Someone asked for Sola's age: she's around Obi's age, 25.
Sorry if there are typos; I've been up all night writing this, lol. It's ten minutes to 6. o.O Also, be sure to check the "notes" section on my profile for updates on this story if I don't update for a while; the pause is probably school related. Enjoy!
Padmé gazed at the scenery. The sunlight shone brightly, blocked only by the foliage of the many trees in the area. The sound of fountains tickled her ears, alongside the gentle cooing of a happy baby. Looking to her right, she saw her older sister, Sola, carrying her infant daughter, Ryoo. Sola's husband, Darred, was further down the gravel path on which they were walking, surrounded by trees on both sides.
Padmé had inherited many of her father's looks, from her soft face to the color of her hair, while Sola looked more like their mother, whose face was more angular and whose hair was a darker shade of brown. Sola was also slightly taller than Padmé.
Sighing in contentment, Sola gazed at Ryoo before looking to her sister. "You love watching my daughter too, don't you?"
Padmé smiled. "Of course I do."
"Then why don't you give yourself time to have one of your own?" Sola asked.
Padmé stopped walking, startled. "A child?"
"Not immediately," Sola shook her head as she stopped as well. "You're only eighteen, after all. But… you'll never have the chance if you keep this up, Padmé. You did your duty to everyone. Why can't you do your duty to yourself? You've served as queen; why must you be a senator too?"
"You know why," Padmé replied. "It's the entire reason I became queen."
"You became queen to make a difference," Sola said. "It had nothing to do with the Rebels back then."
"I was naïve back then; I didn't think the Empire was as big of an issue as it really is," Padmé sighed. "I thought I could fix things on Naboo, but the problems run too deep, and they stem from something beyond my scope as queen."
"So you're helping the Rebels for the sake of Naboo?"
"I'm helping for the sake of everyone, Sis. What would you have me do? Ignore them?"
"I would have you dedicate some of your life to yourself," Sola corrected her. "You can't just run around saving the galaxy, you know. Even if you managed to succeed, which at this rate isn't likely, once everyone else is happy, what will you have?"
"The satisfaction that I helped." Padmé answered with conviction.
Sola sighed. "Will that really be enough? Once you've reached that point, once you've sacrificed so much, once you're so exhausted from dedicating your entire life to others… will that really be enough when it's all over? Don't you want to have a family of your own someday?"
"Mom and Dad raised us on the principle of helping others, of dedicating our lives to the service of those who aren't as privileged as us." Padmé insisted a little too loudly. She knew what she was doing was right, but somehow Sola's words were piercing far deeper than they should have been.
"Obi-Wan and Siri are serving others while still having each other," Sola noted.
Padmé felt like she'd been slapped in the face. She knew it wasn't Sola's intent to hurt her, but it still stung that Obi-Wan now was more dedicated to Siri than to her. Even when he'd been with the service corps he'd always spend whatever free time he had talking with her or just being with her, and Padmé had always loved it. Now… he'd spend his time with Siri. Padmé knew she shouldn't be upset; Siri and Obi-Wan loved each other dearly, and they deserved to be happy together.
But blast it, it hurt when she'd spend those long evenings in the palace alone, staring at endless amounts of work that she had to do. Obi-Wan used to help her with all of that, but now… now he was always with Siri. He'd occasionally help Padmé, but…
Shaking her head, Padmé said, "Please, can't we just talk about something else?"
"Well, I could be like Mom and Dad and bring up a million questions about your safety," Sola said nonchalantly as she resumed her trek.
Padmé walked alongside her. "Yeah, and we went over that a million times already."
"None of those million times seemed to be satisfying to them."
"I noticed." Padmé looked elsewhere, stress filling her. She was happy to have received the senatorial position, and she was eager to go to Imperial Center for the first time, but her parents' concerns weighed on her almost as heavily as her mission.
"Padmé."
Pausing, she looked at her sister. Sola was watching her intently, her brow slightly furrowed in worry.
"Be safe." She said. "Please."
Padmé opened her eyes to the sound of something beeping. She'd been trying to sleep for the past half hour to little avail; she wasn't sure if it was the food or the conversation with Darth Vader. Honestly it didn't matter at this point since her mind had been wandering through different memories.
She heard the beeping sound again and turned her head towards her nightstand. It was pitch black in the room, so she groped blindly for her comlink; that was the only thing that would be making such a noise anyway. As she did so, her heart beat a little harder and faster—who was calling her this time? Was it Iena again?
She finally felt the small cylindrical device brush against her fingers, and she grabbed it and activated it. "Yes?"
"Hey, I got her!"
Padmé blinked, a little confused, before she felt electricity shoot through her entire body—that was Almusian.
"Al? Al, is that you? Where's Obi-Wan? Where's Siri?" she immediately asked in a frenzy, sitting up in bed.
"We're right here," she heard Obi-Wan reply.
The sound of his voice brought tears to her eyes, and she clung to the blanket in an attempt to keep the tremor out of her voice as she said, "Are… are you alright?"
"We're wonderful," Siri said with a slight edge to her voice. "Our vacation's been… interesting."
Padmé hiccupped softly, tears rolling down her face. It was an enormous relief to finally hear from them, even if they did have to speak in code for fear of Imperials overhearing the transmission. Though she probably shouldn't have mentioned Al by name if they really were being that cautious. Oh, well.
Wait, interesting?
Getting a hold of herself, Padmé said, "Define interesting."
"A few detours here and there," Obi-Wan answered. Just hearing his voice made the tears return in full force. "Nothing too heinous; we'll be detained for a short while longer, though."
No… "I… I t-thought you were going to join me for some vacation time." Padmé did her very best to ensure she sounded calm.
"Don't worry, Padmé," Siri immediately said. "We'll be there soon. I promise."
