Summary:
An accident reveals an old deception, and Darth Vader
must make a decision that will change not only his life.
Chapter 14
Getting Closer
"... and that is why we are defecting to the Alliance", Piett concluded his tale. Jixton had listened intently, not interrupting the Admiral once. Now he cleared his throat.
"I think I'll take you up on your offer of brandy after all", he stated.
With a slightly ironic smile, Veers rose to his feet and got three shot glasses and the bottle.
"You realize of course, Mr. Jixton, that we cannot allow you to leave with your new knowledge", Piett said. "At least not in the next couple of days."
Jixton gave him a wolfish grin. "And how are you going to hold me here, Admiral?"
"He's right, Tomas", Veers interjected when Piett bristled at the insult. "Don't forget he escaped from Kessel."
"Besides", Jixton continued, "who else but me could go after Lord Vader?"
"Lord Vader is well able to look after himself, Mr. Jixton", Piett told him, slightly miffed.
"Is he? He'll try to join the Alliance, and they will probably shoot down his shuttle before he can dock with one of their ships. Unless he brings a gift", Jix mused.
Veers and Piett perked up. "What kind of gift?" Piett queried.
"Something valuable to the Rebels. Tactical data. Fleet deployments. The plans of the new Death Star."
"What do you know about..." Piett could not stop himself in time. "The project is still top secret."
Jixton shrugged. "I have my sources. So, did he take anything like that with him?"
Veers shook his head slightly. "Not to our knowledge. I had his computer checked, but unless he's a first rate slicer, he did not download any sensitive data at all. Not that we have the Death Star plans, mind you."
"Then it must be something different." Jixton leaned back in his chair, cradling his drink. "Something to do with the Skywalker kid, I would say."
"What makes you think that?" Piett asked. How much did Jixton really know? Vader was obsessed with the young Rebel pilot almost to the point of insanity. Had he put Jixton on Skywalker's trail as well? It seemed logical; the agent could move in different circles than the fleet, unearth information about Luke Skywalker's whereabouts that might aide Lord Vader in finding the young man. Piett had never understood his superior's obsession, until he overheard Lord Vader vocalize when he called out to Skywalker through the Force, and call him 'son'. That had been an eye-opener for the Admiral.
"He's obsessed with the boy. No idea why, but he wants him. He wants him bad enough that he placed a bounty on his head, alive only." Jixton shook his head. "I know Skywalker is supposed to be Force sensitive, but there is more to it than that. Vader never said what was so special about the kid."
"The boy is Lord Vader's son", Piett explained.
"Sith!" Jixton exclaimed. "That explains a lot. Poor bastard." The former combat instructor did not elaborate which of the two men he meant, Vader or Skywalker. Instead, he studied his glass. "Think he'll try to hook up with the kid?"
"I doubt it." Piett shook his head slowly. "Skywalker hates Lord Vader with a passion. They dueled on Bespin and nearly killed each other."
"Still, it might be our best guess. Skywalker is from Tattooine, isn't he?"
"So is Lord Vader", Veers said.
"How do you know?" Jixton did not even try to hide his surprise.
"His accent when he speaks Hutteese. It's pure Tattooine."
Piett held up his hand to end the discussion.
"That does not exactly help us. Skywalker could be anywhere. And you must excuse us now, Mr. Jixton. General Veers and I have a duty to perform", he said.
"Of course, Admiral." Jixton did not have to ask what duty. The scorch marks on the hangar deck and corridor walls had told him enough.
Piett got up and palmed the door open; the escort was still waiting outside.
"You will be escorted to guest quarters, Mr. Jixton, and we shall talk again later."
Jixton rose from his seat and nodded slightly.
"And I would appreciate it if you did not interfere with my ship or my crew", Piett added.
In other words: Don't try to run, Jixton thought. Loud, he said: "You've given me no reason to interfere, Admiral. Yet." With that, he allowed the troopers to lead him to the Executor's guest quarters.
Laden with bags and packages, Darth Vader exited the public transport system and slowly walked toward the spaceport proper, thinking that he should have made two runs. At least he had acquired everything he needed, even the sun tan lotion. He would have liked a higher UV protection factor, but Nar Shaddaa was not exactly a beach resort.
In the afternoon light, Nar Shaddaa Space Port had changed its appearance again. While it had been relatively quiet late at night when Vader landed, and moderately busy in the early morning hours, it was now buzzing with activity. Legitimate and not so legitimate businesses were conducted at this time of day, and even the first night clubs and other entertainment establishments had already opened their doors. Vader passed a number of them when a particularly garish neon sign caught his attention. Tattoos - Piercings - Scar Removal it screamed in blinking orange and sickly green letters. For a moment the former Jedi wondered who would risk getting a Tattoo in a place that advertised in such a tacky way. They might end up with a glow-in-the-dark Jawa on their backside. Vader shuddered slightly at the thought. But scar removal, on the other hand... Darth shifted his bags in order to free one hand, which he then ran over his face and scalp. For over twenty years he had not bothered with the thick, ropy keloids that covered his left cheek and the top and back of his head. It had not been worth the trouble. But now that he was free of the life support suit and helmet... well, he might as well check out his options. His mind made up, he entered the Tattoo parlor.
Padmé had reached a stage of frustration she had not known since the Clone Wars. Another day nearly gone, and the repair on the hyperdrive still was not finished. First it had been the spare parts, then another thing, then one of the repairmen had fallen ill... it was enough to make her want to tear her hair out and desperately wish for her husband to still be alive. Anakin probably could have fixed that hyperdrive with a hairpin and a Force meditation in five minutes flat. But Anakin was dead, and she was stuck with incompetent port authorities and even more incompetent mechanics who didn't know a Corellian freighter from an X-Wing.
"Enough", she growled. "I'm going to the office and see what is holding up repairs this time. Jar Jar, you stay here."
The Gungan regarded her with his soft, gentle gaze. "Yousa tinken dis wise, yousa Majesty? Goin' out with no bodyguard?"
"Who should recognize me, old friend?" Padmé wrapped a shawl around herself, covering her head and the lower half of her face with it, effectively obscuring her features. Even without it, who should recognize her after all these years? Padmé Naberrie Skywalker had officially died twenty-two years ago, assassinated shortly after the murder of her husband half a galaxy away.
To be continued.