Chapter 26: Perdidit in Tenebris

—Part One—

Vader awoke with a start and threw back the covers. He buckled forward and gagged; his stomach churning, seemingly unappreciative of the food and liquor he'd forced into it last night. So unappreciative in-fact, that it apparently felt the need to evacuate itself. He groaned through another surging wave of nausea and tried to swallow and breathe it away. Then, realising that wave had been his final warning, quickly stumbled out of bed.

He almost didn't make it. Reaching the fresher, he lunged head first for the commode, and heaved. Everything came up: the whiskey, the steak, the vitapaste from the morning—Everything. And thanks to the vitapaste, his gut's former contents looked more like some lumpy, blood coloured soup rather than vomit. Well, at least he hoped it was the vitapaste. Another violent wave cramped his stomach, and again, he heaved; his body repeatedly purging itself until there was nothing left but acid.

Stark naked, Vader braced his hands on the bowl, and shivered. He could barely stand up straight; head spinning and legs and arms shaking. Clearly the whiskey was still making its way out of his system. Lowering to his knees, he dropped his head to his forearms and tried to quell the quaking tremors crippling his body.

Kriff, the blasted floor was freezing, and his teeth wouldn't stop chattering. He needed to get warm before he froze to death. Using the Force, he summoned one of the giant bath sheets from the rail, and wrapped it around his bare back and shoulders. It helped a little, but wasn't nearly enough to stop the shivering. Even as a small boy, he'd struggled with the cold, made even worse now since he'd been burned. He hated being cold almost as much as he hated sand. The only exception being the chill of space; which he tolerated for two reasons: One; he was usually appropriately dressed for the occasion, and two; space meant he was flying, and flying meant freedom.

The tremors intensified, and it felt like his entire body was shutting down. The chill had successfully worked its way into his inner core, bringing with it a pounding headache. Wincing at the screaming throb behind his eyes, he pushed away from the commode, leaned back against the shower screen and curled into a ball. Then, pulling the bath sheet in tighter, tried to regulate his body temperature.

All he really wanted was to crawl back under the warm blankets alongside Padmé. To not move an inch from her soothing presence until he absolutely had to. But he knew he needed to wait this out. And from the way his body was shaking, there was little chance of him being able to stand, let alone walk.

Dropping his head down, Vader groaned and allowed his eyes to slip closed. Within seconds, visions of Padmé lying beneath him in the meadow flashed in his memory. The images were hazy and out of focus, but the pleasant feelings they dredged up were as clear as ever. He'd taken a huge risk giving his anger to the Force last night, venturing closer to the Light than he'd ever dared go since committing himself to the Dark side. No doubt his Master would have sensed it, was already planning his punishment. Not that that thought had even crossed his whiskey-addled mind at the time. His sole focus had been on Padmé, using everything in his power to convince her into staying at his side. Kenobi unexpectedly agreeing with him had definitely helped his cause; with even Padmé being momentarily surprised by the Jedi's conclusion.

It had been a last-minute thought on his part to attempt to merge his and his wife's subconscious awareness. The power owing as much to the Dark side of the Force, as it did to the Light. He'd wanted to remind Padmé of why they were together in the first place. The premise behind it being, that if she could relive one of their most intimate nights together on Naboo, she would start seeing him for who he used to be, rather than the walking wreckage of a man who now stood before her.

Hearing his Angel confess that she trusted him—without him needing to ask first—and feeling the truth of that confession ring gloriously across the Force, had been the most exhilarating sensation he had ever experienced. It was as if she'd reached deep into his chest, wrapped her warm silken fingers around his cold heart, and gently massaged it back to life. And for the briefest of moments, Vader had faltered, sensed his hold on the Dark side slip—

and the man buried inside him had stirred awake.

Only now, hunched over on the floor and bundled up in a towel, did Vader finally understand the damning reality of his actions. Not only had he focused on the positives... not only had he pushed away his anger and given it to the Force... but he had consciously drawn on the Light to bring both of his and Padmé's minds together. And in doing so, had stupidly awakened the damned Jedi.

Silently cursing himself, Vader drew on the Force to get the tremors back under control and slowly pushed up from the floor. Then, replacing the bath sheet on the rail, he turned for his bedchamber, braced his hand on the door frame and squinted through the darkness to admire his sleeping wife.

Half a breath later, he switched on the light.

CORUSCANT AIR PLATFORM: TANTIVE-III

Pacing back and forth in the passenger cabin, Caleb tried to work out his nervous tension. For hours, he and his Master had sought refuge inside Senator Organa's consular ship, watching the minutes slowly tick by, waiting—hoping they'd managed to successfully evade the two Inquisitors. Day had slowly turned into night. Night had soon turned back into day.