Padmé clenched her jaw, hugging her knees to her chest and burying her face in them. She squeezed her comlink, not able to say anything. It was unspeakably wonderful to hear from them, but the idea that they wouldn't be around for another few days was painful. Her time with Vader actually wasn't so awful now, but she still wanted to be with them. She missed them. Crying earlier had been a spillover of emotions, and while it had helped, it hadn't gotten rid of everything else that was still bottled up. She wanted to be with Obi-Wan and Siri, blast it!
Goodness I sound like a child… she thought to herself, and that at least helped her calm down. She needed to be strong; she was a Rebel spy, not a scared youngling. She could handle this on her own for a while longer.
"I understand," she finally replied. She couldn't bear to continue the farce, though, so she simply said, "I'll see you whenever, then."
"A few more days. That's all it will be." Obi-Wan assured her.
"Okay," Padmé acknowledged. "Have fun with the rest of your vacation."
"Will do. Goodbye, Padmé."
Padmé felt her throat tighten. "Love you."
There was silence on the other end. She knew there would be. Padmé always expressed her love to her family, but she had learned early on that Obi-Wan never really knew how to respond to such outbursts of affection. Most of the time, Padmé would hug him to show she cared, and he would accept it relatively well, but he rarely instigated anything. For her to outright say she loved him was a plea for him to be swift, and they both knew it.
"I love you too, Padmé."
Padmé nodded, took a deep breath, and cut the connection. He'd hurry.
With that thought in mind, she placed the comlink back on her nightstand, pulled the covers tightly around her, and fell asleep.
"Aw, you two sounded adorable," Al remarked in a sing-songy voice, as if to annoy them.
If that was his intent, it certainly worked on Siri, who shot him a glare. Obi-Wan, however, was too preoccupied to give him any concern. For Padmé to say I love you… she didn't even say that when they were leaving Imperial Center. What had happened on Varykino? Was she alright? She didn't indicate that she was injured, but…
Obi-Wan felt a shudder creep through him and he closed his eyes. Things with Vader were much worse than he expected them to be.
Just hang in there, Padmé, he thought desperately. We're coming as quickly as we can.
He felt despicable going to Alderaan, but they had to go. With everything that was going on in the Alliance, there really weren't many options for them. What would they do when the recess ended? How in the blazes was the Alliance going to help Mothma escape? Who would be the senate spy if Mothma was imprisoned and Organa was under too much scrutiny? Obi-Wan had a very sinking suspicion that the Naberrie clan's days on Imperial Center were far from over, and it made his stomach clench.
How would his Force sensitivity affect the mission?
Obi-Wan shook his head immediately. No one had noticed before; there was no reason they'd notice now. Still, now that he himself was aware of the fact it felt like he was screaming it to the entire galaxy. One wrong look at Vader would be enough. Right?
"Obi?"
Obi-Wan turned to the soft voice of his wife. She was watching him in concern. "I'm fine."
Siri quirked an eyebrow and gave him a look that said yeah right, liar, but she didn't comment. Instead she turned to Al. "Let's hit the hyperlanes, Al. We need to get to Alderaan as quickly as possible."
Al acknowledged her and went to the bridge. As soon as he left, Siri guided Obi-Wan to the sofa in the lounge.
"I gotta admit, I'm pretty jealous," Siri laughed. Obi-Wan glanced at her. Her smile was genuine, and her eyes held concern. "I'd love to be able to use the Force to kick some Imperial asteroid."
Obi-Wan sighed, but he wasn't too annoyed. He knew she was just trying to cheer him up. "Well don't expect me to run around flinging people in all directions."
Siri barked out a laugh. "Perhaps not. That would be rather amusing to watch, though."
Obi-Wan groaned, burying his face in his hands. He felt Siri hug him.
"Obi, it's going to be alright," she said as she leaned her head against him. "No one knows except us."
"And Adelig," he added.
He felt his wife stiffen. "You don't think she'll tell anyone, do you?"
"I doubt it," Obi-Wan replied, lowering his hands. "But… how did… why…?"
"It doesn't matter, Obi," Siri interrupted his garbled thoughts. "You were going to be trained as a Jedi. So what? The Order is gone; it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done."
"Siri, I just found out that I'm among the Empire's most wanted and despised," Obi-Wan stood abruptly, flooded with nervous energy. "There's a reason Kelathik serum exists, you know!"
"Hey, speaking of that," Al shouted from the bridge. "My buddy watched the transaction."
The sound of the hyperdrive roared to life as they punched into hyperspace. Al then entered the lounge. "The trade went down peacefully; no sting or anything of the like, though I wouldn't expect one with as obvious as that Imp was being. My buddy followed the Imp; he took a shuttle to a station over Nar Shaddaa, and from there went to Imperial Center. I got an ID on his appearance and the name he used, but I doubt it's his real name… at least it shouldn't be if he's actually decent at his job."
"I wonder how many Jedi actually did get out, though," Siri thought aloud, leaning back against the sofa. "I mean, you've got Kelathik abounding in the black market, and you've got people like Obi-Wan in the galaxy who were supposed to be Jedi… we were all told that the entire Order was wiped out… but while the Order may be gone, I'm starting to think there were a lot of people who were missed."
Al shrugged. "Hey, it's pretty hard to wipe out an entire group of people if they're as spread out as the Jedi were at the end of the war."
"You were old enough to remember the war," Siri pointed out. "What do you remember of the Jedi?"
Al paused, looking at nothing in particular. "Blast, I don't know… it was so long ago… I remember they used to be heroes of the war, but as time passed they weren't talked about so much… I guess people stopped caring or just didn't like them. I don't know.
"The war took ten years; everybody was sick of it by the time it ended. Krif, when the Empire came around it took years for them to get out of debt after all the money they spent in the war. Everybody was rationed on food and water in a lot of places, money was tight, the economy on a lot of planets were in the compactor… it was really rough. Palpatine could barely muster up a military by that point; the clones were basically gone, and there was no money to build more ships and recruit more soldiers. It was a good thing both sides were too exhausted to do anything, honestly, or his little empire may have collapsed as quickly as it was made."
