lol I cranked this out way faster than I thought I would. Time to hit the roller coaster ride! Enjoy!
The lazy morning light pierced through her eyes. The blanket was heavy and warm, goading her to fall back asleep. The air was nice and cool. Sighing, Padmé stretched and blearily opened her eyes, yawning. She was in the guest room of the shuttle, having dragged herself there at some ungodly hour of the morning after celebrating with the relief workers and refugees. It had been enjoyable; after the countdown they'd listened to some music and then split into groups to play games. Padmé and Iena had helped younglings reenact favorite plays and holovids, and then the two had joined a team for several games of tug-of-war with a towing cable.
"Ouch," Padmé muttered, cringing as she sat up. Speaking of tug-of-war, her arms were pretty sore now, though she wasn't sure that was from the game or from all the climbing in the canyon yesterday morning.
Standing, Padmé cleaned herself up and got dressed. She wore some tan colored trousers and tunic with a burgundy vest over it and she still had her blaster sitting snugly in its holster on her utility belt; no sense in not being prepared considering what had been happening here.
Padmé exited the guest quarters and wandered down the short hallway into the shuttle lounge. She glanced around briefly to see if Vader was in there, but the small scattering of seats was bereft of anyone. The cockpit was also empty. Padmé had wondered where Vader had wandered off to last night; she'd wanted to spend time with him after the sparring, but she supposed he'd become too tired at that point. Also, she really shouldn't have been surprised that he wouldn't show up for the countdown considering how little care he had for the entire celebration.
Now she had a new problem, though; the crisis was over… so what next? Beforehand, Padmé had wanted to help Vader and speak with him, so she supposed she could go back to that. The mission had interrupted it briefly, but… well, it also brought up some questions. Vader's behavior yesterday morning had definitely shown his more vicious side, but… Padmé shook her head. She didn't know what to make of the man anymore. She did recall that he was comfortable aboard the shuttle, though, so she supposed she could convince him to speak with her there. If she could blasted find him, that is.
Well, if he wasn't in the cockpit or lounge, the only other place on the ship he could be was his own guest room. Diplomatic shuttles normally had room for four VIP passengers; the shuttles weren't designed for very long flights, so there was no room for the pilot.
Wandering back into the hallway where the guest rooms were, Padmé looked at the doors. Two were on each wall. She looked at the left wall only; her own room was on the right, and she had a sinking suspicion Vader wouldn't want to be in a room beside her. She walked to the door that was opposite of hers and hesitated for a second before knocking softly. When she got no response, she pressed the button on the panel that would open the door; it wasn't locked, so it immediately slid open, but the room was empty. She quickly discovered the other room was empty as well, and neither showed any indication of having been used. Growing a little confused, Padmé finally turned to the room beside hers, but it was in equal condition. Bewildered, she exited the shuttle.
The clear autumn air filled her lungs and a gentle breeze blew leaves around the landing pad. Dew glistened everywhere, and a slight mist snaked its way around the compound, making Padmé's feet fade into the ground. There wasn't a single cloud in the royal blue sky. It was a beautiful morning, and a quiet one at that; it didn't seem like anyone else was awake yet.
But Padmé heard someone walking around, their footsteps crunching dead leaves. Turning, she followed the sound and finally found Darth Vader. He was back to his usual black outfit; she supposed the only reason he wore anything different yesterday was to camouflage into what he presumed to be a battlefield. The man looked relatively well rested; at least he didn't have any dark circles under his eyes this morning. His gaze was distant, and his blue eyes seemed completely unfocused. His arms hung limply at his sides as he walked slowly through the compound as if in a trance.
"Milord?" Padmé called softy as she approached him. Vader ignored her.
Both confused and annoyed, Padmé followed him. "Good morning."
She didn't receive a reply.
Padmé knew Vader didn't speak much, but she wasn't sure why he was suddenly ignoring her altogether. Typically she'd at least get some sort of acknowledgement, and she would expect something after their shared moment last night. She figured he wouldn't offer her his weapon for nothing; so why was he acting as if it had never happened? She was not going to have a repeat of Isola; she would get to the kriffing bottom of this.
"Lord Vader," she tried again, stepping into his path. Vader paused for a millisecond, his eyes focusing on her for a moment, and immediately his brow furrowed and his face darkened. Then, as soon as the expression was there, it was gone; once again he looked dazed, and he walked around her.
What the…?
His morning walk.
Padmé blinked a few times and then turned around to watch him. This was his morning walk? Did he always look so out of it? And why was he ignoring her? She recalled that he hadn't wanted her to walk with him the few times she'd asked, but it was downright rude to pretend she didn't exist.
Not that rudeness was anything new to him…
Sighing heavily, Padmé once again stood in his way, but before she could say anything he walked around her once more. Finally, she stayed in her place, but said, "Lord Vader, I want to talk to you—stop ignoring me."
In a heartbeat, everything changed. Vader whirled on her, a frustrated and furious expression on his face. His eyes were a fierce red and yellow. Padmé jumped, taking a small step back; what the blazes had happened to his eyes?
"What the hell do you want?!" he hissed, every muscle in his body tensing.
His behavior legitimately scared Padmé, but her anger also came forth. "What—I just said I wanted to talk to you! What the hell is your problem?!"
"You are!" Vader immediately replied, and he stood even taller, taking a step towards her. What the blazes had happened between last night and now? "You always have been—why can't—"
And then just like that, he stopped. Closing his eyes, Vader looked away, squeezing his fists. He took several deep breaths and a handful of steps away from her. His face paled considerably, and once his hands relaxed they started twitching incessantly.
Padmé didn't know what the deal was, but she was still angry—a little too angry to try and figure out what set him off. "I'm your problem? It didn't seem that way last night; maybe I should just leave, then! Or you could always—"
"Stop," Vader immediately interrupted, and his voice was so quiet Padmé almost didn't hear it. He opened his eyes, which were a deep blue once more, and he looked at her. "I… I shouldn't have lashed out."
