Chapter 11: Draco Nidum

CORUSCANT: SENATORIAL APARTMENT COMPLEX

It was early into the next morning by the time the Tantive III docked on one of the elevated landing platforms just outside of the Senatorial Apartment skyrises. Senator Organa had shuffled both Caleb and his master from the deck to the awaiting turbo-lift and straight into his private apartment. They had barely had a moment to change from their Jedi robes before the Senator's com-link went off, calling them to Mon Mothma's abode.

The copper-haired Chandrilan led them inside. Caleb studied her as he and his master followed into the empty sitting room. She was taller than he expected, dressed in a floor-length white gown with a high collar that finished just short of her jawline. Adorning each shoulder, were two silver rose brooches connected to three chains that dangled over her chest. She had an air of nobility about her: the way she stood perfectly upright, the purposeful yet graceful nature of her stride. She wasn't simply accustomed to politics ... she was bred for it.

Senator Organa, though still highly professional in his own right, seemed a lot more casual. More reserved. But also, much easier to read in the Force. And for this reason – and perhaps many others that he couldn't quite identify – Caleb took an immediate disliking to Mothma.

Actually, he was beginning to take an immediate disliking to this entire situation. The Capitol stank. Not in a literal sense; even though it did have its share of pungent and unpleasant odours like speeder exhaust fumes and heavy industrialised pollution; but stank in the Force itself. Coruscant wreaked of the Dark Side. And it made every hair on his body stand on end.

Perhaps coming back here was not such a good idea after all.

Mon Mothma stopped between two parallel lounges and turned to face the Viceroy. "So, Bail, these are the two Jedi you have told me so much about?" she asked, gesturing to both Caleb and his master.

Bail smiled and nodded. "Yes. Mon, allow me to introduce you to Ferus Olin and his padawan, Caleb Dume. They came into my service shortly after the recent Imperial invasion of Naboo. They want to help."

Ferus bowed his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Senator," he said, and Caleb followed his lead.

"The pleasure is mine, Master Olin," Mothma said with a saddened smile. "It is good to see Jedi on Coruscant again."

She turned back to Organa and waved to the lounge. "Please, sit down. We have much to discuss."

Caleb, taking that as their dismissal, watched the two Senators take seats opposite each other then start talking. He sighed and crossed the room. Stopping by a large window, he folded his arms and stared out over the city.

It was just as he remembered. Hover lanes bustling with early morning traffic. Skyscrapers and gleaming towers everywhere. Beings carrying on with their lives as if nothing had ever changed. Through the haze, he caught sight of the familiar five-towered ziggurat in the distance and swallowed down the uncomfortable lump in his throat.

Memories came rushing back. Lightsaber classes with Master Yoda. Meditation sessions with Shaak Ti. The early morning breakfasts in the mess hall with the other padawans. The delicious sticky sweet buns that he always grabbed first – much to his master's disapproval. Laughing ... joking ... caring. Family.

Those days were long gone. Ferus and Jaina were the only people close to family he had left now. All thanks to the Empire.

He squeezed his fists tight.

"You seem tense," Ferus said moving to stand alongside him.

Caleb suppressed an angry tear. "It all seems so surreal, Master," he muttered, staring at the ziggurat. "A year ago, that Temple was the only place in the galaxy I could've called home. Now it's lost to the Jedi forever."

"Forever is a long time, Caleb. A lot of things can change in a lifetime, let alone; forever."

"I know." He let out an exasperated breath and turned to stare at the floor. "I just wish we could do something..."

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Ferus was trying to ease his mind again.

"We are doing something. You just need to be patient — and stay focused. The Jedi will rise again. Their light has not yet left the galaxy. Not so long as we are still alive, anyway."

"Yes, Master." It was a hollow gesture, one made more out of automation than anything. But, as optimistic as his master sounded, inside, he still doubted that what they were doing was enough. Caleb glanced toward the two senators. From his body language and tone of voice, it was clear that Organa was starting to get frustrated. Ferus too seemed to have noticed, his gaze firmly planted on the senators.

"I know you believe that the Jedi are our best hope, Bail..." Mothma said rising from her seat, "and who knows, maybe you are right ... but many of the other senators don't see it that way. They see the Jedi as being to blame for the Republic's fall as well as the war."

"And what about you, Mon?" Bail asked joining her on her feet. "What do you believe?"

"I believe that the time for laying blame is over. Palpatine is tightening his grip on our systems by the day. Civilizations are being bled dry by the ever-expanding military and their increasing need for resources. If we are to be serious about taking action, we must do so, now, before it is too late. While we still have systems willing to stand with us."