"Did Palpatine really say the Jedi tried to kill him?" Siri asked.
Al nodded. "Yeah, he did. I don't think it came as a huge surprise to people, though; the animosity between the Jedi and the chancellor was pretty evident to everyone by the time the war ended. I couldn't tell at the time, obviously, but after looking back at HoloNet reports and the like it was fairly noticeable."
Obi-Wan listened halfheartedly. It was just so strange to think of himself as part of the Jedi; it was too foreign to comprehend. To think that he had been around on Imperial Center in the Jedi Temple at the time of those events was mind boggling.
He still wasn't very thrilled that his parents had known but had never said anything. Logically, he understood why that was the case, but… honestly, did they think he didn't need to know at this point? When he was in the middle of the chaos?
Would it have helped to know? He asked himself. He really didn't know the answer. Right now it wasn't helping his nerves, that was for sure.
Siri sighed. "Well, as I already said, it doesn't matter. No one knows you're a Jedi, anyway."
Obi-Wan and Al both looked at her a little curiously. Had Obi-Wan been thinking aloud? Judging from Al's slightly confused expression it didn't seem to be the case, but Siri had spoken as if she knew his train of thought. Whatever; that coincidence was nothing new to them, anyway. They often managed to figure out what the other person was thinking; it made it very difficult to hide one's emotions from the other, but it was also helpful.
Changing the subject entirely, Obi-Wan asked, "How long until we reach Alderaan?"
"Unfortunately it's going to take a full day," Al replied, crossing his arms. "We're navigating through a bunch of stars, planets, and Imperial checkpoints. You have to remember that Alderaan is in the core."
"Lovely," Siri muttered. "As long as we do avoid the Imperials; I don't want to scramble for an answer as to why we're doing business with Bail in a smuggler's ship during vacation time."
"Yeah," Al laughed a little shakily. "That would be interesting to explain."
The three were quiet for a time. Obi-Wan finally pushed the matter of his heritage aside and once more turned his thoughts to Padmé and the Alliance. He ran multiple scenarios through his mind, both as to why Padmé might be so desperate for them to return and what Organa might have to say about their predicament, when Al interrupted.
"Well, let's look on the bright side," he said with an optimistic smile. "Tomorrow's the start of my favorite fete week, so Alderaan will be abuzz with celebrations and parties. We'll have a swell time!"
Siri jumped. "Fete week? Oh, blast it, I totally forgot…"
Obi-Wan was about to ask when he abruptly remembered as well. The senate had its final recess at this point of the year because it was the final part of the year; the two weeks they had off were the last fete week of the year and the first of the next year: the Festival of Stars and the Festival of the New Year. They were Imperial holidays. While the Festival of the Stars was widely celebrated, it had never been a huge concern to Obi-Wan or Siri (though he was surprised Al hadn't mentioned it; it was a testament to how anxious the man was about the current situation), but the Festival of the New Year was an enormous event for everyone. People would get week long holidays from work, parties would last for days, banquets would be attended; it was always insane. Aldera, Alderaan's capital city, was going to be a nightmare to navigate once they arrived.
However, the festival was also good news. If Padmé had any insight she'd go somewhere public for a while; that would hopefully give her some fresh air from whatever was happening with Vader. If he allowed her to do so, at least.
Obi-Wan shook his head. It hadn't seemed that bad. He didn't get that impression, at least, and he typically went with whatever impression he would get of a situation. I wonder why, he thought sarcastically. Blast it he'd been using the Force without ever realizing it. Well, he supposed that was a good thing, then; if he'd been using it his entire life and no one had noticed, maybe it would be alright.
Maybe.
Crystal City was the most fashionable place to get a drink. It was situated at the top of a skyscraper over the suburban section of the Palace District. It was a restaurant, bar, and lounge all in one. The large interior was carpeted with steely blue and plum carpeting. A long bar lined the wall on the left, and windows covered the walls and curved ceiling, allowing for a view of the city and the palace. Private booths took up the right side of the room, each separated by thin grey walls that were designed both to keep noise out and to project images of the customer's choosing to provide a soothing visual background. Regular dining tables were scattered throughout the rest of the room. The lounge was in a sizable side room, filled with sofas, small tables, different gaming tables, and a stage where a band played.
People often came to Crystal City for multiple reasons. The establishment itself served amazing food and its drinks were spot on, but the main reason was its location and pricing. Only the elite could afford to eat or drink here, and anyone who was anyone came here to prove that they were among that class. As such, there often was a large amount of touting about oneself, throwing dirty looks at those who seemed inferior to oneself, and all around demonstrating how one was the most important person in the room. The private booths, however, served a better purpose than this tiresome ordeal: they served as the best place to exchange information, second only to the palace.
It was for that reason that Tarkin was here. First of all, he was rather tired of the palace; the main reason he lived there was essentially obsolete at this point. After all, Darth Vader was all grown up. He didn't need looking after anymore.
Tarkin let out a soft chuckle as he gazed out the window. Well, maybe he did need help, but not the way he used to. He didn't need babysitting or patching up anymore.
In either case, Tarkin was beginning to grow a little tired of living in a place where he was constantly reminded of his position being decidedly below the other people living there. Vader had been above him in station since the boy was nine for heaven's sake. Tarkin clenched his jaw a little, remembering when the boy had informed him of that. He hadn't gotten angry with the child; his delivery of the news was unsettlingly (at the time… he'd long since grown used to it) emotionless, and Tarkin knew he was just following orders, just like he always did. But then to hear it from Palpatine… he knew the emperor had done it just to watch him squirm. The indignity of putting a child in a higher station than him! He'd dealt with that for years, but if his plans worked out he wouldn't have to deal with it for much longer.
