Padme Naberrie stared at herself in the mirror of the 'fresher. The small room was empty, save for the officer, and she used the solitude to her advantage.
Contemplation.
A rare moment of quiet onboard the crowded imperial vessel finally left her enough time to silently contemplate the woman she had become. And it wasn't a pretty sight.
Born on a world so full of life and culture, Padme's childhood was one full of love and joy and service. Service to a cause greater than herself. She'd often tag along with her father in relief missions around the Outer Rim, witnessing firsthand some of the true horrors of the galaxy. She resolved a long time ago that none of it would ever happen again.
And she'd held to the promise until the election that sealed her fate.
Padme splashed a bit of water against her face. The cool temperature only provided temporary relief. Nothing would ever truly end her constant state of stress until the war ended and the Empire was defeated. She sighed again and stared at her reflection.
Deep purple bruises under her eyes betrayed the lack of sleep she'd earned after a week of interrogations on the Star destroyer. Over the course of five days, she'd maybe slept a grand total of ten hours. Admiral Yularen was breathing down her neck to find out anything she could from a collection of rebel prisoners held in isolation on the cruiser.
Her commanding officer expected a rebel assault against imperial supply lines was imminent and they had it on good authority that one of their prisoners knew something about the raid.
Only they didn't. Not a one.
But Padme did. She knew exactly when and where rebel stealth ships intended to hit a garrison in the Outer Rim and claim a store of foodstuffs for their hidden base on Yavin.
Not that she'd ever admit it. Under pain of death, she'd forever hold the secret that scarred her heart.
The ISB agent ran her fingers through her unkempt tresses. She let her curls free from the standard bun expected of human females onboard all Imperial spacecraft while in uniform. The Nabooian woman was used to the uncomfortable tug of pins holding her hair in place, but that didn't mean she enjoyed it. Padme preferred the loose braid she plaited every evening before bed. Her overlords didn't approve.
She could cut her hair and be free of the morning hair routine, but that hurt to consider. Her hair was one of the last reminders she held of home. The dark color and loose waves were inherited from her mother's side. She wasn't about to let go of that.
An errant yawn escaped her lips as she continued to stare at the stranger in her reflection. Her brilliant brown eyes dulled beyond recognition. Creases along her forehead from the constant cross look that garnished her features. A few flecks of grey hairs dotting spots along her hairline. All were gifts of her pursuit of ending the Empire, of destroying Sheev Palpatine's galaxy from the inside out.
It would've been easy to turn down the offer extended by Bail Organa all those years ago. To live without ever looking up and recognizing the pain and suffering of others under the government's watch. But that wasn't Padme. It would never be Padme.
A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie.
"Is somebody in there?" A voice called through the durasteel.
Gathering her wits about her, albeit only partially, Padme splashed another handful of water against her face. "Yes," she called back. "I'll be out in a minute." She rubbed her forehead and sighed again at the untidy state of her hair.
The ship was on its technical "night shift" so she and the rest of her bunkmates were cleared to be in a more relaxed state of dress. Whoever stood outside the door would have no merit to complain to the higher ups—not that any lowly standard Imperial officer would ever report an ISB agent. A certain level of fear mixed with respect kept the regulars in their own lane.
The person in the hallway knocked again.
"I'm coming," she yelled. With one final glance in the mirror, Padme Naberrie, a venerable intelligence and security agent gave up on her contemplation. She affixed her normal neutral expression along her features and adjusted the light sleep shirt over her chest. She was ready to play her part once more without doubt in herself or her mission.
She was ready for whatever the empire hit her with in the morning. Any more contemplation on her state of being would wait until the next night. Perhaps then she'd know who it was that stared out at her from the mirror.
— —- —-
"Agent Naberrie," Captain Firmus Piett greeted Padme warmly, or as warmly as a member of Lord Vader's inner circle of officers could ever merit.
The pair stood at the head of the bridge awaiting the Sith lord's return from a mission far into the Outer Rim. He was expected back within the hour, per Commander Rex's holo-message received earlier in the day. Admiral Ozzel, Palpatine's favored military commander was in the lower hangar to personally greet his lordship after his shuttle returned.