"We aren't ready for that yet," Bail countered. "We haven't the manpower or the equipment needed to mount such an offensive. It is better we bide our time, strengthen our forces and seek out the help of any surviving Jedi."

"And in the meantime, Palpatine extends his reach to the Outer-rim," Mothma said throwing her hand to the window. "Bo Katan has already told me of Mandalore's fall to the Empire. She and those loyal to her have since fled the city. Clone troopers are setting up outposts on nearly every outlying system. It's only going to get worse, Bail. Palpatine is but one man. If we strike him down now, we could end this."

The Alderaanian Viceroy shook his head and looked to Caleb and his master. The defeated glint in his eyes saying everything. She wasn't listening. She had no idea what they were truly up against. He turned back to her and opened his mouth to speak...

A loud beeping sounded and Mothma looked to her wrist. Her expression tightened as she gradually lifted her eyes to the Viceroy. "It's the Senate Office," she whispered.

Bail stroked his chin. "They know we're here."

"So, it would seem..." she agreed. Lifting her wrist, Mothma accepted the call. A small blue hologram of a two-horned figure flickered into life.

"Senator Mothma. The Emperor requests your presence at his office," the horned figure said.

She nodded. "I will be there."

"He will be expecting you."

The transmission fizzed out and the two Senators stared at each other in silence. Seconds later another round of shrill beeping pierced the air, this time coming from the Viceroy. He glanced to his com.

"Do you think he suspects something?" Mothma asked.

Bail sighed and prepared to accept the incoming call. "I think it would be foolish for us to pretend otherwise," he said.

Caleb turned to his master as the Viceroy answered. Did he have the same bad feeling about this as he did? Was it some sort of trap set by Sidious to lure the dissenters out into the open? The older Jedi adjusted his grey jacket and met his gaze.

"I don't like this," Caleb said.

Ferus watched on as the Viceroy terminated the transmission, then looked over to both of them standing by the window. "Neither do I," he whispered back.

STAR DESTROYER EXACTOR: HYPERSPACE

The freighter's captain knew nothing. They had been on a routine cargo exchange and were ambushed at the drop point. Hardly anything unusual in the Outer-rim. After one solid hour of questioning — and perhaps just a little interrogation — he still had no information as to who had attacked them, or what they were looking for. Just the name of the space station; ISS Obelysk. And Artoo had already given him that particular intel from the ship's navigational logs.

The officer was not only an incompetent buffoon, but had also been a complete and utter waste of his time.

"And now, Captain," Vader growled, standing over the quivering Imperial in the med-bay, "you shall share in your abandoned crew's fate." He clawed his fingers into pincers, and through the Force, applied pressure to the officer's throat.

The man pawed at his neck. Coughing and gurgling, he stared up at the Sith Lord in horror and fought to gasp in a breath.

Vader squeezed harder. Then, with a loud crunch, he snapped his neck ... and watched as the body slumped to the floor. Behind him, the door to the med-bay whooshed open. Adjusting the buckles on his glove, he spun to face the incoming officer. "What is it, Commander?"

"Lord Vader," the officer said, pausing to catch his breath. He flinched at the sight of the dead man and immediately stood to attention. After quickly composing himself, he cleared his throat and continued. "We are making our final approach to Coruscant, my lord. ETA to orbit, ten minutes."

"Very well. Have the Captain ready my ship."

The officer bowed. "Yes, my lord."

CORUSCANT: SENATE DISTRICT

It hadn't taken long for the two Senators to start hustling Caleb and his master toward their shuttle after the calls from the emperor. Both Jedi had suggested that it would be wiser for them to sit this one out, but Senator Organa had insisted on them being present. And so, they had found themselves sitting in the shuttle, repeatedly practicing and testing their shielding techniques, in the hope that they could somehow slip by undetected.

It was risky, at best. Neither of them was overly proficient in Force shielding, and considering how, in just a few short minutes, they were going to come face-to-face with Emperor Palpatine — or the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious, as they suspected him to be — they were needing to get in as much practice as they possibly could. Hopefully, it would be enough.

But every skill in the Force required patience and focus. Neither of which, Caleb currently had in abundance. Of course, it didn't help that whenever he tried to clear his mind and pay attention, one of the senators would say something thought provoking. First it was Mon Mothma, asking after Mrs Skywalker. Had Bail seen her recently, and if so, had she said as to whether she was going to join them or not? His answer had been blunt but polite. No, he hadn't seen her. Nor heard from her. Not since they'd left her on Tatooine with Master Kenobi over four weeks ago.