Sipping his drink, Tarkin leaned back. He was awaiting a meeting with one of his own personal spies. She was gathering information on Senator Amidala, among other matters. Tarkin had called for her so she could infiltrate the senator's inner circle, but if Vader did his job correctly that wouldn't be a problem. Still, no sense in not being prepared.
Speaking of Vader, Tarkin wondered what the man was doing now. He glanced at his chronometer and sifted through the different time zones until he found Naboo. The boy had said they were in the Lake Country, right? Finding the correct zone, Tarkin noted that it was six hours ahead of Palace District Time, so it was 0100 over there. Vader was probably asleep. Scratch that, Vader was hopefully asleep; Tarkin didn't see a reason why the young Sith would stay up, but he often did find strange reasons to keep himself occupied through late night and early morning hours.
Tarkin leaned back in his booth, taking a deep breath. The final recess of the senate was almost halfway over; tomorrow was the last day of the Festival of the Stars, and the New Year's Festival was only a standard week. Only six days to go before Vader's mission would hopefully be over. Then he could return, interrogate Mothma, and reclaim the reins of the military. Tarkin was quite happy ruling over his oversector, and while he had ambitions to one day rule the entire Empire, dealing with the everyday annoyances of military work was bogging him down… not to mention the insane amount of pressure to make up for his mistake (which wasn't even his mistake) over the Rebel base.
Tarkin took another sip from his glass when he abruptly remembered something. The fourth day of the Festival of the Stars had never been a particularly special day except in one regard.
It was Darth Vader's birthday.
Not that it mattered to the Sith; he didn't celebrate anything. Honestly, no one celebrated his birthday; Tarkin recalled one time offering an awkward 'happy birthday' to him when he was eleven, and the only response he had gotten was I've no need for happiness.
Tarkin still marveled that any child would ever say that. He was used to Vader's behavior now… even by the time the boy was eleven he had been used to it. But sometimes just thinking about it made him realize just how bizarre the young Sith was. Not that he could help it.
How old was the Sith? Tarkin had honestly lost track of the years. He didn't even know why he was bothering to try and remember the man's age. It wasn't like it mattered; even if Vader did actually care about his birthday (which was highly doubtful… in fact, Tarkin was almost certain even Vader didn't know his own age), Palpatine certainly didn't; he'd begun sending the boy on missions when he was about seven or eight, and had claimed that Vader was 'of age' and ready to enter more complicated missions when he was ten. Giving the boy a name the previous year had been his induction to adulthood.
Tarkin shuddered. He wasn't a particularly emotional or loving man. He came from a family of wealth and nobility; power and respectability were always more important than love. As such, he'd never had a huge attachment towards Vader, despite the fact that he'd practically raised him. Still, the way Palpatine had trained the boy sometimes made Tarkin feel just a little sick. The emperor had done an amazing job at turning the boy into a valuable asset, and Tarkin was appreciative for that; Vader would indeed be most useful once Tarkin found a way to overthrow Palpatine. But sometimes he still glanced twice at the boy, wondering just how screwed up he was and whether it was really worth the outcome.
Tarkin shook his head. There was no point in pondering on such nonsense. Even if he did care enough to feel sorry for Vader, it was too late to do anything about his behavior and attitude now. He just needed to take advantage of what he could.
The perfect holographic image of a mountainous sunset glitched as a woman walked through the doorway, which had been part of the image. Judging from her uniform, she worked with Intelligence, but Tarkin didn't know her. She offered a small bow after entering.
"Grand Moff Tarkin," she acknowledged.
Tarkin motioned to the cushioned bench across from him. He sat upright, stiffening as she did so. He wasn't expecting this person; his own spy was Intelligence—that way she could get the best information and work around Intelligence operatives unnoticed—but she wasn't currently on duty and this most certainly wasn't her. He brushed passed the obvious question as to how she knew he was there; instead, he worried more about what she wanted.
"There's been a situation with Adm. Ozzel's fleet, sir," the agent said.
"An incident?" Tarkin repeated. He hadn't really heard anything from that incompetent idiot since he'd ordered him to fix his own mistake. Had he just made another one?
"The fleet's been destroyed."
Tarkin blanched. "What?!"
"The fleet didn't make its usual check-in an hour ago," the agent continued. "We had a nearby outpost use long ranged scanners; we're picking up debris. Destroyers, mainly, though there is something else of interest. Some of the debris isn't ours, but it's not Rebels, either."
Just as Tarkin was going to question her once more, she slid a data pad across the table. He grabbed it hastily, sifting through the images and information shown. One of the readouts from the long ranged scanner was flagged. Opening it, he read the information, but he glanced up at her for a translation; he didn't know the navy well enough to recognize whether a hull's thickness, shielding, and mechanical wiring belonged to a Star Destroyer or not. That was Vader; the man knew everything about every ship in existence.
"The Rebels mainly use Corellian model ships, governor." The agent explained. "After Senator Bel Iblis was declared a traitor, the Rebels' supply of ships disappeared; none of the Corellian companies wanted to associate with them after they witnessed what we did to their senator and his family. Still, the Alliance had plenty in their arsenal already; they would have used them as their primary means of escape from their base on Yavin 4. This hull, however, came from a Hydyk-class freighter – a large ship but nearly large enough to fit any Rebel purposes."
"A mercenary? Or another faction?" Tarkin questioned.
"Possibly another faction, governor," the agent answered. "We received a distress signal from a nearby outpost that stated a fleet was attacking them. We have people working on recovering any data the outpost had before it was destroyed, and we're fairly certain that same freighter was part of the fleet."
"Aren't there multiple Hydyk-class freighters, though?" Tarkin asked, a little confused. "It's not as if companies only produce one ship per model."
"The outpost was two systems away from Adm. Ozzel's fleet." The agent replied. "And it would require a fleet to destroy the admiral's ships."