"No kriffing kidding!" Padmé immediately retorted. "You mind explaining what that was all about?"
"No." Vader replied at once, and then he turned and left. Padmé was going to call after him again, but between her own anger and his previous response, she figured it was best they both cool off. The two would have to see each other again once they decided to get off this moon, anyway. In the meantime, she took a deep breath and wandered off to get some breakfast, shaking the chill down her spine as she thought of those yellowish eyes again.
Grogginess was all he felt. Well, perhaps not all he felt—he did also have quite the distinct headache pounding ever so lovingly in his temples. He moaned slightly, rubbing his face. Too much wine.
Then he felt something warm and soft beside him. In his half-conscious state he couldn't quite pinpoint what the sensation was, but in his mind he immediately knew—Siri. But… Siri and Obi-Wan were in a bunk bed. Why was…
Oh. Oh. Now he remembered what happened last night.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked at his wife. Siri was still asleep, snuggled up against him. As the memories of the previous night began to return to Obi-Wan he was suddenly grateful that he and his wife had at least been sober enough to stumble up the ladder to the guest area before anything had progressed; he was fairly certain Al had seen enough of the two's interaction to leave well enough alone… also Siri would probably murder him if the case were otherwise.
Smiling a little in contentment, Obi-Wan closed his eyes once more, slipping back to sleep, when a scraping noise came from the intercom. Startled, Obi-Wan jumped and his eyes opened once more, but Siri barely grunted in acknowledgement.
"Rise and shine, guys," Al said in a chipper voice, making Obi-Wan's head pound even more. How in the blazes could he sound so happy? Al had drunk more than Obi-Wan. "We're coming out of hyperspace."
Obi-Wan was fully awake in an instant. They had to get to Senator Organa as quickly as possible… uh, after he got some clothes on, at least. Obi-Wan sat up to get out of the bunk—or he would have if his wife's head weren't on his shoulder. Sighing, Obi-Wan feebly tried to push her off, but she was too heavy. He nudged her instead. "Siri, wake up."
Siri snored.
Growing a little annoyed, Obi-Wan poked her again. "Siri."
"Hmmwha…"
Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "Wake up."
Siri snuggled closer, wrapping one arm around Obi-Wan's chest. He felt her leg brush up against his and his skin tingled, but he shook the feeling off. "Come on, get up."
Siri shook her head.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Blast it all, Siri, get up."
Siri opened her eyes blearily and then moaned, closing them again. "No… not a good idea…"
Obi-Wan immediately grew nervous. "You're not going to get sick on me, are you?"
Siri smacked his chest.
"Ouch!" Obi-Wan yelped, finally shoving her off him… sort of. Siri was too stubborn to move, so when Obi-Wan pushed her, the only thing he succeeded in doing was pushing himself out of the bed. Falling unceremoniously on the floor, Obi-Wan let out another yelp of shock as the cold floor stung his bare skin.
Siri was unperturbed, taking the blanket and his spot and getting comfortable once more. By the Force that woman was the heaviest sleeper in the universe when she was hung over. Grumbling, he quickly cleaned up and dressed himself before returning to the bunk. Noting how Siri had wrapped herself in the blanket, Obi-Wan grabbed one edge and pulled hard, making her roll out and onto the floor just as he had a few minutes prior.
After letting out a hiss and several swear words, Siri shot to her feet and snatched the blanket from him. "What the blazes was that for, you murglak?"
Both spouses winced at the volume of her voice, and Obi-Wan whispered, "We're at Alderaan."
"What? Already?" Siri was finally alert, and she hastily threw some clothes on. "How long were we asleep?"
"Heaven knows," Obi-Wan replied, rubbing his forehead.
Siri noted his gesture and smiled. At first it was sympathetic, but then it became mischievous. "I can't wait to see you speaking to Senator Organa. Try not to throw up on him, okay?"
"That's you, not me," Obi-Wan retorted, remembering one of his wife's first hangovers.
"You're right, you just get inordinately grumpy," Siri remarked, tossing the blanket back on the bunk.
"I do not get grumpy."
"Yeah, sure. That's why you've got your grumpy face on."
"Siri, you know there's no such thing as a grumpy face."
"Yes, there is, actually, and I'm fairly certain you've perfected it."
Their banter was interrupted when they heard the hyperdrive disengage and the low rumble of the engines sounded before fading into a hum. The two hastily climbed down the ladder that led to the lounge and then entered the cockpit.
"Good morning," Al said in the same chipper voice as before.
"How is possible that you're not hung over?" Siri asked.
"I never get hangovers." Al replied with a huge smile. "It's one of the great benefits of being me!"
"I'm going to kill him," Siri immediately muttered.
"Please don't," Obi-Wan advised. "It would make landing difficult."
"I've already established contact with Organa's people," Al told them. "They said he's busy with the local nobility, but he can meet us in the afternoon before some fancy dinner."
"What time is it in Aldera right now?" Siri asked.
"About ten on the chronometer."
"Lovely," Obi-Wan sighed.
"Hey, look on the bright side," Al returned his attention to the planet. "We get to party some more before we meet him."
"Yes, that's all we need: more alcohol." Obi-Wan retorted grumpily—irritably. He wasn't grumpy.
"Yes you are, Obi," Siri whispered in his ear. Had he said that out loud? Blasted woman… hangovers always made him irritable; he didn't need her rubbing it in. But when Obi-Wan glanced at her and saw her delighted smile he couldn't stay annoyed, anyway, so he just sighed heavily and walked to the sofa in the lounge. Strapping himself in, he watched Siri join him as the two waited for Al to break atmo and land the ship somewhere in the city.
"We should find the nearest pharmacy," Siri moaned, closing her eyes. "I could use some painkillers right now."
"I can imagine Al would want to find the nearest cantina." Obi-Wan noted, but his mind was already considering how the conversation with Organa might go. He didn't know if Organa was aware of Senator Mothma's arrest, though if Tlenden knew, it was likely everyone else did as well. Honestly, Obi-Wan was surprised Padmé hadn't tried to bring it up during their conversation.
