiar for another reason?

Had he hated it so much for another reason?

Had he always avoided Palpatine, even when he was too young to intellectually know the horrors he committed and encouraged, because he had seen that horror happen to a woman he loved as dearly as his mother, when he had barely breathed for the first time?

"Oh," was all he said.

It was all he could say.

Ahsoka's wrist-mounted comlink blinked, and she glanced at it; a moment later, she stood up. "I have to go soon," she said. "But until then—is there anything I can do for you? Captain Solo is no longer on base, he and Chewbacca left, so they can't visit you, but your friend, Veers—"

"No." Luke shook his head. "Don't tell Zev I'm here. He'll try something stupid to get me out."

Artoo twittered. It sounded like laughter.

Luke gave him a look. "And you haven't done anything stupid in your life, is that it?"

Artoo was suspiciously silent.

Ahsoka put a hand on his shoulder. "It will be alright, Luke," she promised. "Even if you don't believe it."

He looked her in the eye.

He said, "This isn't going to go the way you think."


Vader pounced on the man who came to inform him that the Rebels had made contact, and wasted no time in playing the message on the central monitor.

Senator Mothma's face stared out at him, bold and blue.

"Lord Vader," her pre-recorded message began. "As I am sure you are already aware, the Alliance have your son and heir. This message is our initial proposal. If you intend to reply to our terms, we demand you release a public broadcast about the matter containing your reply. We will see it."

She paused for a moment, just enough for Vader's rage to boil, but then he had to force it down again before it whited out any noise, before he missed—

"—we consider our moral stance against unprovoked punishment to include any Imperial associates innocent of specific crimes, unlike the Empire's stance on those of Rebels. However, Luke Skywalker is a person of interest for multiple reasons.

"He is the prince of the Empire we are fighting to destroy. He is trained as a soldier in your academies. He is a powerful symbol for the Imperial youth to inspire and relate to. And, most importantly, he is your son—with the same potential to be trained in your mystic ways and wreak the same havoc on the innocent peoples of the galaxy."

None of them were innocent.

Not if they would kidnap a boy and justify holding him at blasterpoint.

Oh, the Rebels would pay for this. He was glad they felt so threatened by his son, Luke was strong, Luke could and would crush them—

And they would pay for trying to crush him before he did.

"We understand if you are concerned for him. He is your son. Though we—in particular, I"—Mothma's eyes were burning and he wanted to gouge them out—"continue to wholeheartedly condemn your practice of kidnapping the child of a noble Jedi and Senator, and raising him to be everything they would have hated—"

He snarled, and drowned out the next few words. They knew nothing, the fools—Luke had clearly told them nothing, and they were still wallowing in their ignorance.

She knew nothing.

"—whether your motives are born from parental concern or a recognition of how valuable this boy is to your Empire," she was still saying. "I am confident you will respond to our terms. I would not think he was an asset you would want to risk.

"Our terms are these."

Insolent, pathetic, dangerous Rebels.

He listened to their terms with more fury than he had ever known he could feel.

How dare they?


"I hear that the Rebellion have made contact with terms for young Skywalker's return," Palpatine said the moment Vader stormed into the room—not the throne room this time, but a war room, where some of the biggest military offences in the Empire were planned.

Vader did not bother kneeling. He had not bothered kneeling since Luke was captured. And the knowledge that his master was keeping as many tabs on Vader's operations, in his investigations, as he was did not surprise him.

"They have produced terms for Luke's continued wellbeing."

Palpatine turned away from where he was peering out the one-way window at the tiny ants flying speeders far, far below.

"His wellbeing?" he echoed. "Why in all the stars would I concede anything for that?"

Vader grasped his lightsaber and lit it.

Palpatine raised an eyebrow. "Get a grip, Lord Vader."

"I will not let them kill Luke." The lightsaber hummed loudly in the silence—an incessant addendum to his threatening tone.

"No. Instead, you will show to the entire galaxy, including our enemies, exactly where your weakness lies."

"I will destroy them."

Palpatine scoffed. "And then every miserable soul in this Empire will know that you will bend to anything to save one small runt of a boy weak enough to get kidnapped by a petty thief."

His words were emotionless; his cold, hard logic hammered into Vader's skull like icicles.

"And what then? Then, they will know that if ever someone wants something from the Empire, or opposes the Empire in any way, there is a convenient soft heart to strike at. They will strike at it again and again, no matter what shields and armour you construct to protect it. The galaxy respects you—respects us—because they fear us. If they know you are capable of fear as well, you will quickly find that that obedience… slips away."

"That does not change the fact," Vader ground out, "that Luke is in danger."

"And you are not accepting the fact, my friend," he replied softly, hands clasped together atop his cane, "that caving to their demands would put dear Luke in even greater danger."