"So there's some random fleet flying around destroying Imperial facilities?" Tarkin crossed his arms irritably. Who was foolish and suicidal enough to do such an irritating thing? Tarkin wasn't particularly bothered with losing Ozzel; the man's failure had almost gotten Tarkin himself killed. Still, these people needed to be dealt with; they had to find the Rebels.
The agent was about to reply when she paused. She held up a finger to indicate that Tarkin should wait. He leaned against the back of the booth irritably; the woman was no doubt getting some sort of transmission from her comlink implant. His annoyance disappeared when he saw her eyebrows lift and her jaw tighten. She immediately stood.
"Governor, you should come with me." She said as she began to leave.
Tarkin was about to protest, saying he was waiting for someone, but he immediately stopped himself. The entire point of his spy was to operate outside of Intelligence's notice; it wouldn't exactly be prudent to say he was expecting someone and then not explain who it was. So, he did what he had to; he followed the agent. He'd have to meet with his spy later.
The two silently left the Crystal City. The agent led him to a turbolift and they descended a few levels before exiting. They weren't on a deck open to the city, so apparently she wasn't looking to take a shuttle to Intelligence headquarters. Instead, she led him to a secured door, opening it with her code cylinders. The two entered, and Tarkin blinked a few times to let his eyes readjust to the stark lighting of multiple holograms, console screens, and dim lighting. This was an Intel alcove; they were spread throughout the entire city so Intelligence could monitor every centimeter of the planet.
Walking towards one of the consoles, the agent quickly typed in some codes or commands. Other operatives glanced at her and Tarkin, but they didn't do anything else until one operative approached them.
"You said it's occurring right now?" Tarkin's guest asked.
"Yes, ma'am." The operative answered.
"What's occurring? What's going on?" Tarkin questioned, his annoyance returning.
"There's an attack on another outpost, governor," the agent replied. "It's one of our supply stations. We ordered every facility in the area to notify us immediately of such an attack, even before they contact reinforcements. If we can link up with their security systems we can watch the battle."
Tarkin took a step closer to the console, growing interested. A fuzzy image appeared; a lot of blaster fire was seen in an empty hallway before stormtroopers suddenly appeared in the left corner, trying to charge forward. They were immediately cut down, however, when more blaster fire came at them. Then two people ran from the right end of the screen. They didn't look like Rebels; despite the fact that the Alliance was a rag tag team of backwater idiots, they still had some sort of form of a chain of command, and they bore such rank on their outfits, any way they could. These people didn't seem to have that.
And then he saw it. He hissed and took a step back as a man came into view, wielding a green lightsaber. The man was older, with grey hair tied into a top knot. He had scars on his face and a fierce look. He wore dented armor, but it resembled that of Imperial stormtroopers, though it seemed outdated, like it was…
Clone armor. This man was a Clone War veteran.
"A Jedi," the operative said with surprise and disgust. "He must be the commander of the fleet."
"I want to know everything about that man," Tarkin immediately ordered. "Find out who he is, how he survived the purges, and what kind of arsenal he has."
"It will be done, governor." The agent acknowledged. Handing him the data pad she had shown him earlier, she said, "You may keep that for later perusing, sir. I must ask that you leave now; one of my men is holding your booth for you."
What?
Tarkin took the data pad with a stiff nod. He certainly hope his spy hadn't arrived at the restaurant yet, though if she was any good she'd already know the area was compromised. And now he had another problem to worry about; a merc fleet or some random pathetic faction wouldn't be a concern, but a Jedi was an entirely different story. Tarkin had to deal with this matter immediately.
He had to tell the emperor.
Padmé felt the heaviness of sleep abruptly vanish. Groaning, she tried to figure out what was wrong, opening her eyes. The room was lit very dimly; dawn was barely beginning.
A figure was in the room.
Gasping, Padmé rolled out of bed, falling onto the ground. She reached blindly for a blaster in the nightstand, but her pistol was in her duffel bag. The figure remained still for a second before moving slightly; its arm touched something on the wall, and immediately the lights turned on.
It was Vader.
"What the hell were you doing?!" Padmé immediately demanded, pissed off and terrified at the same time.
"I was just about to wake you up. You were taking too long." Vader answered, watching her dully.
"I was what?!" Padmé stood, growing even angrier. That creep had no right to just barge in and—
Darth Vader had been in her bedroom while she was unaware. Unarmed. Asleep. A shiver ran down her spine; she felt violated, she felt terrified.
Vader blinked. "I just said you were taking too long. Why do you always need me to repeat certain sentences? Are you hard of hearing?"
Her terror immediately vanished, and exasperation filled the void. This man was so—kriffing—impossible.
"How was I taking too long?" Padmé asked, snatching a small blanket and wrapping it around herself. "It doesn't even look like it's dawn yet."
"It's 0600." Vader said. "You were in such a hurry to leave yesterday yet now you're wasting time sleeping."
"Well if you wanted to leave at 0600, then maybe you should have told me!" Padmé argued.
Vader opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Then he closed it. He looked away.
"Didn't think of that, did you?" Padmé said just to rub it in. "Don't you brief people you accompany on missions?"
Something about her statement seemed to unlock something in Vader. His eyes immediately locked with hers, and his facial muscles relaxed, almost as if he was stunned or excited. Then, as quickly as the look came, it vanished. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "You are correct; I didn't think of it. I don't view you as an accomplice; just a t—"
And immediately his mouth shut. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he bit his lip. He was about to say something he shouldn't have.
"I'm a what?" Padmé prompted.
"You're late." Vader said abruptly. "Get dressed. We need to leave."
Padmé sighed heavily. She should have known he wouldn't answer her. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes."
"That's too late."
Padmé rolled her eyes. "Look, I have to shower and—"
"Did you shower yesterday?"
"Of course I showered yesterday—"
"You didn't do anything too strenuous yesterday, and the rain would have washed some dirt away. You can skip the shower today. Let's go."
Padmé crossed her arms, growing more annoyed by the minute. "I'm sorry, are you my father? I'm taking a shower, blast it!"