Padmé. Obi-Wan hoped she was alright.
The ship shuddered as they landed, and Al gave out a whoop of excitement. Obi-Wan and Siri immediately groaned, putting hands to their foreheads in unison.
Al ran into the room. "We're here, and we're going to have a—what's wrong?"
"I'm going to kill him," Siri again threatened softly, and Obi-Wan reached blindly to pat her shoulder in an attempt to calm her.
"Hey guys, it's not so bad," Al tried to appease them. "Look, I know how to make the perfect hangover concoction; works like a charm."
"Is that how you're so cheerful?" Obi-Wan presumed.
Al laughed, and the couple cringed again at the sound. "Nah, I never get hangovers, but a buddy of mine used to drink to the point of insanity so I learned to make it for him. It worked so well on him he started selling the stuff at the cantinas—and didn't cut me in on the profit! Least to say, we're not friends anymore."
"What a tragedy." Obi-Wan muttered.
"Hey, relax; for a decent price I can make it for you two."
"For a what?" Siri snapped, unstrapping herself from the sofa and shooting to her feet.
Al hastily held his hands in the air. "I was joking, Siri!"
Obi-Wan watched the exchange in annoyance. He was going to have to mediate between these two despite his own hangover. Lovely. Honestly, and Siri said he was grumpy. "Play nice, younglings."
Siri and Al rounded on him, but Al only laughed. Before Siri could say anything, Obi-Wan stood from the sofa and pat her shoulder briefly. Then he looked at Al. "I would greatly appreciate that drink of yours, Al."
Almusian nodded. "Sure, no problem. You two just sit tight; it'll only take five to ten minutes."
Obi-Wan felt some happiness for the first time all morning; at least there was some good news. Smiling, he nodded and sat once more, prompting Siri to do so as well. The two sat in silence, neither really wanting to speak, and Obi-Wan waited expectantly for the miracle drink. However, shortly after Al entered the kitchenette Obi-Wan heard him begin to grumble.
"Son of a Hutt…"
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and glanced in Al's general direction. "Something wrong?"
Al exited the kitchenette with a sheepish smile, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Well… I kind of don't have the ingredients." Before either Obi-Wan or Siri could explode on him, he hastily added, "But we can go buy some in the marketplace—Aldera should have everything I need. It's just… I've never been here. Do you guys know where the markets are?"
Obi-Wan sighed heavily. This was going to be a long day.
Kota sighed in contentment as he groped for the next bottle of Twi'lek Fizz. His crew was celebrating the New Year with gusto; everyone was filled with exhilaration and energy after destroying so many Imperial outposts. After enduring over twenty years of Imperial subjugation, it felt nice to finally kick those Imps back.
Finding the bottle, Kota happily gulped down most of its contents. He'd developed quite the tolerance level after living as a drunk for nearly a year when the Empire initially was founded. He hadn't… quite been able to shake the habit since then. It was more of a running joke now than anything; the officers often wondered when they'd next find him passed out in the cargo hold. Not that it was ever an issue if a battle was looming.
Kota found himself eating those words as he sensed danger… or quasi sensed it. He was certain it would have felt more jarring if he weren't so addled by alcohol. Nevertheless, he still jumped to his feet (well, stumbled, but he was still on his feet, blast it), catching the attention of his compatriots.
"General?" one of them questioned, watching him intently.
"Something's wrong," Kota said, and as soon as the words had left his lips the entire cruiser shook from stem to stern. Blast it, sometimes he hated it when he was right. With a smirk, he thought, nah, actually I don't. Right. Battle. Focus. Too much alcohol.
Shaking his head, Kota activated his comlink, calling the bridge. "Admiral, what's going on?"
"Sir, it's an Imperial armada—they must have been searching for us. We're giving them everything we've got, but they greatly outnumber us!"
Kota bit back a curse. His fleet's main weapon was surprise at the moment; until he could rendezvous with Master Windu, he didn't have enough manpower or firepower to take on an armada. They still had a fighting chance, though. "Ready the drop ships, admiral."
"Yes, general."
Closing his eyes, Kota used the Force to help himself focus and purge the effects of his drinks; thankfully he hadn't had too much. Then he made his way to the hanger, meeting up with his marines along the way. If they could board the capital ship Kota could easily handle the internal defenses and take the armada out from the inside.
Boarding a drop ship, he made room for his marines and awaited the pilot. The pre-flight checks were done quickly and the shuttle soon began to take off. Kota felt the ground leave beneath him, and he grabbed a pole overhead. The doors were shut tightly, so the room was only lit with a dim blue light. The silence of space didn't add to anything, so all they heard was the vibration of the walls and the hum of the engine reverberating in the small room.
"Five seconds and we'll be in their hangar, sir," the pilot reported through the intercom.
Kota nodded to his men. "Be ready."
The shuttle bucked as the pilot was no doubt dodging turret fire. Eventually they heard metal screaming as the shuttle made a hasty landing, and the doors opened. Kota's men immediately opened fire, and Kota charged forward, activating his lightsaber. His reflexes weren't slowed by the alcohol, thankfully; he'd concentrated enough to focus on the fight. The hangar was filled with stormtroopers, making Kota laugh out loud as he deflected their fire. Stormtroopers were formidable soldiers, but against Kota's men they were nothing. The marines quickly defeated the local security, and Kota stationed several of them to mind the shuttle. Then he proceeded with six more; he knew Star Destroyer schematics well from his time in the Clone Wars, so he could tell he wasn't very far from the bridge.
Through the Force he could sense multiple enemies heading their way. Smiling, he charged through the blast doors; with the Force as his ally, he would succeed.
Tarkin had been reviewing reports in his oversector when his comlink chimed. "This is Grand Moff Tarkin."
"Governor, one of our armadas—Nexu Squadron—has just made contact with Gen. Kota's fleet. They're engaging him now."
