Al's ship, the Invariant Beauty, was somewhat rugged looking despite its elegant teardrop shaped hull. The ship came to almost a point in the cockpit area where windows lined the walls and consoles were just beneath them, all surrounding the pilot's seat. Al's ship was at that awkward size where a co-pilot wasn't necessary, but piloting alone was still a little trickier than it should have been. Nevertheless, Al, with the help of some of his underworld friends, had managed to retrofit the cockpit to his liking where everything was in reach and a co-pilot could hop in at any time on one of the side consoles.

The Invariant Beauty had two floors, though the existence of the upper floor was not easily noticed. The main floor had the exit ramp in the back. The ship had been designed somewhat oddly in that the engine room was only accessible when the ramp was up; for that reason, it had made the ship hard to sell, and so Al had gotten it at a very good price. He could deal with the quirks of the place, after all. Closer to the cockpit end was a lounge, a kitchenette, and his quarters. Al's quarters contained a small cot and dresser, and in the corner of the room was a quasi refresher, shower and all; he didn't have room in his ship for a refresher all by itself. Only accessible to Al's bedroom was what most people thought to be the main cargo hold… and in a sense it was. It was the official cargo hold, at least.

Walking in a straight line from the entrance ramp to the cockpit, most of the lounge was to the left, as well as the kitchenette, while Al's quarters were on the right. On the wall that had the entrance to the cockpit, however, was a hidden panel, just to the left of the cockpit door. The panel opened to allow access to a ladder. It went to a lower level that was purely for mechanical purposes—fixing any sort of damage to the shield generator, life support back-up, etc—and then it also led to the hidden upper level. The upper level had a low ceiling, so low one almost had to crouch. Laid into the walls were two small cots, one atop the other, in case Al ever had a need to transport passengers. This quasi bedroom also contained its own refresher area, and beyond the bedroom was the ship's main cargo hold—the important one.

Currently the entire ship was humming lowly and vibrating softly. The upper level had no windows, but its occupants knew that the cause of the smooth, steady sounds and feelings was that they were journeying in hyperspace. They'd been in hyperspace for the past fifteen minutes, after all.

Al entered the cargo hold where Obi-Wan and Siri sat leaning against a storage cabinet.

"So, anybody want to tell me what's actually going on?" he asked. They'd barely had any time to speak when they met up with the Zabrak; the three had simply made their hasty way to his ship and had taken off. After that, Al had been working non-stop in the engine room; their lift off had been rockier than he had liked, so Obi-Wan and Siri hadn't seen him since they'd entered hyperspace.

"How are the engines?" Siri questioned softly as she leaned her head against her husband's shoulder.

Al shrugged. "They're just a little worn is all. I was going to stop by Nar Shaddaa for some trade to see if I could get the latest goods, but that's when Organa called me here. It's nothing too serious…ish."

"Ish?" Obi-Wan repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Well it won't kill us," Al rolled his eyes. "Just pray we don't run into Imperial trouble."

"Terrific." Siri muttered.

"Now don't change the subject," Al admonished as he leaned against the wall opposite from them and crossed his arms. "What in the blazes happened between this morning and noon? You were all planning on leaving at the end of the session, and now Padmé's not with you and you guys are going to Salkende? I presume the location has to do with Tlenden—isn't that the one Athia had been talking about?—but what in heaven's name happened to Padmé?"

"It's a long story," Siri replied darkly.

"We've got twenty-one hours to Salkende." Al rebutted.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "After Kuna's death, we came up with the idea of distracting the Imperial who was investigating us… unfortunately that Imperial happened to be Darth Vader. Padmé's idea of distraction was… unorthodox… and so she's been trying to get close to Vader so he might… I don't know, I wouldn't say trust her… not mind being around her, I guess? That's honestly the best she'll get out of him. In either case, she's established a small rapport with him so she can distract him while Siri and I handle this matter."

Al took a small step forward, his arms lowering to his sides as he grew tense. "She isn't… she isn't with Vader now, is she?"

Obi-Wan nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so."

"What's she thinking?!"

Siri barked out a laugh. "Get in line, Al; we all want to ask that."