"I'm leaving in five minutes." Vader said, unperturbed. "With or without you."
"I'd love to see your explanation as to why you showed up on CC4 without me." Padmé sniped back.
Vader turned and left.
Growling, Padmé flung the blanket back onto the bed and hastily went to the bag she'd packed last night. Grabbing white trousers and a white shirt, she rushed into the refresher and grabbed some toiletries before getting dressed. The diplomatic shuttle had a sonic shower, but it still wasn't nearly as helpful as a real one. Still, despite being extremely rude and annoying, Vader did indeed have a point; Padmé had been eager to leave as soon as possible.
But blast it all did he have to wake her up that way?
Grumbling the entire time, Padmé threw on some white boots and grabbed her stuff. She snatched a utility belt and exited her room, rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes. As she entered the lounge and dining area, she caught sight of Vader waiting on the balcony. Walking towards him, she tossed her bag at him; if he was going to be obnoxious, he would at least be useful too.
Vader caught it with lightning reflexes, and then he glanced at it. He opened it, sifting through her clothes.
"What are you doing?" Padmé stared at him, bewildered.
"Why did you throw it to me?" Vader asked, looking at her. "What do I need from here?"
Padmé rolled her eyes. "Just carry it, you dim witted shaak." Before he could say anything else, she added, "And if you make any remark about my butt again I'm shoving you out of the boat halfway there."
Vader sighed and slung the bag over his shoulder.
Once they reached the boat he immediately stepped into the driver's seat and dropped Padmé's bag on her seat. He placed his own behind him. Padmé grabbed her bag and tossed it, making it land on top of his and knock it off the seat. Vader watched her, his face remaining neutral, but the fingers of his left hand wrapped around the steering control a little more tightly. Plopping herself in the seat beside him, Padmé gave him a hard look.
Neither said anything. Vader immediately activated the engine and drove the boat away from the island. Padmé wondered if he would ask her how to get back to the dock where they'd rented the boat; he had been tired when they'd made the journey to Varykino, so she wasn't sure if he'd remember the path. Despite this, he didn't say a word; he steered the boat skillfully and smoothly between the islands, and Padmé recognized the rental dock coming ever closer.
Once they arrived Padmé spoke to the dock manager. She'd paid for nine days' use of the boat, but she insisted it was alright; she'd be back shortly to use it again, anyway. She asked the manager to call for a taxi, and once he left to do that, it was just her and Vader standing by the dock.
Padmé took a deep breath. She was slightly calmer now, and most certainly fully awake. She still was unsettled at the thought of Vader being in her room, but his intentions—at least according to him—were harmless. It really was bizarre how… indifferent he was. She recalled that he'd said he lied about most of his opinions, which honestly made sense now considering her observations, so she shouldn't be surprised by his nonchalant behavior. Still, she was his mark; his approach was so starkly different from the interrogation at dinner on Imperial Center that she really wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish. He'd had a perfect opportunity to catch her off guard, to hurt her, even to kill her this morning.
Blast it all, she was sick of thinking about this.
Okay, different matters, then. She shook her head slightly. She had to worry about what was happening on CC4. First of all, Rekk was being held for ransom. Secondly, former slaves had formed a gang and were trying to control the colony. Thirdly, there were Imperials there, but they were injured. The service corps and RRM were unable to leave and needed supplies.
Ah, supplies. She could start there. She could buy supplies in Oxon. It would make more sense to get in contact with the RRM headquarters in Theed, but that might involve her sister or father, and she didn't want to do that with Vader around.
Speaking of Vader, how exactly was he going to play into this? She'd asked him to accompany her, but she hadn't really thought out what she'd have him do. She supposed the main reason was that she didn't know how to pilot an Imperial diplomatic shuttle… and she figured he'd be able to keep the Imperials in line in case any of them started acting stupid. But what else could he do? And how would she introduce him? Most people in the Empire didn't know what Darth Vader looked like—they'd only heard of him. But she couldn't just say he was some random guy, either… she'd have to make up a name for him. She didn't want Iena to know her situation. Nor did she need to make a scene, and heaven knew that having people find out Vader was there would cause a scene.
Also, she probably needed to diffuse a potentially bad situation. Glancing at Vader, she said softly, "Sorry about earlier. You really need to learn some social norms, though."
"So I've been told," he muttered, gazing out at the lake.
Padmé smiled and raised an eyebrow. "So I'm not the first one you've been absurdly rude to, then?"
Vader's eyes were unfocused for a few moments, and then he glanced at her briefly before quickly looking at the lake once more. "The governor."
Tarkin. "He said you needed to be polite?"
Vader nodded.
"What caused him to say that?" Padmé asked, genuinely curious.
Vader sighed, still watching the lake. "I was accompanying the governor; we were going to his oversector to quell a Rebel uprising. I contacted the governor and said we needed to depart immediately; time was of the essence, and we had all the required information. We would be able to study the information once we were in hyperspace. He agreed and said he would meet me in the hangar. I got there within the minute, but the governor didn't arrive. I tried calling him but he didn't answer; I went to his quarters. He was in the shower. So I walked in and turned the shower off and said we needed to go."
Padmé burst out laughing. The idea of Tarkin quaffing himself and then getting his shower interrupted by Vader was priceless. As she laughed, she observed that Vader's boots were covered in water and wet grass. He was wearing something apart from black today, surprisingly; he wore dark brown trousers and a grey tunic. His utility belt was strapped on, but she didn't see his lightsaber; he, like her, probably didn't think it prudent to announce his presence. But his boots… why were they dirty?
Oh, that's right. His morning walk. After she regained her composure, she motioned towards his feet. "Did you go walking, milord?"
Vader nodded.
"Why do you walk every morning?" she asked. Figuring it had some practical reason, she surmised, "Is it for the exercise?"