Neither one of them had slept, only breaking from their watchful meditations to use the on-board fresher, or quickly scarf down one of the bland ration meals they'd swiped from the ship's galley. Thankfully, during that time, they'd sensed no further signs of Darth Vader's mysterious Jedi hunters ... or of the Dark Lord himself for that matter. The emperor's foreboding presence, however, still loomed omnipotently over the city; the weighted shadow of the dark side as chilling, and heavy, and suffocating as always. It was a presence Caleb couldn't wait to get away from.

"You look tired," Ferus said to him from the conference table, looking every bit as exhausted and wrecked as he felt. His Master's eyes were half-closed, and his hand was pressed hard against his temple, seeming to be the only thing keeping his head off the counter-top. "You should go into the crew's quarters and find a cot to curl up in."

"I'm fine," Caleb grunted, and he joined him at the table and slouched into the seat opposite. "Besides, you don't look a whole lot better yourself. Perhaps you're the one who should be chasing a cot."

His Master shook his head and sighed. "Oh, don't you worry, I will be. Once we reach hyperspace. The Force will just have to sustain me until then."

Caleb yawned. Now that his Master had mentioned it, the idea of finding a few hours shut-eye did sound appealing. But like his Master, he too wanted to be sure they were safely off-world before letting his guard down. Vader's Inquisitors had already caught them off-guard twice, there was no telling if they would try for a third.

The grey blast door to the passenger cabin whooshed open and Senator Organa walked in to join them. The senator was talking to someone on his comm; a woman whose voice Caleb failed to recognise.

"Engines primed, and cleared for take-off, Senator," the unfamiliar woman said to Organa over the comm, her authoritative tone clipped and tight. "Awaiting coordinates."

The woman sounded strikingly official—more military than civilian—and the thought made Caleb's skin prickle. Had the senator suddenly adopted some defecting Imperial? Or was she from some other criminal military faction not yet associated with the Empire? Caleb already knew that Organa had contacts in Black Sun; he'd overheard him talking to one back at the base once. Perhaps this pilot was one of them. Either way, there was no way this woman was just some lowly civilian pilot; not with how she was talking.

"I am patching the coordinates through to you now, Captain," Senator Organa said, stopping beside Ferus at the conference table and tapping at his comm. "Once you hit orbit, hold there until we reach you. We will accompany you for the jump."

"Negative on that, Senator," the woman brusquely countered. "An escort will not be necessary."

Organa paused, seemed to consider the woman's refusal. Then, opened his mouth to respond—

"Coordinates received," the woman said, continuing before he could get a word in edgeways. "Now; going dark. We will meet you at the rendezvous point. NDB-DA1—Signing out."

Abruptly, the line went dead; filling the passenger cabin with static. Organa stared at his comm a long moment; frowning at it. He seemed stunned by the woman's reluctance to accept their escort, an air of confusion rippling around him through the Force. Caleb shifted forward in his seat and eyed the Senator. He hoped the end of his call meant they would be taking off soon. Apparently, his Master was thinking the same.

"She sounds as eager to get off Coruscant, as we are," his Master said, craning his neck around to look at the Senator stood beside him.

"Yes, she does..." Organa murmured, still frowning. He slid the comm into his coat-pocket and methodically stroked his goatee.

Caleb stared between the two men. "What did the captain mean when she said "going dark"?"

Organa answered his question, but his voice and attention remained distant. "It means they will be disengaging the ship's tracking and communication systems," he said grimly. "They won't be visible to passing vessels or navigational scanners—including our own. And if their ship has a built-in cloaking device, I assume they will be activating that as well."

Confused, Caleb turned back to his Master and raised a brow at him. "So... they're trying to disappear?"

His Master nodded. "Essentially, Caleb, yes." Ferus looked to the senator, cleared his throat to get his attention, and the Senator turned to face him. "So, Bail, I assume that means we will be taking off ourselves shortly? Not to rush you or anything, but Caleb and I did just spend the night hiding from Jedi hunters."

The Senator roughly shook his head. "Yes... yes, of course, Master Olin," Organa answered, seeming to begrudgingly drag his thoughts back on track. "Forgive me, I'm afraid my mind is slightly preoccupied at present." He dug the comm back out from his coat-pocket and called the ship's captain. "Antilles, we're ready when you are. Take her out."