Where they'd left Jaina.

A knot twisted in his stomach. Not being able to sense his close friend still didn't sit right.

Then Bail had brought up Darth Vader; asking if she'd heard or seen anything since he'd been out of the loop. To which she'd replied, that there had been no reported sightings from any of her sources in over four weeks also.

It seemed all of them had suddenly disappeared from sight. Vanishing into the stars without a trace. He prayed to the Force that it was nothing more than mere coincidence.

"Caleb, focus!" Ferus scolded, tapping him on the knee. "Do you want the emperor to sense us?"

Caleb, shaken from his musings, dipped his head. "No... sorry, master. I was distracted."

"Alright, let us try again. And this time, stay focused."

"Yes, master." Taking several calming breaths, he closed his eyes and tried once more to clear his mind. Blocked out the senators' voices. Tuned out the deep rumbling of the anti-grav engines as they began their descent. Ignored the whine of the landing gear grinding into position. He focused on the Force ... and only the Force. Then, layer-by-layer, he started to assemble his shields; pulling them tight around his conscious and cocooning himself securely inside.

"Much better," Ferus praised, squeezing his knee. "Now, do you think you can sustain it?"

Caleb opened his eyes and stared into his master's. The ship touched down. Shifting his attention to the window, he gazed at the massive domed structure surrounding them. They had arrived. For a long moment, he contemplated what future awaited them inside. Then exhaled, slow and deep. "I guess, we will see soon enough," he mumbled, unbuckling the clasp on his harness.

Entering the Senate building was like stepping into another world. Beings from all over the galaxy were walking around, dressed in some of the regalest outfits he'd seen since the start of the clone war. Every so often, a squad of troopers would march past. Thankfully none that he recognised ... or more the point, none that seemed to recognise him or his master.

Staying close to Ferus, Caleb followed Captain Antilles and the two senators through the crowd, across the luxuriously appointed main foyer and toward the staircase. He kept his eyes down as they made their way for the next level, occasionally lifting them to do a brief check of their surroundings.

The familiar rattle of clone armour assaulted his ears, dredging up momentary flashes of Mygeeto, and his heart started to race. He looked up again ... and swallowed.

Two more troopers were approaching – about to come down the exact same staircase they were on!

His throat went dry.

His eyes widened in horror.

The distinctive red arrow markings on their armour. The unmistakable grey kama worn by the one on the left. No ordinary clone troopers.

He knew these two.

And they knew him.

Fighting the urge to run, Caleb yanked the cowl of his grey overthrow to his chin and tried to conceal his face. He slipped into position between the captain and his master, doing his best to disappear from the troopers' line of sight. If they recognised him now, he was done for.

The rattle drew closer. Thumping as they descended each step.

He was too afraid to breathe. Too frightened to speak. For days he'd tried to escape from these two after they'd brutally shot down his first master. Running, hiding, jumping at shadows, too scared to sleep. Now they were walking toward him. And he had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

"What is it?" Ferus whispered, leaning in to his ear.

Caleb swallowed. He chanced a glance up ahead. They were almost about to cross paths now. All but a few short metres away. He looked back to the floor and mentally calculated each step. "The clones..." he whispered as quietly as he could. "They're ... they're the ones who killed my old master."

Ferus grabbed his hand and squeezed. "It will be alright. Just keep your head down."

He could hear them talking now. Not that he was in any state to make sense of what it was they were saying. Ferus pushed in closer toward him, making space for the troopers to pass. Unable to help himself, Caleb peered over his cowl...

Only to stare straight into the blackened-out lenses of Clone Commander Grey's helmet. Then, Captain Styles, the clone he used to call friend, also swung his helmet around.

Panic. This was it. They'd made him. He was sure of it. After almost a year of running, he was going to be captured right here on Coruscant. Kriff! He knew he shouldn't have come back.

"Just keep walking," Ferus whispered, squeezing his hand even tighter.

Grey and Styles paused on the step for a moment, talking between themselves and watching the group. Just as he thought they were about to say something, they suddenly turned away and carried on, their combat boots heavily thumping down the stairs.

"You alright?" Ferus asked, not letting go of his hand.

Caleb released the breath he'd been holding and stared into the brown eyes of his concerned master. "Yeah, I ... I think so." He glanced over his shoulder, just to convince himself they were definitely not coming back.

Not only were Grey and Styles not coming back; they were actually hurrying for the main entrance, in the completely opposite direction. At least thirty more troopers suddenly poured into the foyer, coming from every visible corridor and hallway, also rushing for the exit.