Tarkin stood, filled with nervous energy. "Get the other two armadas to their position immediately; I want them annihilated."
"Yes, governor."
By the Force Tarkin was going to make sure this problem was nipped in the bud before it could blossom into anything too dangerous for him to handle. Kota would die today.
Kota let out a yell as he used the Force to throw heavy crates at the stormtroopers, knocking them into his men's line of fire. Then he charged forward, cutting down the rest. They were several hallways from the bridge, and security was getting thicker by the meter. Several more dropships had entered the hangar where Kota had initially landed, and so he was able to press the advance, but his men were still taking heavy casualties… and that didn't even include the battle going on outside.
Gritting his teeth, he deflected more blaster fire and urged his men to take cover as another squad of stormtroopers entered the hall. Closing his eyes, he gathered the Force around him, sensing out their presences, and cleared the hallway with a swift guided toss of his blade. Once he opened his eyes he nodded to his men. "Let's go."
"Yes sir!"
The group ran into the next hall—the last one before the bridge. Commandos were everywhere. A clanking noise was heard, and Kota sensed the danger just as one of his men shouted, "Grenade!"
Leaping back, he used the Force to throw the detonator towards the commandos, who attempted to dodge the blast. Some of them survived, but they were stunned long enough for the militia to finish them off. The blast doors to the bridge were firmly sealed; Kota would have to take care of that.
Rushing ahead, he sank his blade into the doors, watching the surrounding area turn red and then white hot as the durasteel began to melt. "Cover me!"
His men did as they were ordered, and just in time as more commandos appeared. Kota swore harshly as a blaster bolt exploded on the door right beside his hands. He couldn't take cover if he wanted to melt this door, so he had to rely entirely on his militia. As they were fighting off the attackers, Kota's comlink went off. "General, another Imperial fleet just exited hyperspace!"
"Shavit," Kota hissed. They were having enough trouble against one fleet!
Thankfully, the doors didn't last much longer against Kota's lightsaber, and he removed his blade, gathered the Force around him, and flung the doors into the bridge. His men split into two groups, one defending the entrance from the outside while the others followed Kota inside. Kota expected immediate resistance, perhaps even worse than before, but instead, he got… nothing.
The bridge was empty save for one man.
"What in the blazes…?" Kota muttered, approaching the man slowly. As he stretched out his senses, however, he recognized the being to be Force sensitive, and very attuned to it.
The person turned to reveal a tall young man with broad shoulders, very short light brown hair, and piercing brown eyes. Kota blinked a few times at the realization that he almost didn't recognize his own Padawan—maybe that alcohol was still affecting his system a little bit.
"Galen?" Kota blurted, completely stunned. "What—when did you get here?"
His twenty-one-year-old Padawan smiled. "I found an alternative route."
Kota looked up to see a ventilation shaft burst open and he rolled his eyes. "You're quite bent upon wrecking everything you touch, aren't you?"
"Hey, it gets the job done," Galen argued lightheartedly. "Besides, the bridge is ours now."
"Where is everyone?"
Galen motioned towards a steel plate covering a window. "I might have let the air in a bit… it wasn't quite intentional. One of the Imps shot the window a few too many times, so I just threw him into it."
Well that explained why the blast doors were closed.
"Master," Galen interrupted Kota's thoughts. "This fleet sent out coordinates through a coded transmission. I think they were calling for reinforcements."
Kota looked at him dully, then out the window at the newly arrived fleet, then back to him. "Really?"
Galen rolled his eyes. "I know about them, but… I just… I sense that it wasn't that fleet."
"What do you mean?"
"I think they were contacting some sort of home base. The base sent the other fleet."
"Which means they could potentially send more," Kota muttered.
"But if we redirect them," Galen hastily continued. "We'd vanish off the map."
"By this ship's standards," Kota pointed out. "Everyone else knows where we are."
"But we're on the flagship, Master," Galen said. "Surely we can give an order to the others?"
"You'd need specific codes to give text-only orders," Kota shook his head. "Otherwise they'll expect a face-to-face."
Galen shrugged. "You could always don an Imperial uniform."
Kota barked out as he watched his men finish off the commandos. "Over my dead body."
Their conversation was interrupted by another beep from Kota's comlink. Just as he grabbed it irritably, awaiting more bad news, he noticed more ships exiting hyperspace. Both Kota and Galen looked at the ships in horror for an instant before recognizing the models.
"Master Windu!" Galen gasped with a smile.
"Sir, Gen. Windu has just established contact with us." The admiral said from Kota's comlink.
"I see that," Kota replied, squeezing his comlink with rekindled energy. "Let's finish this."
"I've got to hand it to you, Al: that drink does work."
Obi-Wan grunted in agreement as he examined the enormous hallway in which they stood. After several misadventures trying to find the market, get the ingredients, and blend it all together, they'd finally gotten their pick-me-up, as Almusian had called it. Now it was almost dinnertime; they were awaiting permission to enter the chamber ahead of them so they could speak to Senator Organa.
Eventually an attendant received some information and nodded towards them, opening the large door. The three entered and saw Bail Organa standing in the center of the large room, waiting for them.
"Representative Naberrie," he greeted with a smile and nod of his head. "It's good to see you, as well as your beautiful wife. Is that Almusian?"
Al nodded. "Yeah, it's me. I don't think you and I ever spoke apart from one holo communication."
Obi-Wan bowed. "I wish you a happy New Year, senator."
"And the same to you," Organa replied as the door behind the trio closed. "May I ask to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
"We wished to discuss the matter of Senator Mothma." Obi-Wan replied, losing the polite charm in his voice. "I trust you've heard what's happened."
Bail sighed heavily, seating himself.
"How did it happen?" Siri asked.
"We're not sure," Bail shook his head. "But I'm fairly certain it happened during or just after the annual Festival of the Stars party at the palace."
"Does the Alliance have a rescue plan in place yet?" Siri pressed on.