CORUSCANT: 500 REPUBLICA: DARTH VADER'S FORTRESS

Struggling to focus, Vader rubbed the aching throb from his eyes. Opening them again, he blinked, then stared vacantly at the sight before him. Instead of seeing his beautiful wife, naked and curled up asleep... he was greeted by a mess of dishevelled sheets and abandoned pillows. He swallowed thickly, forced down the sudden rush of bile flooding up his throat. No, he told himself, pushing away the swell of paranoia threatening to engulf him. She wouldn't have—not after last night.

He sat down, grabbed a pair of sleep slacks from his bedside drawer and quickly pulled them on. Then, noticing the chrono beside his lamp, checked the time. It was just gone seven. Early enough for breakfast, but still late enough that if Padmé had another one of her meetings today at the senate, she would be rushing around trying to get ready in time. Deciding to check the kitchen, he grabbed his robe from the chair, and shrugged into it on his way out the door.

Like his bed, the kitchen too, was empty. The mess from dinner all gone, the plates, glasses and cutlery washed and put away. And there was no evidence of breakfast being made or eaten either. Just a silent emptiness that seemed to permeate the entirety of his suite. Paranoia creeping up inside again, Vader clenched his jaw. Then, giving his seemingly barren apartment one final dissecting glance, he made his way for the turbo-lift.

Artoo was waiting in the sitting room when Vader reached Padmé's apartment. Most of the lights were out, and like his own kitchen, there was no evidence of food being prepared in here either. Whistling sadly, the little astromech rolled toward him, the mournful sound all but confirming his worst suspicions. Vader frowned. "Where is she, Artoo?"

The droid swivelled his domed head, flashed his photoreceptor around the sitting room. Then, rocking side to side, broke off into a long string of irritated chirps, beeps and whistles.

Tensing, Vader folded his arms and stared at the droid. According to Artoo, he had followed Padmé and Threepio to her apartment after being disturbed from his charging rest. Hiding in the kitchen, he had spied on his wife as she'd hurried around her suite talking to someone on her comm.

"Who... was she talking to?" Vader asked the droid, gritting his teeth. The words were difficult to push out, the familiar tightness without his breathing mask already putting unwanted pressure on his chest. He felt his scarred lip twitch, the flood of anger causing a rush of heat to burn like fever. Vader stiffened and narrowed his gaze. If Padmé had been talking to Organa...

Seeming to recognise his Master's growing irritation, Artoo answered his question. The astromech curtly broke out into another lengthy string of rapid chirps and beeps, explaining that he had recorded the whole event.

"Show me the recording."

Vader scowled, watching the blue holo-footage projected before him. Padmé disappeared inside her bedroom, then came back out a moment later, wearing dark pants, a long-hooded robe, and carrying a large bag at her side.

"It's now or never, Bail," his wife was saying, urgently hurrying from her bedchamber and pacing between the twin sofas. "I promise you; there won't be a next time."

"Why won't you tell me what's going on?" Organa's grating voice echoed across the recording. "We've been friends for years now. You know you can trust me. If you're in some kind of trouble—"

"Bail, I don't have time for this!" Padmé yelled back at the Viceroy, cutting him off. She nervously glanced around her apartment, as if looking for something—no doubt expecting Vader himself to walk in. "My people are waiting for me at the platform. We either do this now, or I am going back to bed."

"Alright, calm down, Padmé. I'll get my ship ready," the Viceroy agreed, sounding thoroughly dressed down. He huffed over the comm. "Have your captain comm me in fifteen minutes. I'll transmit the coordinates then."

"Good. I'll be in contact." Padmé disconnected the call and turned to face C-3PO at her side. "Come on, Threepio, we've got to hurry—it won't be long before Anakin wakes up and comes looking for us."

The golden protocol droid quickly followed his wife toward the verandah, loyally protesting as he did so. "Forgive me, miss Padmé," Threepio said, "but wouldn't it be wise for us to inform Master Anakin of where we are going? After all, what if something goes wrong—"

"No, Threepio. He won't understand," Padmé countered, pausing to open the transparisteel door to the balcony outside. She shot the droid a sharp look over her shoulder. "Now, come along, or I'll be forced to leave you behind."

The holo-projection fizzed out, and Vader said nothing. He stared at the space previously occupied by the holo-recording, methodically working his fists. There was no rational thought. No weighing of options. Only anger. A silent simmering rage that festered deep, deep within his core. And it was steadily growing stronger.

Artoo trilled a despondent whistle, jerking Vader from his stasis. He glowered at the astromech, wanting nothing more than to reach into the droid's memory banks and yank the offensive footage out with his bare hands. But it would be unfair of him to punish the droid, this was hardly Artoo's fault. No, he would save his anger for Organa. And when he found him... imagining the many tortuous ways he could deal with the Viceroy, Vader squeezed his fists tighter—

and the entire room started to shake. Heedless of his shallow and laboured breathing, he whirled on his heel and stormed for the verandah.