"Where do you suppose they're going in such a hurry?" Caleb asked, momentarily stopping on the top step.

"Let's not worry about that. All that matters is they are leaving us alone for the time being," Ferus said. "Now come on."

The rest of the journey seemed to pass by in somewhat of a blur. The Dark Side of the Force was closing in around him. Getting stronger and harder to ignore the further they walked. He felt nauseous all of a sudden, and his knees were shaking so bad that it was a wonder he'd managed to stay upright this long. His master, sensing his distraction, yanked on his hand and pulled him from his stupor. When he looked up, they were standing in a large ante-chamber, filled with ancient artefacts and eerie sculpted statues and busts. Bail and Mon Mothma were talking to the same being from the hologram. The blue skinned, two-horned figure turned and walked away, disappearing through a door to the left.

"Caleb, shields," Ferus said.

Kriff! He'd forgotten about that. Why was he making such a mess of this? The horned figure returned and stopped alongside the door. He turned to his master. "Who is that?"

Ferus didn't take his eyes off the figure. "That is Mas Amedda, grand vizier to the emperor. Be on your guard."

"The emperor will see you now," Mas Amedda said, gesturing to the left of the chamber. "If you will all follow me."

Caleb did one final check of his shields, glanced nervously toward his master and with a subtle nod, started forward, following their group into the figurative dragon's nest.

STAR DESTROYER EXACTOR: CORUSCANT: LOW ORBIT

Midnight cloak swirling, Vader strode down the last bend of the corridor, through the durasteel blast doors and out into the destroyer's main hangar. His white Lambda, boarding ramp lowered and engines rumbling, was sitting in launch bay one, ready and waiting for immediate departure. In bays two and three, two more shuttles were preparing for take-off, presumably with his troopers already inside.

As the dark lord made his way across the deck, one of the Exactor's officers came rushing out to intercept him by the ramp.

"Lord Vader!"

Vader stopped and spun to face him. "Yes, Commander, what is it?"

"It's ... it's the maintenance and engineering crew, my lord," the officer stammered, staring up at him like he was already about to start pleading for his life.

If he wasn't in such a hurry to get moving, the man's pathetic behaviour could have almost been amusing. But as it was now — with the possible outcomes of his impending reunion with his master weighing heavily on his mind — it was nothing short of irritating.

"What about them?" he growled.

The officer dropped his head to stare at the floor. "They ... they want to know what to do with the freighter. They said that their investigation was over, and that there was nothing more they could learn from it, sir."

"The investigation is over, when I say it is over, Commander," he snarled, stabbing at the air with his finger. "Have the ship prepped for transfer, then contact the ISB. Inform them, that I want every part of it stripped down and analysed until they do find something."

"Yes, my lord," the officer said.

"Good. See to it," he ordered, then with a dramatic flourish of his cloak, charged up the ramp and boarded his ship.

One after the other, the three white Lambda-class shuttles left the star destroyer, and shot off toward the murky atmosphere below.

CORUSCANT: SENATE BUILDING: EMPEROR'S OFFICE

From this distance — standing behind the two senators, whom sat before the emperor at his oversized desk, in front of the transparisteel wall that overlooked the cityscape — it was difficult for Caleb to see the robed figure's face beneath the hood. In the time since the Empire's birth, rumours had circulated of Emperor Palpatine's facial disfigurements, and how they were supposedly battle scars earned from his scandalous brush with the Jedi Council. If rumour were in fact true, it only proved that he was a Sith Lord even more so.

How else could one explain his survival? One solitary old politician? Going up against four of the order's most highly skilled and respected senior members?

And ... surviving? Unlikely.

If it wasn't so utterly heartbreaking, it could almost be laughable.

And yet, here they were. And there ... he was.

Palpatine leaned forward, hands steepled together, elbows bent on the desk. "I have reviewed your applications, senators. But I am afraid that the military is not under my direct command. I can only put forward your concerns, and bring them to the attention of the Supreme Commander and his joint chiefs for consideration."

Without seeing his face, it was hard for Caleb to say if that was an outright lie, or only half-truth. But through the Force, he could sense that it wasn't entirely sincere. The bone-numbing chill in the Force had eased off slightly, temporarily clearing his mind, giving him a much-needed moment to reattune his senses and refocus.

Either the emperor was suddenly masking his Dark Side presence — which, if he was, brought up its own disturbing line of questions — or the disturbance was originating from someplace else. Somewhere ... or someone, presently hidden and well out of sight.

Bail Organa shifted forward in his seat, clearly unsatisfied with Palpatine's noncommittal answer. "But do not the Supreme Commander and his men report directly to you, your Excellency? Surely, you have some control over what they can or cannot do."

