Chapter 15: Semina Dubium

The engines of his Master's Theta-class shuttle rumbled through the orange pollution scorched sky of Coruscant's outer city limits as it made its final approach to his secret stronghold deep in the factory laden industrial sector known as The Works. Vader sat silent, his helmeted head dipped forward, damaged respirator cycling, his two gloved hands tightly clasped between his knees. His Master sat beside him, watching him from within the obscuring shadow of his robe; his penetrative gaze—forever scrutinising, assessing, testing for weakness.

But Vader's mind and thoughts were elsewhere; lost in a completely different time and place. He was back in the war, standing on the deck of a Separatist Gunship. Staring down at the glowing blue and red aura of two crossed sabers that reflected in the pleading brown eyes of a defeated old man as he begged for his life. He could still hear his Master's words, "Do it!" echo inside his head. Could still see the dazzling whir of light as the two blades in his hands uncrossed like scissors — severed head from neck. The empty stare from dead eyes as the head rolled across the floor and thumped into his boot.

And for a moment ... the memory flashed, and he saw his own black mask staring up through those crossed blades. Not pleading, but waiting.

He subconsciously clenched his fists, wondered what he had promised to Dooku; the Serennian born Jedi turned Sith who had led the charge against them during the war. Had he promised him power? Control of the Jedi Order, perhaps? Or had he known all along that he was simply a tool to be sacrificed when the timing was right?

The mortified and confused look in his eyes before he'd decapitated him hadn't suggested as such.

"Lord Vader ... I am waiting."

The damning vision disappeared, replaced by the clarity of his mask's augmented lenses. He looked up from the floor to see his Master standing by the exit. His anger and power were pressing hard against him; rippling through the confined passenger space of the shuttle cabin. He glanced around, noted the now silent engines. Sometime during his recollection their ship must have landed — he'd been too distracted to notice. But his Master had. Noticed his distraction that is. And yet, he said nothing of it, just stared at him knowingly, patiently waiting for him to return.

Shifting from his seat, Vader straightened the cloak over his shoulders and rose to his full height. "Yes, Master," he said, and with an obedient nod, crossed the cabin to follow his Master down the ramp.

When they exited onto the elevated walkway the strong cross-winds wreaked havoc on his cloak, pulling, dragging, yanking roughly on the chain securing it around his neck. If it wasn't for the armoured collar, he felt certain it would've bruised. Not that the wind seemed to bother his Master, he continued to walk on ahead as if it were nothing more than a light mid-afternoon breeze. The churning air smelled damp, acrid; the malodorous stink penetrating the thick filters in his mask. The sour throat-closing odour presumably from the hundreds of high-rise spear-like factories spewing their toxic chemicals and exhausts steadily into the atmosphere. He clamped his mouth shut to at least combat the taste. He seldom came here. Not due to the stench, although that should serve as incentive enough in itself, but because up until today, he had seen no real reason to.

He had a feeling that was all about to change.

They reached the end of the walkway. Two Royal Guards stationed by the entrance opened the armoured steel doors and moved either side to allow them passage. His Master glanced to him over his shoulder.

"Come, Lord Vader," he said, gesturing forward. "I believe they are expecting us."

"They?" Vader asked, but it came out more of a growl than a question. He followed into the factory and moved to his Master's side, matching his pace stride for stride.

"Yes, my Apprentice. They."

They rounded the next corner and continued into another windowless duracrete corridor, this one much the same as the last.

His Master continued. "The Inquisitorious. A little project of mine long in the making."

Another of his so-called projects, Vader thought, squeezing his fist. Just how many of them were there? He followed him down a set of solid stairs and out into a small antechamber. His Master carried on toward an opening directly opposite.

Vader stopped rigid in the middle of the antechamber. "The Inquisitorious?" he growled, allowing his simmering frustration to seep across their bond. "Are they also to become Sith?"

His Master stopped in the doorway and turned around. Beneath the cowl, he saw clenched yellowed teeth, lips pulled back into a snarl. Vader, still under the sway of the Force after his recent duel, held his ground, unintimidated.

"The Inquisitorious ... belong ... to the Sith," his Master hissed, his power pressing against his. "Servants, if you will."

The two Sith stared each other down, their contesting power surging in the pocket of air between them, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Vader angled his head, glared at his Master's seemingly frail form through the uppermost curve of his lenses. "Indeed..." he rumbled. His gloved fingers itched by his lightsaber. He imagined plunging the red blade into his chest, the smoking robed flesh pressing against his mechanical knuckles while he twisted it and drove it deep.