Vader didn't respond. Padmé was going to ask again when she noticed his eyes drooping for a moment before he took a deep breath, swayed on his heels, and clasped his hands behind his back. He was tired—he was very tired; now that there was more light in the sky she could see dark circles under his eyes.
"What time did you get up?" she asked.
"0700."
Padmé furrowed her brow, confused. "You woke me up at 0600, remember? Are you alright?" Then it hit her. "0700 yesterday?!"
Vader nodded.
Padmé gawked at him. What was he thinking? He couldn't be exhausted for this mission! "Why did you stay up all night?"
"Your friend stated they were running out of supplies. I acquired some."
"You were up all night getting supplies?"
Vader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You must have hearing issues."
Padmé would have retorted, but their taxi finally arrive. She did ask, though, "If you got the supplies, where are they?"
"I already loaded them on the shuttle."
"You were in Oxon?"
"The shuttle is there, so yes."
Well, that would take care of what she had been intending. Still, she was annoyed he'd been up all night; he looked haggard the more she watched him, and that was the last thing she needed. The trip to the colony would only take twenty minutes; that wasn't nearly enough time for him to catch up on sleep. She didn't talk to him or voice her complaint, though; she figured maybe he could take the opportunity to sleep in the taxi. After glancing at him continuously, though, it became apparent that that wouldn't be the case.
Sighing, she said, "Why don't you take a nap? It's thirty minutes to Oxon from here."
"I will sleep when the situation allows for it. At the moment I don't require it."
"The situation does allow for it," Padmé insisted. "I need you to be alert when we get to CC4. Also, you're my pilot; it makes me just a little nervous that you'll be flying on no sleep whatsoever."
"My piloting skills won't be inhibited."
Padmé wanted to smack him. Would he stop arguing?! "Get. Some. Sleep."
Vader looked her in the eye. "I don't take orders from you, senator."
By this point she wasn't perturbed by his remark. She knew just how to counter it. "Friends take advice from other friends, milord."
"If the advice is sound, I should think."
"It is sound, blast it!"
Vader leaned his head against the window, glancing out at the scenery. He was apparently too tired to continue the argument. Padmé took it as a small victory, but the man still wouldn't close his eyes. What could get through to him? She'd observed that showing concern for him seemed to baffle him, so maybe she could try that; she was genuinely worried about him, after all. He looked awful. Her concern, however, was still being masked by the overwhelming amount of irritation he was bringing out of her.
Sighing heavily, she tried to reign in her temper. Normally she was better at controlling her emotions, but lately he'd been bringing the best and worst out of her. Besides, she wanted to be genuine around him; that was what seemed to make an impression on him. The man was smart enough to detect when she was trying to play him; at least he was certainly giving that impression.
"Look," she said softly, facing him more fully. He remained still. "I'm just worried about you, okay? It's not healthy to put your body through that. You could get sick; don't you know your immune system practically crashes when you lose sleep?"
"That's an exaggeration." He noted very quietly. Then he closed his eyes, and Padmé dared to hope he would finally take a nap, but he only did so briefly, furrowing his brow before sitting straight and opening them once more. He looked far more awake all of a sudden.
Padmé was running out of ideas as to how to convince him. He kept dodging or deflecting her remarks, and suddenly she was feeling more tired than he looked. Giving up on the effort, she leaned back, closing her own eyes; she hadn't gotten much sleep, so she herself was pretty tired. She'd woken sufficiently on the boat trip; the summer morning air was cool and crisp, and the wind whipping in her face had been enough to make her fully awake and alert, but the sun had finally left the horizon, the summer heat was returning, and the taxi was just cozy and warm enough to make her sleepy again.
After slipping into a state of semi-consciousness for what seemed an eternity, Padmé eventually felt the taxi come to a stop. Opening her eyes, she watched Vader exit and grab his duffel bag from the cargo compartment. She followed suit and paid the driver, and then followed Vader into the spaceport.
She was still a little groggy, so their dealings in the spaceport were basically a blur to her. Vader led the way as they passed through the primary security checkpoint, and then he guided her through the large atrium towards some stairs. The spaceport was relatively quiet at this hour of the morning. After the two went to a lower level, Vader led her to a duracrete tunnel lined with advertisements and pictures. She remembered this hallway; there would be a lift at the end that would take them to the docks below.
The fresh scented air of the spaceport vanished and became steadily staler as they reached the lift. Once they arrived on the level where the ship was, the familiar unpleasant odors of a dock came in full force. Padmé swallowed, trying to ease the irritation in her nose and throat, as a particularly pungent stench of seared paint reached her nose.
Vader spoke to the dock official and the two stood and watched as the dock workers unplugged the cables that had been attached to the shuttle, refueling and recharging it. They then boarded. Padmé went straight to the bedroom, dropping her luggage off and returned to the lounge. She wondered if Vader would just stay in the cockpit for the duration of the trip.
Growing curious, Padmé slowly walked towards the cockpit area. It was separated from the rest of the ship by a short narrow corridor and a sealed door. She knocked at the door. It slid open, but no one was there. Confused, she stepped in and saw Vader sitting in the pilot's seat. He must have used the Force to open the door.
Padmé looked around the room; she'd never been in an Imperial diplomatic shuttle cockpit before. The front had large rectangular windows that were angled with the shape of the front of the ship. A large console was up against the front wall, and there were two seats on either side.
Vader hadn't acknowledged her at all so far. He was too busy glancing over different buttons and switches; pre-flight checks. He had to make sure everything was functioning. He was probably just ignoring her, but to be sure she wouldn't startle him, she cleared her throat. Vader continued to check different functions of the ship. Reaching to a console that hung over him, he flipped a switch and Padmé heard a low hum emit from behind her; he was activating the engines. Moving to the co-pilot's seat, she sat and strapped herself in. Vader didn't seem bothered by the action.
Vader reached over to a small screen, tapping some commands on it before pressing a button below it. "This is Shuttle 884 requesting permission to depart."