"No." Bail answered. "We don't even know where she is, and we don't have anyone on Imperial Center right now. The Alliance is too busy trying to regroup and settle somewhere safe. It's a miracle that Jedi fleet entered the fray when they did."
"Jedi fleet?" Obi-Wan, Siri, and Al exchanged confused glances.
"It destroyed the Imperial forces that attacked Yavin 4," Bail explained. "They only just appeared recently. Supposedly there are several Jedi leading it."
"How did you learn about this?" Obi-Wan asked.
"My contact," Bail replied cryptically.
"Yeah, speaking of that," Al stepped forward. "You mind letting us be a little more knowledgeable about what's going on in the Alliance? You guys want us to do your dirty work and negotiate with people but we have no clue what's going on internally. How are Obi-Wan and Siri supposed to strike up a deal with anybody if they can't speak for the Alliance?"
Obi-Wan gave Al a surprised look. He hadn't expected the Zabrak to speak in such a manner, but he did have a point; Obi-Wan and Siri had it hard enough trying to handle the issue with Tlenden, but it hadn't looked very good on them to not even realize that Mothma had been captured.
Bail smiled weakly. "I was actually going to suggest that myself. With Mon imprisoned, it's up to you and me to be the eyes and ears for the Alliance on Imperial Center. Almusian, we'll still need supplies, but I'm placing you in charge of that; you'll have direct contact with the Alliance. As soon as they message me and are establishing a base, I'll pass the information on to you and you can deal with the Alliance Council directly."
"You're on the Alliance Council," Al pointed out.
Bail smiled and nodded. "Yes, but I try not to make too many decisions without the rest of the council present. We are trying to be a democracy, after all." Before anyone could speak, he then asked, "What of the situation with Senator Tlenden?"
Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "He won't join. He's more concerned with his internal war, and he's not convinced the Alliance can handle itself."
Bail paled a little and looked away. "We need their help… the underworld won't supply us for a long time and Corellia still won't touch the matter; certainly not until we can find Senator Iblis."
"Shouldn't that be our next priority, then?" Siri asked. "If we can't make a deal with Tlenden, we should try to find Iblis, right? And what about rescuing Mon?"
"We're barely holding it together," Bail shook his head. "We have enough people to reestablish a base somewhere safe. Then we have to resupply and rebuild our numbers before we can do anything. If the Empire picks up on our trail again, I don't think we can survive or outrun another attack."
"Can't that Jedi fleet distract them? Has anyone made contact with them?" Obi-Wan queried.
"Aren't there any other systems that can help us?" Siri added.
"Any system capable of helping us already has or won't get near us after all the hits we've been taking." Bail replied morosely. "Salkende was our best hope."
"Perhaps with the Jedi fleet the circumstances will improve," Obi-Wan suggested. "Salkende is almost finished with its civil war; we might be able to renegotiate after the commencement of the new senate session."
Siri looked at Obi-Wan sharply, and he immediately knew why. He himself had suggested that they would get off Imperial Center during the recess; that they would stay off.
He had a distinct feeling that plan was changing.
Bail nodded. "Yes, perhaps you can renegotiate with him."
"We should also work on getting a new spy on Imperial Center," Siri slipped in. "To replace everyone who's leaving. Senator Amidala should leave as well; she's got Darth Vader breathing down her neck."
Bail looked at Siri worriedly. "Where is Padmé?"
"She's… on Naboo." Obi-Wan replied carefully. He wasn't sure he wanted Organa to know the situation, but he also sure wasn't sure why he wouldn't trust the man with the information. In either case, he trusted his instinct and remained quiet on the matter, and Al and Siri followed his lead.
Siri, however, did say, "She's okay for now, but we've already had a close call. One of my fellow handmaidens was murdered the day we left."
Bail stood once more, alarmed. "What? What happened?"
"A supposed accident," Obi-Wan explained. "She wasn't even involved in any of our dealings with the Alliance. We're not sure what the Empire was after, but… Padmé is legitimately in danger. We should consider relocating her."
"If she doesn't return to Imperial Center her cover would be compromised," Bail surmised.
"But if she does remain and her cover's blown, she'll be killed," Siri argued.
"We have no one else right now," Bail shook his head, looking desperate at the situation. He appeared to be just as unhappy about Padmé's predicament. "Mon is in prison, and I'm retiring in a year… and under orders to not do anything. Still, we can try to find a replacement…"
Obi-Wan felt his gut clench. Padmé would kill him at this point. The only reason the three had been okay with the decision before was because the situation with Mon and Bail wasn't so dire. Or with the Alliance in general. Now… if Padmé were forced to officially join the Alliance, Obi-Wan could potentially be the next spy until they found a replacement, but he was far too close to Padmé; the Empire would immediately suspect him. The only other option was that Siri would remain and become the handmaiden of the next senator, but then they would have to find a way for her to work around the senator and the like, and all that planning and rearranging would waste too much precious time. He didn't want to say it, but he knew he had to. "Padmé… can remain until we can sort this out. It… would be appreciated if that process could be expedited, though."
"Of course," Bail immediately acknowledged. "I can get some protection for you all as well. My contact can be of assistance."
"What contact?" Al asked.
"A former Jedi," Bail answered, catching everyone off guard. Obi-Wan immediately became uncomfortable; did he want a Jedi around him after what he'd learned about himself?
"You have a Jedi as a contact?" Al blurted out.
"Master Jinn prefers to remain unnoticed, but I think I can convince him to come out of hiding," Bail explained. "He's mainly been keeping a low profile over the years and keeping his ear to the ground."
"Lovely," Siri muttered. "So in other words, he's been sitting around."
"Sitting around with his ears wide open," Obi-Wan amended with a somewhat strained smile. Then he returned his attention to Bail. The matter seemed relatively settled for the time being, then; they would return to Imperial Center as if nothing had changed, Al would now be an official contact to the Alliance, and… they would have a Jedi protector. That was weird to think about. In either case, that didn't leave much for them to discuss, so he offered another bow. "We'll look forward to seeing you on Imperial Center, then. I trust our, eh, bodyguard will be there by then?"