"We've gone over why it had to happen this way." Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

Al noticed the tension between the two and decided it was probably time for him to let them calm down before he pushed them any farther. Sighing, he remarked, "Well, the upstairs is all yours until we get there, but don't mess with my stuff in the hold, got it?"

Obi-Wan and Siri grunted in acknowledgement, and the smuggler departed.

The cargo hold was silent for a long time. Obi-Wan was exhausted, and based on how limp his wife felt against him, she was as well. His eyelids sagged heavily, and it felt as if even twitching a finger took too much energy. His mind was foggy, and the constant soft hum of the hyperdrive began to lull him to sleep. However, he only hovered at the precipice of sleep; he was too agitated to actually rest. His heart was beating too fast, and although his mind was sluggish, it was still flashing images of everything that could go wrong with the negotiations… and everything that could go wrong between Vader and Padmé.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily through his nose, closing his eyes as his head leaned against his wife. Out of the three, he normally held himself together the best during a crisis; Siri would get ill tempered and aggressive, and Padmé would get similarly rash. He had been trying to maintain his calm, but he knew he hadn't been succeeding that much. It especially didn't help now that he was left sitting in a cargo hold with his wife with twenty-one hours to do nothing but think about their situation.

Siri suddenly laughed, making Obi-Wan jump. "We're so kriffing screwed."

Obi-Wan slowed his breathing, his heart rate even higher than before. "Let's try not to view it as hopeless, Siri."

He felt his wife grow tense. "Please tell me how it isn't, Obi. Please."

Her voice cracked just a bit, and Obi-Wan felt like smacking himself. It wasn't just Padmé's situation and the issue with Tlenden that was bothering Siri; Sabé had been a dear friend of hers, and the woman's death was finally hitting her.

Obi-Wan felt his throat tighten. He didn't know what to say; he was never good at these situations. He could convince people of anything pertaining to negotiations, trades, deals, battles, anything, anything but these emotional situations; Obi-Wan had never been well equipped for emotional situations. Reading other people's emotions? Easy. Knowing how that could affect their attitudes, their actions, their ways of thinking? Manageable. Understanding their emotions and being able to empathize? Well, as Siri had once put it, Obi-Wan's emotional range went from calm to snarky to jumpy and back.

When things weren't the status quo he would get nervous, perhaps agitated, and he would show these emotions to those with whom he felt comfortable. But other emotions… with other emotions he expressed them differently or had difficulty expressing them at all. He was capable of showing he loved someone, but he often did it in small ways and few words; Obi-Wan had never been the type to shower people with affection and constantly say he loved them. And showing grief? Obi-Wan just couldn't. He couldn't show that in front of anyone. It was too private. He recalled the last time he had actually broken down in front of anyone was with Siri back when they were dating and they had just gotten out of a refugee area; he had been helping a group of orphans relocate, but a disease had come through and killed all of them. Ever since then, any sort of negative emotion was pushed firmly down until he was alone, or it would rear its ugly head in the form of nervousness.

In either case, it also meant he was lousy at trying to console anybody else. So when Siri began to sob quietly, all her husband could do was awkwardly place his hand on her lap and attempt to find the right words to say.

He had been a small comfort to Padmé yesterday, but she had been panicked, depressed, stressed… it just wasn't the same as someone completely losing their composure. As he watched his wife cry, Obi-Wan could only continue to rub her leg slowly in some sort of attempt to soothe her.

Siri slammed her fist into a storage cabinet, making her husband jump once again. "Damn that kriffing murglak! How could any monster—she was innocent—that kriffing son of a Hutt—"

"Siri," Obi-Wan interrupted. His wife grew silent and looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears but also with hatred. Suddenly unsure as to what to say, Obi-Wan just used his sleeve to wipe her face.

Somehow his wife seemed to understand that he was trying to help, and her anger diminished slightly. But then she just burst into tears again. Obi-Wan watched her worriedly before slowly gathering her into a hug. Honestly he couldn't come up with anything to say; any sort of words of comfort seemed empty.