"Just a moment, Shuttle 884," the dock officer advised. "Got another ship coming out of the exit port."
Vader leaned back in his seat, placing his hands on his lap. Padmé mimicked him. He looked far more relaxed here than she'd ever seen him. His gaze was calm as usual, but it wasn't cold. His face was soft, his gaze clear, and his muscles relaxed. He felt at home here.
"You like ships, don't you?" she noted.
"I—"
"Neither like nor dislike ships, I know." Padmé finished for him. Watching him deny himself in such a way suddenly made him so sad; she pitied him. It was obvious he was comfortable here, but his stubborn mindset wouldn't allow him to acknowledge it… perhaps even to notice it. One could argue he was just lying to her, but whenever he spoke in such a manner it was the most genuine and honest moments of their conversations. He sincerely believed every word he said on that subject.
What in the blazes happened to him? She recalled that he'd said his training made him who he was, but… no, wait, he'd said his training had made him what he was, not who he was. It seemed like a very minimal distinction, but Padmé was fairly certain he'd chosen his words very carefully.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the deck officer finally gave permission for them to leave. Vader fired up the engines even more and the ship slowly began to rise. Padmé felt the ground disappear beneath her and the ship began to rotate in place in order to face the exit. Vader piloted the ship into the exit port and it rose gracefully, the engines roaring even louder than before. Eventually the sunlight pierced through the windows, which tinted slightly in response. Readings and figures then appeared on the windows, indicating altitude, wind speed, temperature, and nearby objects. Vader reached to the console and pressed a button and the readings disappeared.
Padmé glanced at him a little worriedly. "Milord, shouldn't you turn those back on? They're meant to help and guide you."
"I don't need them," he replied, tilting the steering yoke back. The ship angled upward in response, and the engines went full throttle. The g forces shoved Padmé into her seat, and even if she'd tried to argue further about the figures, the engines were too loud for her to be heard. It was odd for them to be so noisy; most ships, especially ones that transported VIPs, had sound dampeners to avoid that.
The pale blue sky grew paler and thinner and black began to spill into view. The splotches grew larger until they finally tore out of the atmosphere, and the familiar view of space appeared. The sun was to their left and partly covered by Naboo, so the windows didn't tint too much further, and Vader quickly turned it away from that direction.
"Where's the navi-computer?" Padmé asked. "I can input the coordinates for you."
"They're already in there."
Well, she wouldn't fault him for being unprepared. It still made her feel useless, though.
It was at this point that Padmé suddenly realized how far she'd come. The last time the two had been on this shuttle together, she'd been hiding from him in the guest room. She didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing that she was so familiar with him now. She opted for thinking it a good thing; it was nice actually getting to know him, and she… well, she appreciated being around him more than she used to. Even if he was kriffing frustrating sometimes.
Vader activated the hyperdrive. The engines died down and the hyperdrive roared to life. They both watched the ship enter hyperspace.
"Everything's so loud," Padmé noted after she once again was deafened by the sound. "Are the sound dampeners on?"
"I deactivated them in the cockpit," Vader replied.
When he didn't elaborate, she asked, "Why?"
"Hearing the engines helps me notice if something's wrong."
Padmé chuckled. "I'm surprised you could hear anything at all. My ears are ringing."
"It's the little stuff that matters," Vader explained. Padmé was surprised that he bothered to continue the conversation; he was taking initiative. "The engines may be loud, but that's good; you want them to be loud. If they get softer than they should, if the pitch is off, they could be malfunctioning. The sound they make tells you what's happening."
She smiled, marveling at his eagerness; he really liked ships, whether he was aware of it or not. Maybe she could use that to help him open up a little more. "Can you give me an example?"
Vader paused, thinking it over. "Well, one time I was on a ship and the pitches didn't add up. One engine was higher in pitch than the other. They should match up; they need to be wired, toned, prepped, everything the same way. The portside engine was the higher one; I hadn't flown the ship before, so I wasn't sure if the portside was malfunctioning or the starboard side. I ran diagnostics, but everything came up fine. I landed the ship anyway and checked the engines. The portside engine was being overstimulated; one of the wires was faulty, so it was making the engine fire up slightly more than it should have. It wasn't enough to cause the ship to buck, and it didn't even affect the steering, but it was enough that I heard it, and it if it continued the engine would have burned out eventually."
"It was so minimal it didn't affect the steering, but you still heard it?" Padmé asked, impressed. "Blast, you are a good pilot and mechanic. Imagine the life you could have led if you weren't an Imperial officer."
Vader was silent.
"What did decide what you would be?" Padmé asked. "I mean I know your family was high up in the Empire, but you could have been a fighter pilot or something."
"I was created to be Sith."
Padmé furrowed her brow. His wording was odd again. "Well, I suppose it does have to do with the fact that you're a Force user. But isn't that illegal in the Empire? I mean, anybody who can use the Force is executed. Why were you any different?"
A thought then suddenly occurred to her; had he been born before the Empire? If he was already a trained Force user, then maybe Palpatine had wanted to use him instead of waste his talents—but wait, his family was Imperial. Never mind.
Padmé eagerly waited for his answer, but Vader suddenly seemed reluctant to speak. She tried prompting him. "Was it because of your family's position?"
Vader nodded. Well at least she got a reply out of him. "So your family's position saved your life."
"My power determined my fate." Vader corrected. Then he seemed to realize what he had just said, and he quickly turned away. "You should get some rest; you looked tired. Go to your quarters."
Padmé snorted. "I look tired?"
"Go to your quarters."
She was tempted to tell him to do the same, but then she realized that the cockpit was his haven, and she was intruding upon it. Sighing, she complied, unstrapping herself and standing. "Very well, milord. Just try to take a short nap, okay?"
Vader said nothing, and she left. Going to the guest quarters, Padmé kicked off her boots and went to the refresher to properly prepare for the day.