His Master, sensing his emotion, held his glare, his curled lips twitching. He raised his gnarled hands —the same hands that could conjure lightning, the same hands that had previously choked him into submission— and opened them palms up in invitation. Daring him.

The uneven rattle and hiss of the damaged respirator drummed loudly in his ears. Brought him back to reality. With one long blink, he pulled his hand away. Closed it into a fist. Left the lightsaber still hanging on his belt.

Then, out of nowhere, his Master cackled. And in preternatural speed, he was in front of him, his hand landing heavily on Vader's left shoulder pauldron.

"I see you are rediscovering your focus, my friend," he purred, his two burning eyes staring up into his mask like balls of molten fire. His voice was silken, and smooth, and dare he think it —excited?

Had he actually wanted for him to attack him? Was he playing perfectly into yet another one of his traps?

Grinding his teeth, Vader squeezed his hand tighter, held his glare. "In ... a manner of speaking, Master ... Yes."

"Good..." Sidious chuckled, tapping his shoulder encouragingly. "Good. We can work on sharpening it together, later, my son. For now, shall we continue? We wouldn't want our servants to start killing each other out of boredom, now, would we?"

"That would be most ... unfortunate ... my Master."

"Indeed, it would, my Apprentice. Indeed, it would."

On the other side of the antechamber, a small duracrete viewing platform jutted out from the floor, overlooked a large circular dome-roofed arena. Stretched out along the walls either side, narrow walkways provided a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree overhead view of the lower level. A series of wall mounted floodlights sat in moulded archways just below the ceiling, illuminating the arena until it resembled daylight.

Vader followed his Master out onto the platform, to where the Grand Inquisitor was waiting. The Inquisitor glanced briefly to Vader —and Vader recognised the flash of fear in his black eyes. The sensation serving to further stoke the raging inferno surging in his chest. Choosing to stay close to his Master, Vader hooked his thumbs to his belt and instantly stopped when he stopped, stood shoulder to shoulder alongside him on the balcony.

The Grand Inquisitor fell to one knee. "The Inquisitorious are assembled as you commanded, Master," he said to Sidious.

Vader looked between Sidious and the knelt over Inquisitor. He'd called him Master. And for some reason it felt off, like he'd been played or replaced or was perhaps soon going to be. Vader growled, lowered his hands, clenched and unclenched them. He envisioned the Grand Inquisitor grabbing at his throat, his black eyes bugging out, his pointed fingers scraping and digging at his invisible grip as he squeezed.

His Master sensed his unease, glanced sidelong at him. Then, with a wave of his hand, dismissed the Grand Inquisitor from their presence. "Good. Now, go to them. Inform them of Lord Vader's and my arrival."

"Yes, Master," the Grand Inquisitor said. He rose from the floor, bowed before Vader and his Master. He then turned toward the balcony wall, and jumped.

Sidious stepped closer to the edge of the viewing platform, rested his hands atop the ridge. He kept his back to Vader, his robed head leaning over the edge, presumably looking down upon the lower level of the arena. Vader followed and took his place beside him.

"You guard your thoughts, well, my Apprentice."

Vader chose not to answer, instead listened to the intermittent rasp, hiss and click of his faltering respirator. He leaned forward, tilted his mask to see into the arena. Below, five more similarly dressed beings were assembled in a line before the Grand Inquisitor. He could hear him addressing them, informing them of their newly updated chain of Command. Echoes of distrust, confusion, curiosity and anger rippled from the group through the Force. Vader worked his jaw. More Force-wielders. He tightened his grip on the wall-ridge, felt the servo-motors in his prosthetic hand grind and shudder in protest. He sensed his Master's eyes —once again— upon him.

"Yet, your unbridled emotions continue to betray you," his Master said in his disapproving tone.

Vader looked to him then, hesitated, pondered his statement —surmised he'd meant it as both observation and question— and turned back to the arena. "The Grand Inquisitor. He was trained at some point. Who is he?"

"A Jedi, once. Resentful that someone with his skill was denied access to the higher councils, the great secrets of the Order." His Master paused in his explanation, tapped his fingers purposefully on the ledge as if waiting for something.

A sudden loud chirping pierced the silence. Vader glanced down at his wrist-com, then back to the arena, and ignored it.

"Are you not going to answer that?" his Master asked, staring at him, irritated by the interruption. "It may be of importance."