Obi-Wan suddenly became guilty. He knew he should feel the pain of Sabé's death as well; he had known her for many years; he'd laughed, talked, ate, and worked with her. Yet he couldn't bring himself to feel it just yet; he just felt numb. After he'd briefly let his emotions wash over him back in his office, he'd grown steadily emptier… or perhaps just steadily more focused. Padmé's situation had him worried. Whatever could possibly be making Tlenden unwilling to aid the Alliance was also worrisome. Siri's safety was a primary concern as well. The survival of the Alliance, where they would go once the recess was over, how safe their family would be, whether they'd all even be in one piece by the time they got to that point… after Obi-Wan had released his emotions a bit in his office, his mind became plagued with all these thoughts and he just didn't have ability to feel Sabé's loss on top of all that. He felt too unfocused; too many things were happening at once, and he just couldn't register it all.

That still didn't change the fact that he figured he should be at least almost as upset as Siri. That he should somehow feel Sabé's loss.

The couple sat there for what seemed an eternity. Siri eventually began to stop crying, muttering death threats and swears under her breath. Her grief was giving way to fury once more. Obi-Wan tightened the hug. What had happened to Sabé was unthinkable and devastating, but… he knew how carried away Siri could get with her anger, and that wasn't what they needed now, even if they did have a long time to ponder upon it. She had gotten her tears out; she didn't need to spend the rest of the trip stewing on revenge plots.

Despite Obi-Wan's attempts to relay this to his wife without saying anything, Siri either didn't catch the hint or just didn't care. "You think if I shot the wretch I could at least laugh before they shoot me in return?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, placing his head atop hers.

"I know, Obi," Siri muttered before Obi-Wan could say anything, and then she barked out what was partially a laugh and partially a sob. "But by the gods, I've got to at least imagine killing him once."

Obi-Wan let himself chuckle just a little at his wife's stubbornness. "Poisoning would probably be the safest way to go about it."

"Hm," Siri hummed softly, relaxing in her husband's embrace. "Judging from what he was like at dinner it would take a miracle to make him ingest any sort of poison."

Obi-Wan briefly thought back to that dinner, which by now seemed like an eternity ago. Vader had most definitely been unnerving yet bizarre that night; honestly, Obi-Wan should have expected the interrogation, but the amount of information the man had known was unsettling… and then his odd reaction to generic questions was just… confusing. It was almost as if the man genuinely didn't know how to handle a normal conversation. Obi-Wan still didn't know what he'd been playing at with that.

"What was he like at lunch?" Siri asked, her voice growing much softer.

"Silent as the grave, mostly," Obi-Wan replied, leaning his head back against the storage cabinet. "He didn't seem very interested in talking at all."

"Maybe he'll be like that with Padmé," Siri guessed. "Maybe he'll just leave her alone."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I doubt it."

Neither wanted to talk more about Padmé's safety, so they both became silent. Obi-Wan enjoyed the quiet; although he wasn't much for affection, the embrace with his wife was as therapeutic for himself as it was for her. Just feeling her breathe against him was enough to make him actually start to fall asleep and let the exhaustion envelop him. Somehow just having her beside him quieted his mind. He still wasn't quite asleep when Siri spoke again.

"What do you think life would be like if we'd never joined the Alliance?"

Such a question might have been provocative or worrying, but Obi-Wan was honestly too tired to be bothered. He just pondered on the query lazily. "We wouldn't be in a smuggler's cargo hold for starters."

Siri laughed again, far more freely this time. She sounded much better than before. "Ah, we do live an interesting life, don't we, Obi?"

Obi-Wan smiled, closing his eyes. "Interesting is probably the best word to describe it."

"The nicest, you mean."

"Hm."

A pause, and then, "You think Padmé would've found a man by now?"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes abruptly. Imagining Padmé with a boyfriend or husband was an odd thought; the man would have to go through Obi-Wan, Sola, and their parents' screening first, of course. If that wasn't enough to detract him, then he might be worthy… but in the end it just didn't seem to fit. "Padmé's too busy saving the galaxy. Even if she weren't part of the Alliance she'd be dedicating all her time doing something else."

"Maybe he could dedicate his life alongside her."

"I suppose," Obi-Wan pondered.