Outside, the sunrise insulted him with its existence. The sky's warm yellow and red glow dousing the busy Coruscanti cityscape in a kaleidoscope of colour. The criss-crossing skylanes already packed, with thousands of speeders, air-cars and civilian transports jostling for space between the metropolis of multi-storey towers and skyscrapers. Squinting through the blinding maze, Vader tried to spot the nearest platforms in case Padmé's ship was still docked close-by.

But it was pointless. The traffic was too heavy, and the constant glare of morning sunlight made it impossible to see. A sudden icy gust lashed at his robe, the bone-numbing chill slicing through his naked skin and causing his chest to clamp tight. Vader called on the Force and pulled it into him from all around, channelled it deep to silence his broken body's incessant whinging. Willing the darkness to consume him, he allowed the malevolent energy to fester and swell until he could no longer feel the cold. Then, the ever-present roar plaguing his mind detonated.

And something inside him snapped.

Vader felt nothing but hatred. Hatred for this city; hatred for himself; hatred for his Master; for the Senate; for Organa; for the Jedi; for the Temple; for Watto; for Tatooine; for the hundreds of butchered sand people he'd left to wither and rot in the desert.

He hated Coruscant. Hated everything that it stood for—hated everything that it symbolised. All it had ever brought him was pain.

His heart was pounding, the useless organ banging furiously against his ribcage in a desperate bid to escape. Squeezing his eyes shut, Vader gritted his teeth and focused inward. He sought out his burning dragon and stared it dead in the eyes. Recognising his unspoken command, the flaming dragon reared-up and roared, spraying strings of acid-saliva from its jagged teeth. Then, with a burst of power, the insidious beast shrieked and broke free, shattering its chains, and setting fire to the malignant torrent churning inside him. The dragon's white-hot stare never once leaving Vader's.

Clenched fists trembling, Vader opened his eyes and glowered at the unforgiving city surrounding him. He wanted to watch it burn. To make it suffer, the way he was forced to suffer. Then, no longer able to hold onto his anger, he thrust his arms wide...

And unleashed his murderous rage unto the Force.

CORUSCANT AIRSPACE: DARK ANGEL

"Please turn off your communication devices and place them in here," Dormé said, holding an open chest out to Commander Bly and the others gathered in the Dark Angel's royal parlour.

Bly immediately jerked back and gestured toward his two men. "Belay that, troopers," he commanded, narrowing his gaze and pinning the handmaiden with his darkened stare. "We are under strict orders from Lord Vader to keep lines of communication open and traceable at all times."

Dormé frowned at the disguised trooper. "Yes, Commander, I understand that. But Lady Vader has now ordered you to deactivate them and place them inside this chest."

The Commander folded his arms and vehemently shook his head. "No can do, handmaiden. Good soldiers follow orders. The comms stay on."

Looking to Niobè stood beside her, Dormé nodded toward the open chest and waited.

"Sorry, Dormé," the mock handmaiden said, folding her arms. "I'm with the Commander on this. Lord Vader's orders."

"Did Lord Vader not also order you to listen to everything I tell you?" Dormé said, frowning at the young Corellian. "That I was to teach you in the ways of becoming one of her grace's handmaidens?"

Niobè nodded. "Yes, he did."

"And are you not disobeying said command by refusing me right now?"

"Well..." Niobè looked between the three troopers for support. "I guess—"

Before she could finish her sentence, the blast door to the royal cabin slid open. Padmé strode out to join them, her black robe dragging on the floor behind her feet, the hood lowered and clasped at her neck with an ornate brooch, concealing all but the skin-tight black pants and knee-high combat boots she wore underneath. She stopped alongside her loyal handmaiden and allowed her gaze to slowly drift across her assembled consort. "Go easy on them, Dormé," Padmé said regally, putting one hand on the woman's shoulder. "My husband commands complete loyalty from his subordinates. Their dedication should be commended."

Dormé lowered her eyes to the floor and nodded stiffly. "Yes, m'lady."

"As for you, Commander Bly," Padmé continued, looking to the trooper stood opposite her. "I understand your concerns. However, I also expect you to respect mine. I have requested your communication devices be deactivated and surrendered in order to protect my husband. If the emperor discovers our whereabouts, he will use that knowledge as leverage to further subvert and manipulate him."

Bly frowned and shook his head, seemingly confused. "But, Lady Vader, with all due respect... the emperor isn't—"

Padmé glared sharply at the trooper, and stabbed the air with her finger. "Commander, Emperor Palpatine is a maniacal sociopath who is only interested in growing his power. He sees my husband as the key to that power, and he will stop at nothing until he gets it. You; me; Lord Vader; we all mean nothing to him. We are merely playing pieces in a strategy game that has been decades in the making."