"It will take a few days to get him out of hiding," Bail corrected him. "But be assured, he'll be there within the first week of the new session. With those matters aside, though, I would love for you all to stay for dinner."
"We can't," Siri immediately shook her head. "We have to get back to Padmé on Naboo."
"Please," Bail said a little worriedly. "It would be… odd to the Imperials if you appeared only to speak to me in private and then depart. You should at least stay for the festivities for one night. Attend dinner with me; it will make your visit official. You can leave in the morning."
Obi-Wan felt his muscles tense. He didn't like this plan too much, but they didn't have a choice in the matter. Bail's logic was sound. But that still meant they'd have to wait at least thirty-six hours before seeing Padmé again. Siri looked just as conflicted as Obi-Wan, but she also understood Bail's argument. Al watched the two of them, knowing what they would answer, and he sighed and bowed. "We'd all be honored to stay, then, senator."
Obi-Wan and Siri bowed at the same time, and Obi-Wan felt his stomach clench. I'm sorry, Padmé. Hang in there.
Palpatine recalled when Order 66 had been issued. It was executed quickly, but it was inefficient; the clones were mostly wiped out by the end of the war. He hadn't been happy; it hadn't been an ideal time, but he'd come to the conclusion that there really wasn't an ideal time. The Republic was ripe for the taking, yes, but there had been no clear way to completely eliminate the Jedi. They weren't much of a threat at that point, anyway, but Palpatine had wanted them to all go down in a triumphant crash, he'd wanted to relish in his victory. Instead, he'd had to worry about ensuring the Empire stabilized as quickly as possible; they'd been vulnerable in the early months, and he had not liked that.
A pity he'd not had Vader back then. The boy would have certainly sped the process up.
And now he had to worry about the Jedi suddenly reappearing out of nowhere. He knew it would happen eventually; he knew many would have slipped through the cracks. The sloppiness of their execution had rattled him from the very inception of the order, and he was actually delighted they were suddenly returning as if they actually had a chance at winning. It didn't matter how many Jedi there were; they would all fall, and he was more than happy that they were even going through the effort of lining themselves up for him. They would all die, and he would enjoy every moment of it. His apprentice would, too.
Sighing, Palpatine closed his eyes. Stretching his senses into the Force, he immediately cut through the tangled web of life and felt his apprentice. The boy was calm and quiet now, but Palpatine could sense underlying tension. There was confusion, worry… yes, finally he was getting something out of the youngling. When Vader had been a very small child Palpatine had sensed such potential in him, but by the time the boy had turned six or seven he'd suddenly taken a completely different turn in his training. Nothing Palpatine said or did, no matter how much he abused the child, changed the boy's temperament. In fact, the more Palpatine urged him to use the Dark Side, the more the boy pushed his emotions away. Palpatine was fairly certain Vader didn't even remember ever feeling anything, but Palpatine assuredly remembered.
The boy had always been distant, to be sure, but during their training sessions very early on, Vader had displayed an anger that could rival Palpatine's. Outside of the training rooms, Vader had always been quiet and polite, and he'd never opened up to anyone. Palpatine knew that Tarkin had paid Vader little mind in his early years since he'd thought the task of babysitting beneath him, but as the boy had grown, Tarkin had begun to show interest in him. By then any sort of favorable attachment couldn't be formed; Vader was devoid of life, of passion, of anything.
Palpatine actually found himself worrying for the boy's sanity on occasion.
For a while the change hadn't been obvious. Palpatine had actually been hopeful and surprised that the boy had suddenly learned to control his anger – the hope had been that he would then know how to utilize it instead of flailing it around like some rabid animal. Instead, the anger diminished more and more, and one day, probably when the boy had been about seven years old, Palpatine had stretched into the Force to tear into the child's mind and had found… nothing. It had legitimately scared him, and he had immediately pulled out and called the training off for the day. He'd spent the night meditating and brooding, wondering if he'd somehow broken the boy too much, but that night, the boy had come to him and had knelt before him, and he'd said he would do anything his Master ever wished of him. Training sessions after that had proven the boy's sincerity, and Palpatine had even been content to allow the boy to fight in his own emotionless way; he was still ruthless and always efficient.
As the boy had grown he'd acquired different quirks and habits. He always had to have his morning walk, and he never shared it with anyone. He never spoke during that time, either. He always sparred when something was out of its usual routine. He always spent exactly two minutes ensuring he was ready for the day after cleaning and dressing himself. The boy had other rituals, though Palpatine didn't know them all; in fact, many that he did know were simply from Tarkin's reports and observations. Although the grand moff and Vader weren't particularly close, Palpatine knew Vader respected Tarkin, and that was more than could be said for any other person in the galaxy apart from Palpatine himself. Still, though Palpatine hadn't originally noticed these rituals, he'd examined them thoroughly since his discovery, and he knew their hidden meanings, even if Tarkin and Vader himself didn't. They were the boy's different ways of coping; each ritual was for different voids in the boy's mind.
Despite Vader's best efforts to be a blank slate, though, Palpatine had long since learned that the boy's mind was not actually as empty as it had originally seemed.
Darth Vader could feel. Oh Force, could he feel.
When the Sith apprentice had turned nine years old, Palpatine had given him his title. It had been the first name Vader had ever known; before then he'd been called boy or apprentice… or occasionally 'little one' by Tarkin, who at that point had probably realized that something wasn't quite right with his charge. Upon hearing the words Darth Vader for the first time, Palpatine had felt such an onslaught of emotions that he'd nearly assumed the boy was going to attack him. He'd sensed such a kaleidoscope of feelings that even he—him of all people—couldn't decipher them all. It had hit him suddenly and fiercely, like a train hitting him at maximum speed; his gut had clenched, his mind had whirled, he'd gotten dizzy, he hadn't been able to catch his breath. And the most confusing part about it had been that it had hit him suddenly and then left just as suddenly. He'd sat there, dazed, wondering if it had been some sort of warning in the Force, when he'd abruptly realized it had been his apprentice. The boy's emotions were in a pressurized container somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, and the few times the top of the container cracked open, the container would almost explode. The realization had blown him away… and excited him. Just imagine the power that boy could have if he actually learned how to release the pressure on that little container of his every once in a while. Palpatine just had to find a way to help him do it.