"What about us?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where would we be now?" Siri broke from the embrace to sit directly in front of Obi-Wan and look him in the eye. "You would have never become a representative. I'd probably still be a handmaiden, though; that makes good pay, so you might be able to just be a househusband and pamper me when I get home. We'd live in some side tower of the palace since I'd still be a handmaiden. Talk about the life of luxury; I miss Theed."

"Yes, you adored the politics," Obi-Wan remarked with a smile.

"Apart from that." Siri waved a dismissive hand. "At least we didn't constantly fear for our lives."

"You were the queen's bodyguard. You'd be the one to go to the front lines if there was an attack."

"That's not the same as what we're going through now." Siri rolled her eyes. "At least you can do something if somebody's shooting at you instead of hiding in the shadows."

"There's less violence this way," Obi-Wan reasoned.

"People are still dying," Siri replied. "We're just not stuck in the middle of that. I'd feel more useful if we were."

"We are being useful, Siri."

"I never said we weren't. I just hate doing it this way."

Deciding they were hitting a dead end, Obi-Wan returned to the original subject. "Well, I suppose you would still be a handmaiden. I don't know what I'd do. I guess I would have stayed with my old job; organizing stuff for the service corps wasn't too bad, and the office was just by the palace, anyway."

Siri gave Obi-Wan a smile, but it seemed forced. It felt forced. She was just humoring him at this point. Or herself. He wasn't sure. But he could tell she didn't regret joining the Alliance; her main regret was probably choosing the job of a spy over a soldier.

The real question was if Obi-Wan regretted joining the Alliance.

Honestly, it wasn't even a matter of regret. Joining the Alliance was just the right thing to do. It felt right. Obi-Wan wasn't one to use emotion over logic (at least when he wasn't nervous about something), but something about the Alliance just… felt correct. Every fiber in Obi-Wan's body screamed that it was a just cause, the right cause. Just like every fiber in his body screamed that the galaxy was diseased, and the Empire was the cause of it. For as long as he could remember, Obi-Wan always had the strange feeling that the galaxy was empty. Something always felt like it was missing, like something irreplaceable had been torn out of the fabric of life itself. He still didn't understand it, but he'd learned not to question it. It was the deepest gut feeling he had ever experienced, the deepest he ever could experience, and it never went away. He often didn't mention it, but the question had been brought up once with Siri shortly before they had joined the Alliance. She had said she felt similarly, but it was more like the Empire was sucking the life out of the galaxy. It wasn't quite the same as what Obi-Wan felt, but it was still enough to convince both that they had to get more involved in eradicating the current government.

Eventually Siri sighed and sat beside Obi-Wan once more, leaning her head on his shoulder. Their conversation seemed to have finally relaxed her enough. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, settling more comfortably against the storage cabinet. They were both too tired to bother going to the bunks at this point. Siri and Obi-Wan simply breathed in each other's company and fell asleep.

Padmé moaned. Her feet felt odd, as if all the blood had rushed to her toes. Belatedly, she realized it was because they'd been hanging off the edge of the bed for heaven knew how long. Blearily, she opened her eyes, awakening from her exhausted slumber. Padmé sat up and looked around the room. The bed she sat atop was large, warm, soft, and very comfortable. Across from it was a desk made from a special alloy that made it shine like polished stone. The walls were a pale red in color, matching the darker red blanket and pillows on the bed. A lounge chair was by a large viewing port in the corner.

Eventually, Padmé's gaze settled upon her luggage, which had been haphazardly dropped at the doorway. Slowly dragging herself off the bed, she put her luggage by the desk and wandered into the private refresher that was attached to the bedroom. Hazarding a glance in the mirror, Padmé sighed and shrugged at her slightly disheveled appearance. She attempted to make herself look as presentable as possible, but she doubted Vader would care. Still, she needed to keep up appearances, at the very least for the pilot.

Padmé briefly wondered where Vader might be. Her skin crawled at the thought that she had slept in the same ship as the man. He hadn't been anywhere near her, but she still felt violated somehow. Shaking off the shiver, Padmé exited the refresher and stared at the doorway to the hall. She might as well start interacting with the Sith Lord now.