The three troopers exchanged concerned glances, and Padmé turned to take the chest from Dormé, then walked up to Commander Bly and held it out, ready. She nodded toward the trooper. "Now, Commander. If you and your men would be so kind."

The troopers and handmaiden-in-training each switched off their comms, then one-by-one started to drop them into the chest—

When out of nowhere, a blinding flash exploded through the windows, and a loud bang rocked the ship. Padmé and the others grabbed for support, bracing themselves on walls and chairs in an effort to stay upright. The Dark Angel yawed starboard, a sudden piercing whine screaming from her usual rumbling engines. Another booming flash pummelled the hull, and this time Dark Angel shuddered. She screamed louder and violently dipped; the sudden drop in altitude forcing Padmé's stomach into her throat.

Ears ringing, Padmé scrambled into her seat and quickly looked around the cabin. Dormé was pinned against the far wall, blood seeping from a gash on her forehead, the broken chest and discarded comms scattered around her on the floor. Beside her, Commander Bly was desperately trying to drag himself into a seat. Across the parlour, Niobè and one of Bly's men were huddled together in one of the dual lounges, their noses both pressed hard against the window. A third flash-bang slammed the ship, then a fourth; forcing the Dark Angel to list hard to portside.

"Lady Vader!" Captain Sloane's panicked voice came over the intercom. "I need you in the cockpit!"

Dark Angel shuddered, and levelled out, then surged up and dropped down again, as if the ship was being tossed about in some almighty thunderstorm. Padmé briefly considered this, then frowned. That couldn't be right—Coruscant didn't have thunderstorms; the city's weather was artificially controlled. Rain, wind and lightning, only happened on Coruscant if someone purposefully manufactured them into existence—and even then, they had always been strictly governed.

Pushing up from her seat, Padmé slowly edged her way across the parlour, occasionally stopping to brace herself as the cabin rocked side-to-side. No sooner had she reached the exit, then another booming blast pounded the ship, the knock dropping Padmé to her knees. Wind thoroughly knocked out of her, she pushed to her feet and slapped the door release to the main corridor, then called over her shoulder to Commander Bly. "Commander, there's a medikit under your seat, help Dormé. Once we hit hyperspace, we can transfer her to the medbay."

"Right away, m'lady."

The corridor lights were flickering, and the screaming sound from the engines grew louder the closer Padmé got to the front of the ship. Finally reaching the cockpit, she hit the security panel and moved inside to join Captain Sloane at the controls... then stopped when she saw the city through the ship's viewport.

The sky outside was scorched. The earlier golden and pink sunrise consumed by a churning chaos of black thunderclouds so thick they blocked out the sun. Between them, sheets of white lightning crackled and flashed, raining sizzling finger after finger of pure electricity down onto the city. Pelting against the viewport, the roaring torrential downpour had effectively reduced their visibility to zero.

Momentarily stunned, Padmé stared at the storm devouring the city in shock. The chaos outside unlike any she'd ever seen before. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. She had seen a storm like this before... not too long ago in fact—back on Dromund Kaas.

Unbidden, images flashed before her eyes. Scorched skies. A forgotten city. A world entombed by darkness and lost to eternal night. Then, a wave of despair gripped her chest, an emotion so raw it made her blood suddenly run cold. The angelic faces of her twins appeared, their two pairs of bright and innocent eyes staring straight back at her—So perfect, so miraculous. They were on that world, so far, far away, and for now, they were safe; hidden and locked away under the watchful protection of Obi-wan.

Padmé's stomach churned, as if her and Anakin's unborn child was trying to remind her of its existence, too. Rubbing tiny circles over her small bump, she tried to soothe it, when a thought struck her mind. Could it be possible these visions were the Force trying to warn her of something?

With that, Padmé's heart began to race—and another haunting image reared its ugly head. One of lava and heat. A tall figure robed in black, with one strong gloved hand clawed in her direction. Then came the unexpected tightness... the squeeze... the sudden shortness of breath... the panic of knowing what was coming next—

Struggling to breathe, Padmé resisted the urge to claw at her neck, feeling the darkness start to close‐in. Then, with each racing beat of her heart, she tried to remind herself that it wasn't real, that it was just a cruel memory. But that didn't stop the pain; the urgent burning in her chest, the screaming need for air. Then, abruptly, as fast as the recollection had started, then it stopped. And the pressure constricting her throat lifted.