"It can wait." He immediately pulled his hands from the ledge, folded his arms and looked back to his Master. "You... were saying?"

Sidious turned his gaze back to the arena. "Yes... well, his rejection formed a useful crack in his armour, one that was easy to exploit. In truth, he is better suited to this role. I believe he is ... grateful."

Vader stared at his Master. Battled with himself. He turned his attention back to the arena, to the Grand Inquisitor now sparring with the other Inquisitors, their red blades twirling and spinning and clashing. Each blinding crack triggering his temper. Each angry yell, like a bolt of lightning striking his chest. He watched as the Grand Inquisitor defeated one of the smaller combatants and knocked them to the floor, and for the briefest of moments saw himself lying in their place. The thought churned his gut, twisted and knotted it into a matted ball so tight, that he felt certain he was about to explode. After several long moments of watching, thinking, his mind relentlessly whispering and chanting words of self-doubt—

He growled through his teeth. "You ... sent me to the Archives ... knowing he was there. If he had beaten me ... would he now be standing at your side?"

His Master suppressed a scornful laugh, kept his gaze fixed on the arena below. "Come now, Lord Vader," he said mockingly, clasping his hands together on the ledge. "Was there ever any real chance that the Grand Inquisitor might have defeated you?"

Vader hesitated. Despite his rumination on the unlikely outcomes, in actuality, when he had paid attention to the duel and tried, he had defeated the Grand Inquisitor in only two strikes. He stood tall and proud, towering dominantly over his Master. "No."

Sidious sniggered, pulled his lips into what almost appeared to be a smile. "Precisely."

The wrist-com chirped again. And Vader tapped at the controls to silence it.

"They seem rather insistent," his Master sneered, turning to him and raising his brow.

"Yes. Whoever it is, they can wait." He dropped his hands and clasped them together behind his back. Shifting into his parade stance, he returned his gaze to the Inquisitors in the arena. He felt his Master's glare remain fixed on him.

"You do not wish to answer it in my presence?"

"No. I have been absent from your counsel for more than six weeks, Master. My attention, lies solely ... on you."

"Ah..." his Master said, and Vader sensed his guard lower, ever so slightly. "As it should be, my son."

Sidious turned to look over the arena beside him, and Vader could feel the heat of his arm next to his; the radiating warmth breaching the protective layers of his bodysuit. They stood in silence together, watching their servants sparring, the continuous unsteady rasp and hiss of Vader's breathing marking the slow passage of time. The wrist-com chirped again, but neither Sith Lord bothered to react to it.

After another few short moments, his Master broke their silence. "I want you to train them."

Vader looked to him. "Master?"

"The Grand Inquisitor has skills. But he still has much to learn. They all do." Sidious turned from the balcony, placed his hand on Vader's arm. "They are yours, my son. To teach and mould as you see fit. Transform them into hunters that we can unleash onto the galaxy, to wipe out any surviving Jedi still hiding within the shadows of our illustrious Empire."

He was giving them to him? The Grand Inquisitor was not being readied to take his place? The room started to spin. He must have misread the situation. Vader dropped to one knee and bent his head low. "I... would be honoured to train them, my Master." His Master's hand fell on his left shoulder, his caressing touch, possessive. Vader lifted his head to gaze up at him, looked into the golden eyes staring down.

Sidious smiled. One of those fatherly smiles he'd used to give him before he'd turned. When he spoke, his voice was calm, like that of the Chancellor, yet, somehow still seductive and alluring like the Sith. "Meet me at the SuRecon Centre after you are done here. So, you can attend to your health, and I ... to your training."

Vader closed his eyes, felt some of the built-up tension slowly ease from his shoulders, and obediently lowered his head. "Thank you, my Master."

• • •

Darth Sidious left his Apprentice to his new assignment and continued back down the corridors for his shuttle. He passed the two Royal Guards at the entrance, chuckling to himself as he crossed the elevated walkway, wringing his gnarled fingers and mentally ticking off the steps. It was a revision of the very same ritual he'd employed to groom the boy from the beginning — gain his trust, fulfil his need for constant approval, then complete the steps: isolate, emasculate, manipulate, subjugate and indoctrinate. Only this time around, since he no longer needed to compete with the Jedi, he could afford to streamline the process. Skipped over the trust building and ego-stroking exercises, and moved straight onto his isolation.

Now all he needed was to reaffirm his indoctrination.