Wandering into the hall, Padmé followed it to the main lounge. The diplomatic ship had several guest rooms and a lounge with a bar; all other areas were for authorized personnel only. Vader wasn't in the lounge, so Padmé felt slightly at a loss. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, and the shuttle seemed completely abandoned. The only indication she had that she wasn't alone on this thing was that she heard the hyperdrive; at least there was a pilot somewhere. She figured Vader was probably in his own room, but… blast it, she just wanted to get this over with. Still, she should take the break while she still had it; on Naboo there would be very little privacy between the two. She supposed she could just hide from Vader on Varykino, but somehow she didn't think that would help her predicament.

Still, at the very least, Padmé did want to know when they'd be arriving on Naboo. Walking to the edge of the lounge, she pressed a button that would signal the cockpit. A protocol droid would probably be dispatched to deal with whatever problem she had; she could get her answer then.

Instead of a protocol droid, the door to the cockpit opened to reveal Darth Vader. Padmé jumped, not expecting to see him, but then she hastily bowed. "Milord."

"What's the problem?" Vader asked.

"Uh… there's… where's the droid?" Padmé couldn't stop herself; the more she thought about her predicament, the more trapped she felt. She didn't want to be speaking with him right now. Well, she did feel more energized than before; that was at least something.

Vader blinked. "Droid?"

"You know, the protocol droid. They always have one on diplomatic shuttles."

He blinked again. "It's dismantled."

Padmé blanched. "What happened?"

"It needed fixing."

"Oh," Padmé replied, awkwardly shifting her weight on her feet. "So… you're a mechanic?"

"When I need to be."

By the Force it was impossible to have a normal conversation with this guy.

Blowing out a small sigh, Padmé said, "I was just going to ask what our ETA was."

"We'll land at Theed in approximately four hours."

Goodness, she had slept a while; the flight to Naboo was nine hours from Imperial Center. Of course now she was stuck in a confined space with Vader for four hours. Maybe she should just sleep for the rest of the trip.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Padmé jumped and felt her gut clench. Stang. Why the blazes was he so freaking blunt? It didn't make things easier for her, especially since she now jarringly remembered that she was supposed to be pretending to like him.

"I…" Padmé said in a slightly tremulous tone. Her mind was working on overdrive trying to throw a coherent sentence together that would be appropriate. Currently all she could hear was I don't know – I still feel disgusting for doing it. Eventually she managed to say, "I already told you, milord. I find you… intriguing. I just… I lost control back there. I hope you'll forgive me, but I wanted to make my point clear; I wanted to spend time with you."

Vader's brow twitched. "What does kissing have to do with spending time with someone?"

He had to be kidding, right? Was he—surely he wasn't—Vader couldn't be that naïve! He was playing with her somehow; he was testing her in some manner.

"Like I said, I lost control of myself temporarily," Padmé replied carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. What was he up to?

This answer seemed acceptable to the Sith Lord, who nodded and turned to leave. Padmé watched him return to the cockpit, befuddled. What was that all about? Why was he testing her like that? Was he trying to make her outright say that she liked him? Padmé had forced herself to say that before when she knew she could get away from him; she wasn't sure she could stomach spitting those words out at this point.

In either case, she was now stuck on the shuttle with very little to do for the next four hours. At least Vader was elsewhere. Sighing, Padmé walked to a chair and sat down, crossing her leg and leaning her head back against the wall. Suddenly, the door to the cockpit opened once more. Padmé's head shot up, and she watched the entrance area somewhat warily. Was Vader coming back, or was it the pilot?

Darth Vader reappeared in the lounge; well, that answered her question. She didn't bother standing; instead, she nodded her head in acknowledgement with a forced smile.

The Imperial stood motionless in the entranceway, staring at her. Padmé shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Eventually the silence became too awkward, and she asked, "Is something wrong, milord?"

He shook his head, but his eyes didn't waver. Eventually, he asked, "Do you like Theed?"

Padmé was completely baffled. His behavior was extremely odd, and his random questions even stranger. His voice held no emotion to it whatsoever, so it almost sounded like a statement rather than a question, as if he knew she liked Theed but was asking anyway. On top of it, he still wouldn't look anywhere but into her eyes, tearing through her defenses and piercing right into her soul.

"It's a beautiful city. I've lived there for most of my life." Padmé answered carefully.

"I know," Vader replied, making Padmé even more nervous. "You've lived there since you were six."