Dark Angel bucked again, violently jerking Padmé back into the cockpit. Hands still shaking, she swallowed and gingerly caressed the length of her throat. It had been months since she'd relived that horrific nightmare of Anakin's attack, but whenever she did, the fear and panic that soon followed had always managed to leave her unsettled. Almost one full standard year on—and even though she knew in her heart that Anakin would never consciously do anything like that again—it bothered her, knowing that he was still yet to properly apologise.

Gathering herself, Padmé sighed and suffocated the nagging doubts, locking them back down into the very deepest, darkest corner of her mind. Dwelling on the past wouldn't help her right now. She needed to do this for her family; for Anakin, for their children, and even for Obi-wan. They would never be free to live out their lives while Palpatine was still in the picture. First; she needed to convince the rebellion to help her take him out, just in case Anakin failed and further succumbed to his so-called Master's manipulations. Then, with Palpatine gone, she and Obi-wan would have all the time they needed to figure out how best to help Anakin.

Sitting down beside Sloane, Padmé reached for the controls and forced herself to focus. She could worry about all that later. Right now, she had a ship to fly.

"Can you fly?" Sloane hissed through gritted teeth, her strained voice abruptly ripping Padmé from her thoughts. The captain's dark hands were shaking, the young female Imperial pilot clearly struggling to hold them on course.

Grabbing the controls, Padmé pulled back on the yoke and held the Dark Angel's nose steady. "Captain, have you got those coordinates yet?" she asked Sloane sat in the pilot's seat beside her.

"Received them a few moments ago," the young Imperial answered, her voice still noticeably strained.

Padmé nodded. "Good. Check the navi-comp and find us a clear path." She reached for the console and keyed the ship's transceiver. "Meanwhile, I'm going to contact Senator Organa. Once you find a clear path, input the coordinates and prepare to activate the hyperdrive."

A disbelieving cry came from Sloane. "What? Are you insane? You can't just jump to lightspeed from here. You'll get us all killed!"

Padmé shot the woman a stern warning glance. "I appreciate your concern, Captain," she said flatly, dismissing the young Imperial's unease. "But my husband is the best star pilot in the galaxy. I haven't been with him all these years to not learn a thing or two about flying." The on-board transmitter whistled into life and Padmé flicked the switch. "Dark Angel to Tantive-III. Tantive-III, do you copy?"

Static hissed and crackled through the speakers, and moments later, a familiar voice called back. "This is Tantive-III. We are receiving you loud and clear. Come in, Dark Angel."

"Bail..." Padmé started, staring through the pelting rain still slamming the viewport. "Are you seeing this?"

"I am... it's quite the thunderstorm," Bail said, sounding just as concerned as what she was. "I guess the CWC must be having a few technical difficulties."

"Perhaps..." Padmé muttered, the earlier visions coming back to mind. Something in her core told her this storm was not the result of a simple weather control malfunction. It felt darker, more sinister than that. Lightning flashed across the viewport and the ship lurched again, almost yanking the yoke clean from her hands. Dismissing the thought, she tightened her grip and pulled harder, holding the ship steady. "Have you made it off the platform yet?"

"We launched roughly five minutes ago, but are struggling to gain altitude," Bail said. "The ship is copping a beating, and at this rate I'm not even sure we'll make it past the first layer of cumulus."

Padmé felt her lip twitch. "I'm going to try and punch through it before the lightning fries our controls," she said.

"That's too risky, Padmé," Bail warned. "You could fly through a birthed freighter, or slam into a—"

"It's no more risky than staying down here," Padmé sharply interrupted. "Besides, I've been in a situation like this before, and Anakin jumped straight to lightspeed. It worked for him."

"Padmé—"

Captain Sloane called out from the seat beside her. "Co-ordinates all set, my lady. Ready to activate the hyperdrive."

Padmé nodded to Sloane then went back to the senator on the transmitter. "I'll see you on the other side, Bail. Good luck." Not waiting for him to finish, she keyed off the transmitter, disengaged the communication systems and immediately looked to Sloane. She nodded approvingly to the young Imperial then braced herself.

And a moment later, the Dark Angel lurched forward into lightspeed.

IMPERIAL PALACE: EMPEROR'S THRONE ROOM

High up in the lofty heights of the Imperial palace, Darth Sidious sat in his usual chair. Drinking his usual caf. Reading through the same mundane morning reports on his usual command console. Usual. But the series of events that had transpired yesterday: both physically in the Senate, and metaphysically through the Force; had been anything but usual. In fact, they had been considerably... un—usual. And it irked him.

From the morning in this very office. With his apprentice's sudden boost in confidence and power after he'd unexpectedly connected with the energy of Sidious's own former master, the ashes of whom were still trapped within the enchanted confines of one of his prized Sith urns.