Padme chose to remain above the bustle of the ship and Piett stayed with her. He was meant to formally introduce the ISB agent to the supreme commander. Vader had been away when Yularen's personal request ended with a transfer for the woman to the Sith lord's personal fleet. Their last representative found himself on the wrong side of the Sith's temper and won a free ticket to the Star destroyer's morgue.
The ISB agent wasn't nervous persay, to finally come face to face with Vader. She'd heard more than enough about him during her training—-from both sides. The rebellion only knew him as a shadowy attack dog acting at the Emperor's behest. He was a force user that called upon the power of the dark side to sustain himself.
"He will thrive on the fear of others," Obi-Wan Kenobi explained. The Jedi master was one of only a handful of Jedi to survive the purge at the end of the Clone War. He and Master Yoda served as advisors to the alliance, providing any insight they might have while protecting newly discovered Force-sensitive children from around the galaxy.
Padme almost wished she'd been assigned to those rescue missions rather than playing subterfuge amongst the imperials, but Bail personally asked her to take on the assignment.
She refused to ever let him down.
The undercover agent took a few extra breaths. She'd learned better breathing techniques from a fellow member of rebel intelligence. Tsabin, another Naboo woman that bore a striking resemblance to Padme, was an accomplished hallikset player. She aided General Draven in the training process to better prepare recruits for lying under intense scrutiny and pressure—a near constant state in the Empire. And they had worked so far.
But Padme was never exposed in the way she was about to become.
Vader's Force sensitivity put her in unique and unfortunate circumstances. He would know when she lied or tried to hide something, whereas her usual companions—including a particularly chatty protocol droid—relied on context clues to piece together the truth of her words. A Sith sensed the falseness that permeated her very essence.
The ISB agent forced herself to refrain from fidgeting. She stood ramrod straight, eyes gazing out at the wide expanse of space, hands clasped behind her back. The perfect image of a true agent of the empire. Padme glanced over at Piett, "Commander," she returned his greeting. "I trust Lord Vader will be arriving momentarily?"
"He is. The shuttles just dropped out of hyperspace."
Padme suppressed the nervous feeling creeping up her spine. It wouldn't do to expose herself so soon. "Very good. Are we to expect anyone else besides him and his men?"
Piett shook his head. "None, ma'am. Their mission left none alive."
The agent nodded, but gritted her teeth. While the Sith 's mission remained highly classified, it didn't take much to figure out his true intentions. Saw Gerrerra's partisan movement was making waves in the Outer Rim, destroying every bit of imperial holdings they could manage. Vader and his men would make swift work of any of the partisans they reached. Gerrera was good, but even he couldn't withstand an attack from the Sith and his clones.
Padme expected to hear of a rousing defeat in the next report from Yularen's office, if Vader didn't float about it first.
"Good," she forced herself to reply. "It will be better for the Empire."
"It most certainly will."
The pair stood in silence. The only sounds were the familiar bustle of the bridge behind them. Officers hustled about, doors opened and shut as the next shift reported for duty. Computers beeped and the metallic clanging of droids wandering about were a familiar white noise for the rebel. She'd often allowed her mind to drift off the longer she'd stay. But that bubble of serenity was quickly broken by the hastened footsteps echoing down the Star destroyer's hallway.
The agent gulped as reality set in around her. He was coming and there was no way around it.
Padme Naberrie was about to meet her fate and, for once, was woefully unprepared for what would happen next.
—- — —
Anakin Skywalker was dead to begin with.
Well, not dead precisely.
Not yet.
His body still existed. He breathed the same air, spoke with the same purposeful inflection he picked up as a child. His deep blue eyes still made infrequent appearances under his long eyelashes.
But the little boy, once so full of hope and happiness…he was dead. Gone. Wiped away from the face of the galaxy. Dead and buried on a backwater desert world in the Outer Rim alongside his beloved mother.
In his place was a being so feared by the galaxy, nothing ever stood in his way.
Anakin may be dead, but Darth Vader was immortal.