"You're correct," Padmé nodded, her stomach doing somersaults. Why the blazes was he playing this game with her? If he wanted information, why was he going about it in the most bizarre manner? Trying to flip the tables on him, she asked, "Where did you grow up, milord?"

Vader paused, saying nothing. His eyes glazed over, and he finally looked away from her. His gaze flickered somewhere beside her briefly, but eventually he seemed to decide something or remember something and he looked at her once more. "Imperial Center."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to grow up on Imperial Center," Padmé said conversationally, feeling a little better now that his blazing stare seemed to have grown less intense. "A city-planet is huge enough as an adult… it must have been monumental as a child. There are no boundaries to where you live… well, in a sense. Where in Imperial Center did you live?"

Again Vader was silent for a time. His eyes remained fixed on her, however. They seemed to grow icier as the seconds ticked by, and he eventually replied, "The palace district."

Padmé raised an eyebrow. "That's the most prestigious and expensive part of town. I presume your parents were high ranking military, perhaps? It would explain your… unique skills in the Empire."

Although she had asked a question, it apparently wasn't direct enough for the man to reply. Vader didn't acknowledge her statement and didn't offer clarification. He just stared at her for a while longer as she stared in return, awaiting some sort of response. They remained this way for almost a minute before the man finally looked elsewhere and turned to leave without another word.

"Where are we staying?" He suddenly asked, still facing away from her.

Padmé felt like smacking herself. She didn't realize she hadn't told him… honestly, she hadn't really told him much of anything except that she wanted him with her on Naboo. Suddenly, she wondered if the pilot even knew where they should land. She supposed it was Theed since that was one of the largest spaceports on the planet, but she didn't want Vader anywhere near her family. "We're going to a retreat in the lake country. It's pretty far from Theed, so we should probably land somewhere closer to it. Would you like me to tell the pilot where to go?"

She hoped he would say yes. It would give her some sort of advantage; he could always just ask the pilot to tell him what she had said, but somehow it empowered her to think she knew something he didn't, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"I'm the pilot," he replied.

Padmé felt electricity surge through her at the small revelation. She was alone on this ship with him. "Y-you piloted? Nobody else is here?"

Vader shook his head.

She let out a shaky laugh, suddenly far more nervous than before. "Wow, you're a mechanic and a pilot. Anything else you can do?"

"I do whatever is required."

Padmé felt a shiver go down her spine. The statement was phrased in such simplicity, but somehow it seemed to hold something odious and terrifying in it.

"Well…" Padmé tried to get a hold of herself. "We could—we should land at Oxon; it's far closer to our destination."

Vader nodded and then returned to the cockpit. Padmé let out a shaky breath. She really needed to get herself together. First of all, she had to maintain the façade she had created; she had to keep acting as if she were interested in him to some capacity. He would suspect something if she suddenly grew cold and distant after the stunt she pulled back in the senate building. But his reactions just made no sense – when she had kissed him, he had acted terrified and completely out of his element. Now that she thought upon it more calmly, it was rather surprising and just a little amusing… and empowering. To think she could catch him that flat footed was a refreshing notion. Vader was obviously a very private man who wasn't used to the feminine touch. It was rather surprising, actually; Vader was a military man, and while Padmé didn't approve of military men's morals, she was still quite aware of them.

Darth Vader always acted and seemed in control. To think she had managed to scare him so much was a relief. It gave her some hope that maybe she could maintain the upper hand on this mission. Still, she couldn't push too far; she had already played a big card by kissing him. She was sure he'd be used to it or ready for it if she did so again, so what did that leave? She was most definitely not going to take it that far.

Blast, how in the blazes was she going to handle him at Varykino?

Slow and steady, Padmé thought as she calmed herself. Darth Vader was obviously in no hurry to push any sort of relationship with her apart from predator/prey. She just needed to make sure she was nice enough to indicate she did still have interest in him, but distant enough to where she wouldn't push it too far. And she had to simultaneously prevent him from getting too comfortable and start interrogating her again. Terrific.

This was going to be a long trip.