And it seemed like his plan was working quite splendidly.
Palpatine smiled as he felt Vader's twisted inner thoughts. Even he couldn't pierce the boy's mind entirely, but he had little need to; what he could sense was enough to satisfy him. He opened his eyes and leaned back in his seat, eying the Coruscanti skyline. Yes, once the boy's mission was over, he would be able to finally mold him into the perfect apprentice.
The beautiful cloudless morning had changed rapidly as the wind had brought in heavy rain that chilled to the bone. The streets of the colony were beginning to flood, and everyone was doing their best to take shelter. With the new supplies all the refugees and most of the relief workers could stay dry in the tents, but the wind would eventually blow the water inside.
Padmé flinched as she was splashed once more. She was standing in the central tent, having been helping Iena most of the day. It was almost midnight; she hadn't seen or heard from Vader all day, so she took advantage of the extra time. At this point the relief corps and refugee movement were set; they had finally established contact with Theed and more ships were on their way. Padmé had checked on Rekk and the representative had assured her that he would be alright and would take one of the arriving shuttles. He would travel to Theed and then head back to Imperial Center. Honestly, all Padmé had to worry about now was her own ride.
If Darth Vader ever decided to show up, that is.
"You sure you don't need anything else?" she asked Iena, just to pass the time and cover all her bases.
Iena nodded with a grateful smile. "You've done more than enough, Padmé. I'm surprised you haven't left by now, actually; we've got everything under control."
Padmé sighed, looking out at the rain. "I would have left if my pilot were actually around…"
As if on cue, Padmé suddenly heard someone's footsteps splashing in the puddles outside. She peeked out and caught sight of Vader heading towards the shuttle.
"Looks like your pilot's back," Iena noted, following Padmé line of sight. Then she glanced at her. "Is everything all right between you two?"
Looking away from Vader, Padmé offered a forced smile. "Mostly. He's just… stubborn."
Iena laughed. "So are you. Birds of a feather, then."
Padmé felt her heart race and her gut clenched. She didn't like being compared to Darth Vader, but at the same time, she did see what Iena was saying. Krif. The two did have a lot in common, didn't they?
"You two make a cute couple," Iena giggled.
Padmé gaped at her. What?! "We—no—we're not—that's not how it—Iena!"
Padmé didn't know to be more disturbed by Iena's remark or by the fact that she couldn't articulate any argument against it. She certainly didn't view herself as in a relationship with Vader… but even she couldn't deny the fact that she did find herself constantly thinking about him. Son of a Hutt. She needed to leave.
Shaking her head, Padmé said, "Good luck with the rest of your work here, Iena, and be safe."
"Take care, Padmé."
Padmé hastily ran to the shuttle, trying to shove Iena's words out of her mind. After boarding, she heard the engines immediately rev up. She wasn't sure if that indicated that Vader had been waiting for her or was going to leave without her. Immediately any embarrassment or worry about her relationship with the man vanished and she simply grew annoyed. Trudging to the guest quarters, Padmé grabbed a towel from the refresher and dried herself off after strapping into a chair. The ship's take-off was smooth despite the weather, and eventually the colony vanished and the moon was a small speck in her viewport. The hyperdrive roared to life as the engines died down and they tore into hyperspace.
Okay, it was time to get to the kriffing bottom of things.
Standing, Padmé marched to the cockpit with purpose. She still wanted an answer as to what had happened this morning… and last night for that matter. She just wanted answers in general, blast it. As soon as she reached the door leading to the cockpit, Padmé took a deep breath to calm herself and slow down. She didn't need to barge in demanding information out of him; that wouldn't end well.
Entering, Padmé saw Vader removing his hands from the controls; he'd just gotten everything settled. He glanced at her reflection in the viewport, but said nothing.
"So…" Padmé began as she slowly walked to the co-pilot's seat. "You do know it's after midnight, right?"
Vader glanced at her.
Well, might as well push the conversation forward. Subtlety was either lost on the man or he just didn't care to acknowledge it. "Where have you been all day? What were you doing?"
Vader looked back at the viewport, silent for a few seconds. "Scouting."
Padmé crossed her arms. "Scouting for what? The threat is over."
"Anything."
Padmé scoffed, sitting in the co-pilot's chair. This guy was dodging her so obviously a child could see it. "Are you still mad at me? So much for not having emotions. You were just saying the other day that you hadn't experienced anger, milord."
Vader tensed, and he unstrapped the safety harness he was wearing, refusing to look at her. "Can you stop?"
"Stop?" Padmé was genuinely surprised at this turn of events. It was beyond rare for Vader to request anything… which was when she realized that he'd actually been doing it almost frequently in the past few days. But then the question made her angry; he was acting as if this were somehow her fault, as if he hadn't been the one to randomly explode on her that morning. "Stop what? Why are you acting as if you're the victim in this situation?"
"I am no one's victim, senator," Vader said, and his voice held a threatening undertone to it.
"Then why don't you actually face me instead of run?" Padmé demanded, ignoring the threat. "Every single time something is brought up that you're not comfortable with, you walk away, you don't face me!"
Vader closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Am I not dealing with you now?"
Padmé bit back a retort and instead continued the conversation. "Why did you get angry at me this morning?"
"You interrupted my walk," he replied in the same quiet, even tone as before.
"Do you normally bite off people's heads for doing that?"
"People know better than to interrupt me," Vader said, and he opened his eyes and looked pointedly at her.
Padmé was unperturbed. "Are you so sensitive you can't handle having your routine messed up?"