Captain Kagi had the shuttle ramp down and ready when he reached it, and adopting his more publicly recognised persona, Sidious nodded in acceptance.

"Where to, my Lord?" the loyal Captain asked him as he ascended into the ship.

"My personal MedCentre, Kagi. I have preparations to complete."

"Yes, my Emperor."

He walked into the simplistic passenger cabin, took his seat and intertwined his fingers on his lap. As the shuttle engines roared and lifted them from the platform, he gazed thoughtfully through the window to the factory.

"Only one step left to go, my friend, and I'll have you obediently back by my side ... right where you belong," he mused, watching as the tall spire gradually gave way to the scorched sky above.

DROMUND KAAS: KAAS CITY: ROYAL HANGAR

Padmé, the train of her black gown dragging, paced back and forth by the Dark Angel's boarding ramp, shaking her head and staring at the wrist-com her husband had gifted her moments before he'd departed for Coruscant.

"Why won't he answer me?" she blurted, whirling around. "This isn't like him. Something isn't right."

Obi-wan looked to the trooper commander stood beside him, and then back to the Sith's raging hormonal wife. "You're right. This isn't like Anakin. But, are you sure this isn't like Vader? Have you actually tried comming him before?"

She stabbed at the cold air with her finger. "Don't you dare patronise me! He's my husband. Of course, I've commed him before."

"I am not trying to patronise you, Padmé," Obi-wan said, folding his arms. "All I am saying is that—"

"No, Obi-wan! All you are saying ... is the same thing you always say. Vader is not Anakin. I get it. Really, I do." She tapped at the wrist-com again, paced in front of him until it eventually rang off. Angry tears welled in her eyes when she turned to look back at him. "What I am saying, is that his relationship with Sidious is not like it first was with Palpatine. I've seen what he does to him."

He could see she was worried, but her anger was not going to help either herself or Anakin out of this mess. And she had completely misread the point he had been trying to make — or rather, would have made, had she have let him speak. The way she was behaving right now, as strange and uncharacteristic as it was, he was convinced he'd need to stall her somehow. Give her some time to settle, come back to her senses, look at the situation more objectively. Rather than doing an Anakin, and running blindly into a battle with no back-up and only half the information. "What are you planning to do? You can't just storm into the palace, be like some disapproving mother and declare that their little play date is over, grab hold of his arm and drag him away from Palpatine."

She folded her arms, her expression fierce and accusatory. "No. That's what you should have done — years ago."

And as he expected, the blame for Anakin's fall circled back to him. It always circled back to him. "Yes... well, perhaps if your husband —my padawan that you consciously chose to marry despite his sworn oath to the Jedi Order— had bothered to listen to anything I'd told him over the years, the Jedi he murdered would still be alive, and we wouldn't be in this predicament, now, would we?"

Padmé's face fell. He probably shouldn't have let his anger show like that. But he'd grown tired of being their punching bag. And the longer he stayed in this Sith cesspool of a City, the more he found himself no longer caring about the subtleties of controlling his emotions like the good Jedi he'd trained for years to be.

"Obi-wan, I'm so..." she whispered, reaching to him. "I never thought..."

He waved her off. "Forget I said anything."

"General Kenobi, Lady Vader..." Commander Appo said, inserting himself into their conversation. "With all due respect, it is common knowledge amongst my men, that Lord Vader does not respond to anyone when he is in session with the Emperor."

"Are you suggesting he could still be with him, Commander?" Obi-wan asked, curious. "That would seem to me, as one rather long meeting."

Appo nodded. "He has been known to be unreachable for days at a time, General."

"Days..." he muttered, stroking his beard. So much could go wrong in just a few short hours, let alone days. He'd seen that before with the collapse of the Jedi Order and the Republic. He shook his head. Days. He'd only been gone a few days.

"Well, I'm going to him," Padmé said, standing arms folded at the foot of the boarding ramp, an edge of finality in her tone. "I have the senate meeting to prepare for anyway. I was hoping to meet up with him beforehand to discuss his message."

A figure dressed in a Naboo Royal Guard uniform appeared at the top of the ramp, started to walk down. Obi-wan presumed it was one of the troopers Vader had organised for Padmè's security detail.

"My lady," he called out, and Padmè turned to him. "Captain Sloane wishes to advise that we're all set. Ready to leave when you are."

She nodded. "Thank you, Commander. Inform the Captain that I will be on my way shortly."

"Will do, my lady."

"Make sure you take good care of her Bly," Appo said, pointing. "If anything smells off ... anything..."