Tarkin sipped his wine with great pleasure as he listened to the inane conversation in front of him. With the start of the final recess for the year, the palace hosted a large party for political and military officials. The emperor often held it to see who would arrive and who would run with their tails between their legs as soon as the session was over. It was also a perfect occasion for one final opportunity to kick any rebellious fools in line. Also, the emperor did so love relishing in his power, prestige, and ability to do anything he wanted whenever he wanted. Not that Tarkin was complaining; the parties were typically rather interesting at best and at least amusing at worst.

The rain outside had finally stopped, so the night air was clear and fresher than it had been in a few days. The balcony was heavily populated by many of the guests; some preferred the cool night air after so many days of rain, while others couldn't breathe inside the palace where the emperor sat at the head table.

Noting a particular senator, Tarkin hid a devious smile as he slowly made his way over to the woman. Senator Mon Mothma noticed his approach and hastily excused herself from the conversation she had been having with Senator Bail Organa.

"Senator Mothma," Tarkin acknowledged with a nod as the senator bowed to him. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I hear this will be your last party here."

"You are correct, Grand Moff Tarkin," the senator conceded, keeping her face neutral. "I will be retiring."

"A pity," Tarkin remarked, drinking from his glass. "Your fiery spirit will be missed, senator. You've always reminded me strikingly of Senator Bel Iblis."

Mothma's features hardened, but she gave a very forced smile. Tarkin felt his pleasure increase significantly. Senator Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia had to witness his entire family be executed by Imperial soldiers due to his treachery. He hastily departed the senate and took refuge somewhere in his sector, though the Empire hadn't yet found him. Watching Mothma squirm as she recalled the events delighted Tarkin to no end; he and everyone else with any clout were almost certain of her own treachery, and the emperor was already planning on getting rid of her. Probably this very night, honestly, but Tarkin wasn't sure of that; that was Intelligence's job, not his.

It was so much fun to torment her like that, though. Tarkin honestly had missed this; having the power and being able to just dangle it in front of those foolish enough to go against it brought him indescribable pleasure. His military duties as of late had prevented him from doing so. It was admittedly tiresome to deal with senators and other personnel in his sector, but it was worth it for all the times he could do this.

It was all the more delightful since he knew that the Rebel base had been destroyed. Darth Vader had discovered the coordinates and had ordered the base's immediate destruction. Tarkin would receive a report during the party about the details of the mission, and that would just be icing on the cake. It was too perfect.

"I'm sorry I would remind you of a traitor, governor," Senator Mothma finally replied after regaining her composure. "Have no doubt that my loyalty is with the Empire. Senator Bel Iblis got what he deserved, and I hope the Empire will soon find him and finish the job."

"Oh, I'm sure we will," Tarkin said, smiling. "The Empire will root out all of its traitors. Mark my words, senator: very shortly, the Alliance will fall."

Senator Mothma took a deep breath and nodded. "I will look forward to the confrontation, governor. I'm sad I won't be present in the senate for that day."

"You might yet be around for it," Tarkin replied. "I think it ought to happen very soon."

"You're certain?" the senator asked in a mildly curious tone. Tarkin almost laughed; was she probing for information now, despite all the scrutiny on her? The woman was a bold one; he would certainly give her credit for that.

"Quite." Tarkin watched her face carefully to see if she showed any indication of shock or panic. Despite the bad news he had just delivered, Senator Mothma's face was admirably flawless, devoid of any sort of concern. Instead, she gave a soft smile, and her eyes sparkled in the city lights.

"I hope you're right, governor."

Before Tarkin could say anything else, another senator softly called to Mothma in a tone of pleasant surprise. The senator excused herself from Tarkin with another bow and departed.

Tarkin watched her for a time before entering the main hall once more. It was an exceptionally large room with white tile floors, enormous floor to ceiling windows on the side with the balcony, and large mirrors on the opposite wall. The other two walls bore decorative paintings and entrances to different parts of the palace. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, floating lazily around the room. The majority of the floor was cleared for meandering and dancing, and the walls perpendicular to the balcony and mirrors were lined with tables that bore food and drink. An elevated table was dedicated to the highest officials, and the emperor's chair was in the center. Palpatine was meandering as well, however; Tarkin could tell by the Red Guards, who were slowly making their way around the room as they tailed the emperor. The grand moff let out a small chuckle; as if the emperor needed protection. He'd seen what the man had done to Vader; he knew the man was capable of handling himself.