A Sith Lord apprenticed to Sidious, but believed himself more powerful than his master could ever be. He destroyed the barrier holding the dark side at bay for generations and helped replace it with the new order.
A warrior so successful, he never failed in his missions.
Never failed that is, until he arrived on Jakku. The sand covered world, so similar to his home, saw the first victory any partisan ever held over the Sith. A victory earned on a technicality after Vader nearly wiped out the garrison of rebel fighters himself. Gerrera and his goons destroyed the empire's only way of getting off the planet's surface and stole coordinates from the navicomputer for an Imperial mining complex on Jedha.
Vader and his remaining clone troopers were forced to commandeer local transports to escape the dusty backwater. Which is how he ended up arriving on his own Star destroyer in a rusty —- freighter that was lucky enough to even make it into and out of hyperspace.
"Incoming craft, identify yourself," the hangar controller of the Executor announced through the comm.
Rex, seated in the corner-pilot's seat, answered for the sith. "This is CT-7567, authorization code SE52995, accompanying Lord Vader back to his fleet."
The controller hesitated, but kept his composure. "My lord, I apologize. We didn't expect you to return in this particular vessel."
"We experienced a problem with our shuttle, Lieutenant Piers," Rex replied, again standing in for his commander.
Vader rolled his eyes at the officer's apology. The clone chuckled.
"Authorization is granted. Proceed to hangar 3501. Admiral Ozzel is awaiting your arrival."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Rex promptly shut off the comm.
Vader directed the freighter towards the largest of the landing bays on his Star destroyer. He looked over at his most loyal trooper, "No one is to know why we're bringing this piece of —- back with us."
"Of course not, my lord," Rex replied. His tone was that of a consummate professional, a perfect soldier born of a Kamino. But his eyes betrayed the ribbing Vader expected behind his back.
The clones were the only beings left in the galaxy that Vader didn't immediately wish to murder whilst in his vicinity. They served him and his master's Empire well, without the recognition they deserved. Sidious despised the leftover soldiers from the old war, but granted his apprentice a battalion for his fleet. A small mercy to avoid the absolute incompetence of standard stormtrooper units.
The Sith Lord initiated the landing sequence that allowed the rust covered ship to land itself, only he didn't account for a tiny flaw in the frieghter's systems. A little miswiring made the ship virtually drop to the floor of the hangar, instead of the —- lowering to keep it steady. Vader and Rex, and most likely the others in the cargo hold, we're thrown forward against the console.
"What the hell?" Vader grunted. His hands, flesh and mechanical, stopped him from hitting his head.
Beside him, Rex openly laughed. "You forget to deploy the landing gear, sir?" He blantantoy ignored the dark glare his commander offered from the captain's chair.
Vader cursed in Huttese—-another side of himself few ever saw.
Rex continued laughing as he unbuckled himself. "Maybe next time, my lord. I'm sure no one saw it anyway."
The Sith groaned. Outside the view screen stood thirty or so of his men awaiting his arrival. And all of them most certainly witnessed his less than stellar landing. At least, he'd instilled a deep level of fear within them. None of them would be stupid enough to spread rumors about him, lest they wish to meet the business end of his saber.
Rex patted Vader's shoulder before trouncing out of the cockpit. From the opened door, the sith lord heard some snickering from the rest of the company. Although the clones were wise enough to keep quiet in his presence, their private jokes would be relentless.
They were lucky he tolerated them.
Ozzel stood watch as the landing platform descended from the rickety old freighter. Vader led his contingent of clones down into the cool air of the hangar bay.
"My lord," the admiral greeted. Vader despised Tarkin's little stooge, but Sidious forced him to tolerate the man. He was the only high ranking officer in the fleet who wasn't personally chosen by the Sith. It was a way for the emperor to keep close tabs on his apprentice. Vader eagerly awaited the day Ozzel took things too far and he could finally rid himself of the infernal man.
"Admiral," Vader returned with only a fleeting glance at the imperial representative. He continued his path towards the lifts, desirous of a chance to sleep after the days far away from his own bed.
"My lord," Ozzel started again.