Vader was silent for several cycles of his respirator. "So I am to allow him to be maimed? Killed? I—"

"Will simply have to find their Rebel base before their mercy runs out." He rapped his cane on the floor. "We are fortunate that it is Mothma who has him. She at least pretends to adhere to the values she preaches; I highly doubt she will want to be seen so blatantly disregarding them to torture a teenager fresh out of the academy, who has done nothing to dirty his hands in the way she so despises. Furthermore, the prince is a popular figure in the media—he is kind, attractive, relatable… she knows as well as anyone the kind of uproar that the Rebellion executing him would cause. She is treading as carefully as us.

"But there are other factions who would not be so predictable." Despite the graveness of the situation, Palpatine smirked. "More effective ones—the dregs of the resistance on Ryloth, Syndulla's men, who have nothing left to lose. Gerrera's men, with their disregard for the main Rebellion's pettiness. They do not have their hands on Luke now, but once it is clear that you will… what were the demands?"

"Hand over several sectors to Rebel control," Vader ground out. "Reduce the size and presence of the fleet. Release half of all political prisoners and prisoners of war, with treatment for the ones who are too injured to survive to journey home, and improved conditions for those still in captivity."

Palpatine snorted. "My friend, once they think you will do that to save your son," he said viciously, "they will not stop until the extremists have a blaster to his head, and they demand you dismantle the Empire itself."

Vader stood in stunned silence.

He wasn't wrong.

"We both know what the choice would have to be there," Palpatine said. "And it would be tragic to lose Luke, when he could occupy such a shining place in the Empire."

Vader stayed silent.

Luke.

He couldn't let anyone harm Luke. Nothing was more important.

Nothing.

Palpatine's voice was thick with sympathy. "We know that family has always been your weakness, Lord Vader. Now, your sentiment has nearly doomed them. I know you are self-aware enough to see that.

"And I know that if I trust you with this operation, you will make the right decision."

Ahsoka was just looking at Luke sadly. Luke smiled, just as sadly, right back.

"He won't cave to your demands, Ahsoka," he uttered. "The Empire is more important."

Ahsoka hugged him.

Luke gasped, surprised at how much that hurt—someone hugging him, comforting him, because they felt sympathy.

He wrapped his arms around her in return, buried his face in her shoulder.

If he left the clothing on her shoulder wet, neither of them commented on it.


"Are you well now, Darran?" Piett asked.

Lieutenant Darran looked at him and didn't speak, turning his attention back to his monitor. That was largely because it probably still hurt to speak, after the grilling and warning Lord Vader had given him earlier, but also… he wasn't about to distract himself from his work.

Not when the prince—and all their lives—were at stake.

Darran brushed the tiny bracelet on his wrist, his little gift that Luke had given him a few years prior, and Piett breathed a sigh of relief.

He went to get a drink.

The Executor was still in orbit of Coruscant, as her master was so busy on-planet; he hitched a ride on one of the many cargo shuttles constantly ferrying things to and from her behemoth, restocking and refuelling for Vader's inevitable vicious hunt for the Rebel base. He went straight to the officers' lounge, debated asking for the strongest drink on there—something he'd seen even the army folks gag at—before deciding that though he might need it, he didn't want to concern the bartender.

Everyone was concerned enough as it was.

"Firmus?"

Piett, pivoted on his foot to look his friend in the eye. "Max. How are you?"

"Desperate for answers about if the rumours are true or not," he bit out. "Can we talk?"

"Of course, so long as you're willing to swear yourself to a secrecy that will be blown wide open when the press get wind of the buzz."

Max grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards the nearest unused meeting room, locking the door behind them. "Is the kid really kidnapped?"

Only Max, Piett thought, would call the Imperial Prince of the Galactic Empire the kid.

Then again, he thought further, every officer on the Executor flashing to mind—perhaps not.

"Rebels have him," Piett said.

Max swore a blue streak.

Piett sat calmly as he did, leaning back in the meeting chair—these were never comfortable; perhaps they didn't want them to fall asleep in meetings. Perhaps…

Perhaps he was distracting himself.

"He was kidnapped by Angel?" Max asked.

"Yes. He—"

"The same guy who bust Zev out?"

…oh.

"Yes." Piett winced.

Max gritted his teeth.

"I thought my son had the slightest bit more loyalty than that."

"You don't know that it was Zev who told Angel how to target Luke—"

"Well it's a pretty damn convenient coincidence if it wasn't! He— he— Kriff." Max passed a hand over his face.

Piett stood from the chair and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. It was tense as a boulder.

When Max spoke again, his voice was cracking. "My son is gone. And now Vader's son is too. And Zev—"

"I doubt Zev is to blame."

"You don't know that! Angel would've needed to know the layout of the apartment to break-in and perform the kidnapping. No one goes into that place except Vader and his son, the cleaning droids are all kept under lock and key inside—"

"Did you stalk Lord Vader trying to investigate this?"

"—and there's no one else the Rebels could have learnt the layout from. Not that I know."