Slowly wandering through the room, Tarkin finally finished his glass of wine and went to get a refill. Palpatine happened to be getting a glass at the same time, and so Tarkin bowed deeply from the waist, awaiting acknowledgement before rising once more. Palpatine acknowledged him softly after getting his drink, and Tarkin refilled his own glass.

"I trust you have received confirmation of the base's destruction?" Palpatine asked.

Tarkin felt his stomach suddenly knot, and his chest tightened. He had made no reports of the attack on the Rebel's base on Yavin 4. How did Palpatine—

Darth Vader. Of course he would tell his master. Tarkin swore internally; he hadn't wanted the emperor to know until he was certain the mission was a success. He supposed it was too late now. Kriffing foolish boy… didn't Vader have any idea what would happen if somehow the mission failed?! It wouldn't be Tarkin's fault—it couldn't be his fault—but he was in charge, and he'd be blamed nonetheless.

Sithspit!

"I haven't received any confirmation yet, sire," Tarkin replied softly, lowering his gaze. "I immediately informed the nearest fleet as soon as I found out the location, though; it should be handled by now. I'll hear soon."

The emperor said nothing, making Tarkin a little nervous. What was the man scheming in that mind of his? If there was one mind that was even harder to understand than Darth Vader's it was Palpatine's. One would figure the emperor was your typical power hungry tyrant, but Palpatine was insanely clever, far too much for anyone's own well being; he had spent years planning his way to the top, and he wasn't any duller for having obtained it. After all, he'd maintained his position despite all the political scheming, coups, traitors, and others for twenty-one years.

Still, there were times where Palpatine's logic made absolutely no sense to Tarkin… such as his reasoning for making Vader take his sweet time on the mission with Amidala when he should be the one taking the fall if the Rebel base isn't destroyed. Maybe if Tarkin made Palpatine think about Vader instead it would at least take the scrutiny temporarily off of him.

"Lord Vader should almost be at Naboo by now," Tarkin said as a passing remark. Would Palpatine latch onto the subject, or just push it aside?

Palpatine glanced at him and then looked at his own wine glass thoughtfully. "Yes. It should be… productive."

Did that mean he actually intended his apprentice to finally finish the job? In either case, it wouldn't help Tarkin at this point. He'd find out about the Rebel base in a matter of hours, and Vader might not even be on Naboo. Still, he could manipulate this to his advantage. If he made Palpatine think he had aided Vader in his mission, he might be out of trouble just yet.

"Lord Vader was slightly confused with the parameters you gave him," Tarkin remarked, wording everything he said very carefully. He didn't want to dig his grave any deeper than it already probably was. "He came to me to understand the matter a little better."

"Did he?" Palpatine asked in a low, silky tone. Typically that indicated he was annoyed, but at this point Tarkin was fairly certain it was half amused curiosity. "And what exactly did he say?"

"He asked me how to get someone to like him. I trust that has to do with his current mission?"

Palpatine said nothing, so Tarkin didn't push his luck. He just continued his story. "In either case, I told him that he had to be more open and Human."

"What did he have to say to that?"

"He was still a little confused. I tried to break it down as best I could, sire." Tarkin answered with a smile.

Palpatine let out a very soft chuckle. "He'll no doubt take your advice. A pity we can't watch the interaction. It will all turn out as planned, but watching it unfold would be quite entertaining."

Tarkin grew curious. What was Palpatine intending anyway? He knew by now that Amidala was no doubt a traitor, even if they had little to no solid evidence. Granted, there was still a likelihood that she was only a sympathizer, but Vader's observations and deductions did seem to point to open treachery. So if Palpatine knew this as well as Tarkin, why was he still dancing around the issue? What lesson did he want Vader to learn? What test was giving him? How could Tarkin use it to his advantage?

Palpatine walked away, ending the conversation. Tarkin bowed once again until the emperor was far from him, but his mind was still abuzz with questions… and worries about his own future. If the fleet hadn't destroyed the Rebel base… well, no matter. He'd told them immediately. Everything should be fine.

Everything would be fine.