The admiral's persistence caused Vader to roll his eyes, but his stride never faltered. He intended to make it to his own quarters. "We have a rather pressing matter that must be seen to—-"
The Sith Lord finally stopped midstep. "What pressing matter are you referring to?"
Nothing of import ever made it to his communicator during their flight back to his fleet. Why was the admiral only now telling him?
"We've had a new member of the Security Bureau assigned to us."
"Another one?"
"Yes, my lord."
Vader frowned. Another official watchdog for his master. That's all the ISB agents ever were. They answered to Yularen directly, who in turn reported back to Sodious. Apparently Ozzel wasn't enough company for the irritable Sith.
"And why were they assigned to my fleet?" He questioned through gritted teeth finally turning to recognize the admiral.
"Admiral Yularen believed it wise to have someone of the intelligence branch work alongside you, my lord. With the expansion of the rebellion into the Outer Rim, he thinks it necessary to follow any possible leads she may come across. She was able to thwart an attack on a resupply hub and outed a suspected sympathizer among the lower ranks."
"She?"
— —- —-
When did this become my life?
Padme Naberrie often questioned the actions that forever led her to the life of a double agent. As was evidenced from her contemplation session in the fresher that morning, she usually asked herself the question over and over again. Most especially when she was on the precipice of something new.
New and terrifying.
Because that is exactly what Vader did to her.
He terrified her.
The mere mention of his name invoked fear in her, as much as it did the other low ranking officers that served in his fleet. But unlike them, Padme had just cause for the creeping terror growing inside while she stood awaiting his arrival.
Of course, she'd more than prepared herself for his eventual appearance. Long nights spent bent over reams of data to find out as much as possible from every source available to her, would not go to waste.
But the prospect of him standing before her in a matter of minutes…No amount of training would ever properly ready her for it. No perfect poise ever accounted for the pressure settling along her shoulders.
A rare slip up and her whole mission—and most certainly her life—were over.
Padme leaned back on her heels. Beside her, Piett appeared unbothered by the sound of footsteps approaching. He was more than used to an encounter with the Sith lord. Per the reports, Vader preferred him above the others, including the admiral assigned to their fleet by Palpatine himself.
She twisted her hands behind her back at parade rest—the only proper stance that allowed her a minute chance to fidget and release even the barest hint of her nervous energy. She looked out at the rest of the bridge. Most of the officers stayed quiet, eyes focused on their station. But a few kept serving glances back at the doors.
Within seconds, the doors to the bridge opened, revealing a retinue of uniformed officers and armored clone troopers. But Padme momentarily ignored the others. Her attention focused solely on the man leading the contingent.
He met her stare.
Clear blue eyes glared back at the agent and a chill ran down her body.
Vader never took his eyes off her as the group approached the head of the bridge. He only looked away as Piett greeted him.
"Lord Vader, welcome back," the captain stated sharply. No underlying warmth tinted his tone this time.
"Piett," Vader greeted in turn. His gaze shifted to the man beside Padme. "I hope nothing too terrible's come of my fleet."
A joke? This imposing Sith lord had only been there for a total of ten minutes and he was already cracking jokes? Padme allowed herself to slowly relax her fingers, but the rest of her body remained on high alert.
The slight movement drew his attention back to the ISB agent. Padme immediately clammed up once more as she watched his curious eyes rake her over. Piett picked up on the unspoken interaction.
"Right, sorry. My lord, this is Agent Padme Naberrie of Naboo. She was assigned to the fleet after Parrish's dismissal," the captain explained quickly.
Ozzel cut in, "I did not think it wise to allow another on board so quickly, but Yularen insisted. For consistency purposes across the whole of the navy." A tight smirk tugged at his lips when he glanced over at Piett.
The unspoken rivalry between the men was pointless. Everyone knew exactly which of the two gained favored the supreme commander, and it most certainly wasn't the "esteemed" admiral.
Vader inhaled sharply through his nose, silencing his subordinates. He then turned to Padme, the hem of his cloak skimming the dark floor.