Lifting his eyes from the console, Sidious appraised the black urn sat by the doors... and scowled at it. Although he'd been unable to hone in on the precise details of Lord Vader's interaction with Plagueis, he had experienced a sudden belt of power surge between them along their bond. A power so virile, that if being directed toward anyone else, would have excited Sidious. But directed at him, however... now that had invoked a kind of emotional response Sidious had not experienced in a very long, long time.

Sidious had actually felt fear. Fleeting but real. And, as if to somehow make matters worse, Lord Vader had sensed it. Not only sensed it, but considered it, latched onto it, and subsequently indulged himself in it. Immediately after that moment, when he and Vader had stood facing each other—their Dark power contesting in the space between them—Sidious had had to work quickly to disarm and pacify his volatile apprentice. Knowing, that if he didn't; the distance that had been steadily growing between them as a result of his wife's continued influence, could erupt. Enabling Vader to potentially break free of Sidious's mental hold over him, and decide to sever their ties completely.

Then there was the altercation in the Senate with his dear little wife; Padmé Amidala. She too, had surprised him. Not in the way she had faced off with him in the grand vocational hall, and not in the way she had assimilated with and taken apparent control of the rebellion and its political leaders. But because she seemed to know precisely which of his buttons she needed to press, and exactly how hard to press on them in order to throw Sidious off balance. And she had, for the most part, anyway. Padmé Amidala Skywalker—he ground his teeth at the name—had thrown down the proverbial gauntlet, challenging not only Sidious's continued control over Vader, but also his rightful claim on their yet to be born child. And, as if that hadn't been effective enough; last night, during their seemingly romantic little evening together, she'd somehow managed to provoke Vader into pushing away the Dark side of the Force, and encouraged him to flirt dangerously with the Light.

Sidious rose from his angular seat, then, turned away from his desk and moved to face the window. He gazed out at the city, stared at the metropolis of duracrete and transparisteel gleaming in the morning sunrise, pondering futures. His Empire without Darth Vader—him left alone to rule over a galaxy filled with thousands of different systems, all with their own aspirations and agendas, all needing to be brought to heel...

Sidious felt himself tense, a lump solidifying in his throat. With Vader gone, it would all come down to him. He could try to find another apprentice of course, find one not nearly as powerful, but perhaps capable enough to manage at least some of his responsibilities. But with so few Jedi left roaming the known galaxy; such a task could prove difficult... not to mention, time consuming. Besides, he had far too much to do for that. He didn't have time to be wandering around the galaxy, jumping from this system to that system, forcing defiant people to fall inline and secede to Imperial rule—and seek out and train a new apprentice at the same time.

And why should he have to? He'd slaved for years over Vader; encouraging, praising, twisting and manipulating, kneading and moulding until... the time had finally come, and Skywalker had been ripe for the picking. Through all that, had he not earned his apprentice? Had he not earned the right to keep what he had worked so long and hard for?

Closing his eyes, Sidious focused his will and mind, then gave in to the turbulent chaos that was the Dark Side of the Force, and demanded an answer. Malevolent energy swirled around him; the violent ebb and flow manifesting into images and scenarios, each one morphing and changing, playing out like a holo-drama in the forefront of his mind. He watched them play out; considered them... then focused his will upon them.

Yet, despite his focus... through all these visions, all these scenarios; one thing remained concurrent: Lord Vader.

Sidious sneered, the cold, harsh truth staring him in the face. For the Empire to survive—Lord Vader needed to survive. The two were symbiotic. Their futures intrinsically connected in a way Sidious previously suspected; now confirmed. Leading him to the same conclusion he had come to understand after those fateful events on Mustafar. Without Lord Vader, the Empire would fall.

His thoughts were interrupted, yanked by a powerful disturbance in the Force. Like a fist had grabbed hold of it by the neck, seized it in its grasp, and was now shaking it, violently. The fist tightened, then squeezed; constricting and wrestling the energy to ground then forcing it to heel. Sidious opened his eyes, pulled from his meditation. His awareness drifted back to the present, to the palace, to his throne room, finally coming to rest on the city outside his window. He watched on as darkness rolled in to consume the sunrise, the once gleaming and shimmering metropolis devoured by a ferocious sea of black clouds. There was a booming crack, then, abruptly, a deep rumbling thunder sounded from overhead, the storm's sudden shift in pressure causing the floor and walls around him to shake. Seconds later, there was another booming crack and white light exploded through the transparisteel, as one, then two, then a third fork of lightning speared the city; raining chaos and destruction on the unsuspecting civilians of Coruscant.