Bly laughed. "Don't worry about us, poster boy. You've got your orders — we've got ours." He about-faced and headed back for the cabin. "We'll get her there and back safe."

"Bly!" Appo yelled, and Obi-wan, still standing next to him, nearly jumped feet from shock. The other Commander stopped and spun around.

"Keep your scopes up," Appo said, and he tapped at the side of his helmet, as if it were some type of special code known only to the troopers. "Reds are still remote."

"Right. Got it." Bly nodded, saluted, then spoke slowly. "Good troopers, follow orders."

Appo saluted him back. "Good troopers, follow orders."

Bly disappeared inside the ship, and Obi-wan turned to Appo, as Padmé started toward them.

"I don't suppose you are going to tell me, what that was all about?" he asked the Commander.

"It's just something..." Appo hesitated, folded his arms again. "Something our Supreme Commander warned us all to be mindful of, General," he answered dismissively, tilting his helmet in Padmè's approaching direction.

"I see..." Obi-wan stroked his beard, mulled it over for a bit. Vader didn't trust the troopers outside of his own personal legion. "But, why?" he whispered, quietly, to himself, the thought gnawing at him. Then, piece by piece, parts of the puzzle slowly started to fit together. Maybe it actually had more to do with the identity chips, than the troopers themselves. Could that be one of the main reasons he'd had them removed from the 501st? No, it couldn't be. According to Appo, he'd had that done ages ago, months before their confrontation on Tatooine. But if that were the case... had he been suspecting...

"Oh!" he said, and glanced to Appo in shock, the thought suddenly dawning on him.

The trooper commander nodded. "You're catching on."

"Catching on to what?" Padmé asked, her hazel eyes darting curiously between the two men.

"It's nothing, Padmé. Don't worry," Obi-wan said, putting one arm around her and guiding her back to the ship. "I just want you to promise me, that you'll be careful. Remember, you have two children here waiting for you."

They stopped by the ramp. Padmé smiled, glanced down to her stomach and drew tiny circles over the small bump. "And... another on the way," she added softly.

"And another on the way." He gently held her shoulders, stared into her eyes as she gazed up into his. "Even all the more reason for you to play it safe, my lady. As difficult, and as challenging as you may find that to be."

She threw her arms around him, buried her face into his neck and sucked back a sob. "I'll bring him back to us, Obi-wan. I promise. One way or another, I will bring him back."

Force willing, he thought, but he didn't have the heart to speak it out loud. She needed to believe there was at least some hope. So, instead, he just held her tight and rubbed her back soothingly. "I hope so, Padmé. I truly hope so."

After a moment, Padmé pulled away, carefully dried her eyes, and turned to walk up the Dark Angel's boarding ramp. She stopped at the top. Smiled sadly at him.

"May the Force be with you, Obi-wan," she said, her hand moving over the door switch.

He smiled, and bowed his head. "May the Force be with you, as well, my Lady."

The ramp drew to a close, sealed her inside the ship. The engines started to thrum. He stepped back a few paces, stood beside Commander Appo, and folded his arms over his chest.

"Strong woman, that one," Appo remarked, his helmet tilting to follow the Cruiser as it lifted from the hangar. "They make a good pair."

"Indeed, they do..." Obi-wan muttered, half to himself, half to the trooper by his side. He watched as the ship ascended high into the storm clouds above. He sighed, turned away and tapped Appo on the shoulder. "They... always did, Commander. That, was the problem."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

A few character arcs have started to blossom in this one. I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will see us catching up with Syrennè and Malgus, as well as Ferus and Caleb, so it may bounce around a little bit, and it gets pretty fast paced from here.

I know the chapters are taking a little while to be released, and for that I apologise. I am trying to focus on quality and content, rather than speed. Plus, with the depth and complexity of the story's plot, and the number of personalities involved along the way, I want to take care with it. To do my best to make sure the continuity stays on track.

Thank you everyone so much for your follows and favourites.

Sfloresf and Guest, and to everyone else who I haven't mentioned here, thank you so much for your reviews. They mean the world to me. Especially as how I am still so new to this whole 'writing' thing. But I am always looking to learn more and make my writing better.

Sfloresf: you always manage to see the little nuggets of truth hidden in and between the lines of the story. I love that. Your reviews often give me an insight into how well (or conversely, how not so well) I've planted the seed.

Anyway, thank you all for reading, and as always...

MTFBWY.