The agent's stomach dropped, but she never lost her composure. Now was the moment for every ounce of her training to sustain her. She did grip the edge of her jacket, anything to keep any nervous fidgeting at bay.
"Naberrie, is it?" His blue eyes examined her. It felt as though they cut right through her, like he was staring at her soul. What she knew of Force users, well…For all intents and purposes he probably was.
"Yes, my lord," she replied. Her voice remained even, a by-product of her early years in politics. The emphasis on clear, concise, and perfect poise in speech stayed ingrained within her, and years of academy training only reiterated its necessity.
"You're from Naboo?" He asked, repeating Piett's introduction. His words seemed genuinely curious, but a slight edge undercut the question, bordering on a near accusation. That particular end intrigued Padme. Her background should mean nothing to anyone, despite her home mirroring that of their "esteemed" emperor.
"I am." She watched for any other strange reaction that could be elicited from her answer.
His top lip twitched, nothing more than a flutter, but Padme noticed it nonetheless. "A devoted follower of our Emperor, no doubt?"
She maintained her composure and quickly formulated a response that only skirted the truth. Obi-Wan's lessons echoed through her mind. "Like all of us in the Empire, my lord." An omission did not count as a lie. The less she dwelled on it, then the less likely it was for Vader to pick out the half-truths.
Vader folded his arms over his chest. "Mhmm," he replied noncommittally. Again his eyes pored deeply into her neutral expression. His own face bordered on annoyance, but that strange sense of curiosity remained. "You were a politician though? Prior to all of this," he waved his hand at the bridge surrounding them.
The comment hit her unexpectedly. No one outside of Naboo and her highest ranking superiors in the ISB knew anything of her dip into the political sphere. Holonet coverage never spread much further than Naboo. As a losing candidate, she was quickly forgotten. And then the rise of the empire only a matter of years later further buried the information. Bail only found her because of her actions during the war, rather than the years before it.
But of course Vader knew. He'd always know, wouldn't he? Palpatine told him; it was the downside to becoming successful in her missions. Imperial or otherwise. Her fellow Naboo native took a vested interest in her while she was in training and more than certainly played a role in her assignment to Vader's fleet. Yularen never turned down an order from on high.
Padme felt the stares of the others around them. Those who were in hearing distance openly gaped at his words. Ozzel looked equally as surprised as she felt, but Piett's face never changed. She bit the inside of cheek. He knew too. Vader trusted him enough, not that it provided any comfort.
"I was," she finally stated, unable to rely on any form of omission this time. "I failed and decided to place my efforts elsewhere."
It felt strange to be confessing one of her longest held secrets in front of a room of people that meant very little to her. And she hated every second of it. The weight that laid heavily over her chest never relinquished its hold. Revealing a truth was meant to feel like a relief, this felt nothing like that. But what else could she do? In that moment, maintaining her own cover meant more than lying.
"Failed?"
"I lost the election for queen," Padme clarified. "Reillata won a second term instead and oversaw the planet until Jamillia replaced her."
Now she knew every ear on the bridge was trained on her, but if she were to turn her head, none of the other officers would even glance up from their duties.
"Better for you then," Vader replied nonchalantly. His arms remained crossed over his chest though his stance loosened. "Better to be out here than stuck in a debate on Coruscant."
His answer triggered a rush of annoyance through Padme, finally drowning out the last bit of nervousness she might have been withholding. Every military figure presumed their actions meant more than the politicking behind them, but warfare was much more nuanced than they ever gave credit for.
She formulated a number of responses in her mind, nit-picking the Sith's simple reply. But she could never vocalize any of them without outing herself as a rebel. No one of good "imperial" character, let alone a security bureau agent, would ever speak out of turn with Lord Vader. It meant imminent death at his hands. And for now, Padme needed her life to save millions of others.
Instead, the spy decided on a simple one-word answer: "Perhaps."
A/N: I am extraordinarily new to the world of writing fanfic, but particularly to the author side of this website. I've been a long time reader without the confidence to ever actually publish anything and of I course I decide to write this one that's growing wildly out of hand on my drive! But apparently it's a time for trying something new.