Narrowing his gaze, Sidious sneered then steepled his fingers together, studiously observing the scene unfolding before him. Chaos had erupted. Burning speeders careened out of control, smoking vessels slamming into buildings, others colliding with traffic. Two of the taller skyscrapers were on fire; pieces missing from their foundations, flames rising from holes where walls should have been. All through this anarchic madness, the Force continued to roar, the Dark Side's unchained power wreaking havoc on the city and effectively tearing it apart.

To the uneducated, this would appear as nothing more than some freak storm, a simple weather control malfunction, a foolish mistake made by some disgruntled station overseer that had unwittingly blown out to catastrophic proportions. But to Sidious, standing in his long hooded black robe by the window in his throne room, feeling the quaking tremors dominating the Force, it was much more than that. This was a demonstration of power. A physical manifestation of a desire to punish and control. And he knew there were only two beings left alive in this city capable of performing such an act: him and one other. And since he wasn't the one doing this...

Keeping one eye fixed on the view outside, Sidious stretched out with his senses through the Force. He traced the tremor across the city. Past the multitude of burning skyrises and crippled speeders. Through the torrential rain and spearing lightning. Back to 500 Republica. To one solitary balcony overlooking the city... to the literal eye of the storm—

And smiled when he felt the familiar presence of his apprentice. Lord Vader's torment rippled through him; his hatred and fear singing along their Force bond like a grand murderous symphony. Suddenly desperate to get closer, Sidious turned away from the window and ran like a merciless shadow. Using the Force to augment his speed, he leaped down the stairs, bolted across his throne room and sprinted for the turbo-lift. When the lift finally stopped at the ziggurat roof, he exited into the enclosed walkway and continued on toward the old Jedi training courtyard.

The five temple spires rose into the air around him, their lofty stone peaks invisible through the rain. The sky above continued to crackle and flash, the angry white electricity shooting across the heavily laden thunderclouds like a twisted mass of energised spider webs stretching out over the city. Sidious continued out onto the ancient cobblestone, feeling the stinging rain striking the hood and sleeves of his robe. Something had to have happened to set Vader off this morning, and he had the distinct feeling he knew precisely what that was. But he needed confirmation.

A sudden rumbling scream tore through the air and Sidious turned his attention to the sky. Another fork of lightning speared the city, and in the distance, Sidious caught the shimmer of a reflection bounce off some large metallic mass heading straight for the clouds. He squinted through the rain, tried to make out the ship's design... and bit down a laugh as the ship leaned and turned, revealing the unmistakable twin engines mounted on each of its two long-reaching wings.

Naboo starships stood in a class all of their own. With their perfectly polished panels, streamlined pointed hull designs and signature missile-shaped thrusters, they were commonly referred to by the masses as being the jewel of the skies. But in this case, the Diplomatic Barge itself wasn't the jewel, rather, the person it carried deep inside its gleaming belly. After last night's events, Sidious was unsure if Amidala would still go ahead with her plans to leave Coruscant. And yet, there she was, leaving Vader behind again and taking off to follow her own agenda. Just as he'd foreseen. Predictable and reliable.

A deafening sonic boom echoed over the thunder, and the ship lurched forward with a blinding flash of light. Half a second later, the gleaming metallic barge vanished completely amidst the broiling darkness.

Standing before the ground down stump of the once sacred Uneti tree, Sidious let the rain wash over him and stretched out toward his apprentice along their Force-bond. Crippling waves of hatred and anger slammed against his awareness in retaliation, the Dark Side bellowing its war cry with untamed determination and bloodlust. Sidious inquisitively nudged at Vader, curious as to his response... and was instantly rewarded. A thunderous roar blasted through their bond, his apprentice's violent answer bludgeoning him over the head like a sledgehammer.

Lord Vader was back, his maddening anguish making him even stronger than ever.

Unable to contain his excitement, Sidious threw his head and hands to the sky and cackled. Twirling in place, he spun tight circles in the rain, feeling the saturated lengths of his robe drift heavily on the air around him. Rejoicing in Vader's torment, he cackled louder and louder, declaring his success to the stars, and relishing in his apprentice's pain and anger as it steadily rained down upon him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you for all of your reviews/follows/favourites. The previous chapter was the calm... and part one of Chapter 26 is the start of the storm. It doesn't slow down from here, many plot points are about to start converging and clashing. I have no idea how many chapters are left in this story, as they seem to get longer and longer each time I write them.

This chapter (both part one and two) was heavily influenced by the song: "Bodies" by Drowning Pool. I feel it perfectly captures Vader's state of mind during this chapter and illustrates his mental battle.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for reading.

As always, MTFBWY.