"That they do, senator," Palpatine said, leaning back. "However, as the two of you can well appreciate, my attentions are mostly preoccupied in dealing with the many concerning issues presently disrupting the Senate. I have entrusted the safety and protection of our systems to the Supreme Commander and his chiefs, and am confident in whatever decisions they deem are necessary in ensuring the continued safety of our people."

"Ensuring the safety of our people?" Mothma repeated, her sharp tone barely concealing her building outrage. "From what threat exactly? You publicly declared the war over, right here in this very building, almost one standard year ago. If the separatists are no longer cause for concern, then what other threat is there, other than the one posed to our own civilizations by their inherent obligation to support and sustain the over indexed military presence on our homeworlds?"

A powerful surge tore through the Force. Its source, unmistakable. And for a brief second Caleb felt his shields slip away, all the while confirming his beliefs, that the Emperor was in fact, a dark lord of the Sith. The realization suddenly shook him to the core; only now dawning, that both him and his master were in some very real danger.

"There are always threats when one strives for stability, senator," Palpatine sneered, swinging his throne-like chair around to face the cityscape, an edge of finality leeching into his tone. "As Emperor, it is my duty to anticipate these threats, and to subsequently install measures that ensure they are ... dealt with accordingly."

Caleb glanced toward his master, wondering if he could feel and sense the same sensations he was currently experiencing. Ferus, arms folded, body rigid, gave him a stern look of warning before returning his gaze to the two seated senators. It was, he knew, a clear reminder to secure his shields; something he suddenly realized he had forgotten to do since his momentary lapse of awareness. Acting quickly, Caleb immediately set about resurrecting his defences, all the while praying to the Force that he had not inadvertently blown their cover.

CORUSCANT: CITY AIRSPACE: DARTH VADER'S PRIVATE SHUTTLE

Mask turned to the window, Vader watched on as the duracrete and transparisteel metropolis that was Imperial Centre – or Coruscant, as it was more widely known to the public — sailed past his shuttle, and inwardly sighed. There was always something oddly unsettling about returning to the Capitol. Whether it was due to the almost forgotten memories of the good times he'd spent here ... or the not-so forgotten memories of every dark deed he had committed in the name of the Empire, he couldn't decide. But either way, Coruscant succeeded in leaving a nasty, bitter taste in his mouth.

Even more so now that he finally had his family back. That was, providing Kenobi managed to remain true to his word. Before finding Padmè, he'd had nothing left to lose, nothing left to worry or think about or even consider, other than serving his master and giving himself completely to the Dark Side of the Force. No more chosen one prophecy, or you are the only hope for the galaxy type nonsense. No, just the Force and his master, hunting down Jedi survivors and making them pay for their failings. Now he was torn between loyalties, and in himself, knew the cracks were starting to show.

Cracks that would soon earn him a great deal of pain and torment, if he couldn't find some way of successfully disguising them. No doubt his master was already well apprised of his arrival, or if not, he soon would be. Not that he was trying to surprise him. With a bond as strong as theirs, that was practically impossible. It was more, that he would likely have sensed his presence the very instant the Exactor settled into orbit, and was now in the process of plotting out his punishment.

Punishment, if he was being truthful, he had most definitely earned.

Turning back from the window, he placed his gloved hands upon his knees, closed his eyes and took a moment to settle his nerves. There was only one foreseeable way he was going to be able to lessen his master's ire — he had to go in hot. Very hot.

And so, he dug deep, dredging up every painful and agonizing memory he could stomach ... and dwelled on them. Allowed the feelings of powerlessness, frustration, betrayal, failure and deception to fester and build. Focused on his inescapable pain: from his suit, from being dismembered and scorched alive, from the surgeries he'd endured on that butchering table.

He savoured it all.

Until the intoxicating power of the Dark Side consumed him. Its white-hot heat incinerating his inner core like the molten lava flows on Mustafar. Confident he was ready, he then stretched out with the Force, felt along their bond and called out to him: "Master."

And in his mind's eye he saw him. As if he had transcended the city and was staring straight back at him. But he was not alone. In the Force another presence flickered ... one not borne of the dark.

Jedi, the dragon roared.

Jaw clenched; fists tight; he stretched out to meet it. Brought it into his sights. Just as he was about to get close, the presence winked out.

The Jedi had shielded their presence. But it was too late for that. It would not help them.

Focussing back on his master, he sent one final message: "I'm coming." Then, with the Force, turned his attention to the shuttle cockpit, seized hold of the ship's throttle and punched it.