Piett offered, "Senator Organa is friends with Luke; she was seen visiting him recently. And if you recall her outfit at the ball—"

"It could have been her, yes. But her Rebel connections aren't proven. Zev's are." Max ran a hand through his hair. "I just… I thought Zev was a more loyal friend than this."

"You raised him well," Piett offered. "You are not at fault for what happened."

"I just wish I'd taught him to feel loyalty. Towards the Empire…" He bit his lip. "…but I would've settled for towards his friends."


R2-D2 was on a mission.

The base on Yavin IV was buzzing with activity, as always, and he zipped between Rebels carrying heavy loads (reprimanding them furiously when they nearly dropped boxes all over him), running over the feet of the pilots who had a tendency to lose a lot of astromechs in battle, eavesdropping on the ground crew and mechanics. He hacked into the security holo system at one point in order to find his target and scooted back across the base to find them, grumbling to himself.

His target was napping in his cabin in between drills, and was not impressed to find the locked door screeching open to admit a determined R2-D2.

What a pathetic life form.

"What!?" Human: Veers, Zevulon jerked upright on his bunk, his top half devoid of the coverings humans usually wore. Artoo imitated the sound Master: Anakin used to make when amused by releasing a series of low-pitched beeps artistically referred to as a "chortle". "You— who are you!?"

Who, instead of what. Good beginning.

MY DESIGNATION IS R2-D2.

"And?" He rubbed his eyes. "I have a drill with the other Pathfinders in an hour, I need to get some more—"

YOU ARE FRIENDS WITH HUMAN: SKYWALKER, LUKE?

"Yes, he's one of my best friends, but—"

HE IS AT RISK OF BEING DISCONTINUED. YOU WILL ASSIST ME IN PREVENTING THIS.

"Luke is what!?" He jumped fully out of his bunk then, landing on his feet, pointing a finger at Artoo. "He— I— Alright. Is he nearby? Can I help him?"

HE IS APPROXIMATELY 10.8KM AWAY THROUGH EARTH AND 14.2KM BY FOOT.

"He's on Yavin—"

Zevulon took a deep breath.

"Alright," he said. "I'll help him. Of course. Tell me what's going on… then tell me how to help him."


Ahsoka's conversation with Luke had left her a lot to think about—and none of it was happy. Luke's conviction that his father cared for the Empire more, his quiet resignation…

From what Leia had told her, Vader would set the galaxy on fire for Luke. He would set the Empire on fire for Luke.

Ahsoka, knowing what she'd known of Anakin, and seeing what had been made of him with Padmé dead, could believe that wholeheartedly. The man Luke had described, she hadn't known at all.

So she let herself relax, as she walked through the base, idly wondering where Artoo had gone—he'd vanished the moment Luke had put the icepack back in the tub and rolled away whistling innocently. She'd track him down later, to be sure, but—

Until then, she heard there'd been an update.

Vader had sent something.

She spent several hours meditating on her conversation with Luke before she was summoned to the meeting, so she was as still deeply entrenched in the Force when she approached the room. She sensed the anxiousness and shock from everyone involved, but foolishly didn't wonder about the source, until…

"Ahsoka," Mon said, holding out a hand and gesturing her towards the central meeting table. "Vader has released his statement. Publicly, as we asked."

"And?" she asked. She gnawed on her bottom lip until her fangs drew blood, then stopped.

There was a moment of silence. The leaders ringed around the table, in holographic form or otherwise, did not meet her eye. Especially Bail.

"We are uncertain of how to proceed. This is not the gamble we took," Mon said.

Bail said. "This is not what I expected at all."

Ahsoka said, "Show me the message."

Rieekan hit a button, and the holoprojector in the middle of the table lit up, showing a massive holo of Vader's full form, in all its terrifying glory. The cape flared, the mask glinted in harsh lines, he loomed like a shadow—and just as she thought, for the thousandth time, I cannot believe that is Anakin

He spoke.

"As an announcement to the galaxy at large: I bear grave news.

"In the most recent, disgusting attack by the Rebel Alliance and their burglar, Angel, my son was threatened, injured and kidnapped. Prince Luke is now being held hostage by the Rebellion—the very traitors who claim to be morally superior to the people they murder, rob and capture. This is all the official announcement that will be made about this despicable deed, so know this: justice for this atrocity will be swift… and it will be brutal."

As harsh and to the point as ever, Anakin, Ahsoka thought.

"And to the Rebel terrorists who seek to threaten me so," he continued, his tone vicious with hatred. Ahsoka had never heard so much hatred. "This is not a concession.

"We will not cave to your cowardly demands. Prince Luke is a vital, vibrant part of our Empire, and you will pay for what you have done to him. We will not be paying you.

"My son would be disgusted with the very idea of giving up so much to such scum, even for his own life, and so am I. We do not deal with traitors.

"We execute them instead."

There was a heavy, heady silence… and then the holo winked out, and Ahsoka was left staring at nothing.