Vader shot to his feet. His face was stormy, but his voice grew even quieter. "You don't understand. You don't know me."
Padmé also leapt to her feet to defend herself against the ridiculous accusation—and it was ridiculous; she'd spent the entire vacation trying to get to know him. "Because you don't let me! I have been asking you about yourself for days, and on Isola you told me to stop—now you're getting angry because I don't know you because you wouldn't answer?!"
Her words cut into the Sith Lord, whose face suddenly bore an uncertain expression. "I… it…"
Vader looked out at the viewport once more, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her.
"Why don't you take the advice I gave you on Isola?" Padmé offered, trying to calm both herself and him. "Just be kriffing honest and answer my questions."
Something snapped; a piece of machinery popped, and a small spark flew from it. At the same time, Vader faced her once more with a glare. "Fine, dammit. Ask away."
Padmé took a moment to catch her breath, a little startled from the coincidence, but she quickly recovered. She'd start small; maybe that would appease him. "Why were you angry this morning?"
"You really do have hearing issues," Vader echoed his statement from several days ago, growing even more annoyed. "I already told you: you interrupted my walk."
Padmé rolled her eyes. "Really? That's why?"
"Yes."
She tried a different avenue. "Why is your morning walk so sacred to you, then?"
Here Vader paused, and his defiant expression crumbled. He didn't look like he was sure how to proceed, or maybe he did but just didn't want to. Shifting his weight, he looked beyond Padmé. "It… helps me."
"How?" Padmé pressed relentlessly.
"It…" Vader sighed, taking a step away from her. "I… when I walk… it's… it's just me. It's just me."
Something about his expression, his tone, his demeanor, made Padmé pause. Several times she'd hit this point, this moment where the conversation felt like it was about to deepen, about to finally reveal something intrinsic about Vader, but it had always been interrupted. She wouldn't mess it up again this time. "It's just you. So you like being alone?"
Vader shook his head.
"Then what do you mean?"
"It's not like that."
Padmé held her exasperation in check. "Then what's it like?"
"It's…" Vader shook his head, apparently having difficulty articulating himself. "It's just me. You… you wouldn't understand. You can't understand—you're too kriffing blind."
Padmé immediately felt her ire return. "What the hell does that mean?"
Vader finally looked her in the eye. "It means you need to make a choice."
"What choice?" Padmé asked. "Stop speaking riddles, blast it!"
"Rebels or Imperials. The Alliance or the Empire." Vader took a step towards her, not breaking eye contact. "You're a Rebel spy, senator."
Padmé's blood ran cold. Her heart stopped. Her breath was punched out of her chest. Staring at him in horror, she took a small step back before finally reassembling her expression. Immediately after the shock hit her the adrenaline coursed through her body, and she was suddenly panting for air, her heart was beating too fast, and everything was spiraling out of control. On the exterior, though, she carefully constructed her face into confusion. "What makes you say that? How would you even come to that conclusion?"
"I knew you were a spy before we ever left for Naboo." Vader said quietly, and his eyes seemed to pierce through her defenses, making her expression crumble. They moved in unison as he took another step towards her and she took another step back. "You tried to tip off the Rebels on your homeworld, but you failed. I got them first."
Padmé never claimed to be the bravest person in the galaxy, but any fear was dashed from her as soon as her allies were mentioned. It was immediately replaced with rage and defensiveness. "So why haven't you killed me like the rest of them, you sick sadistic murglak? Prefer to play with your prey? And what about Sabé?! Did you even know she wasn't a Rebel?"
"It didn't matter."
Padmé's rage increased, and she took several steps towards him until they were a breath apart. "What do you mean it didn't matter?! You killed her for no reason?!"
"Technically, the crash killed her."
She snapped. Raising her hand, Padmé smacked Vader as hard as she could, leaving her own hand stinging from the blow. Vader's face was thrown to the side, and his cheek was steadily growing redder as the seconds ticked by. Both stood there, frozen in time for a terrifying second, but the fear only barely tickled her like an icy cold breeze under her pain, and the frozen moment in time passed. "Why did you kill her?!"
Vader faced her once more, looking more annoyed than before but otherwise relatively unperturbed. "Because I was ordered to."
She wanted to smack him again, but all her energy was diverted to her words. "Is that really all you can do—just follow damn orders?! What the hell is wrong with you—what kind of person lives like that?!"
"I'm not a person."
His quiet words cut through her more than any dagger, and her anger immediately dissipated. Some cold dread filled her, like she somehow had known this was coming and wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. At the same time, she was absolutely floored; that sort of remark was an insult someone would hurl at Vader, not spoken by him. "What… what the blazes does that mean?"
Vader watched her. His piercing gaze was gone; his eyes were dull now, as if he didn't want her to see anything within them. At the same time, he almost looked like he was about to burst, as if he had been dying to say this for years. "I… I'm not a person. I never have been. I'm a means to an end. I was created to serve the emperor. If he wishes me to be a weapon, I'll be a weapon. If he wishes me to be a diplomat, I'll be a diplomat. I have no needs, no wants, no desires—everything I do is for him. I will live, breathe, work, fight, and die for him. I am his means to an end." He took a deep breath at this point; his words had begun tumbling out of him as if he were stating a creed, but now he looked at her pleadingly. "You weren't created like I am… but… but you could still be with me. Please—just make the right decision, stay with the Empire, be the emperor's weapon with me. We would be unstoppable together, and—and… and we wouldn't be lonely."
Padmé gaped at him. Her mind was whirling and yet she couldn't grasp a single coherent thought. This was too much at once—this was way too much. So the entire reason Vader never let himself act like a human being was because he himself didn't believe he was a human being? And somehow he'd gotten himself attached to her and wanted her to be like him?
Oh shavit. She'd succeeded all too well in her original mission. It almost made her feel sick that she'd tried to manipulate someone as lost as this, someone so screwed up… and it scared her. At the same time it was strangely freeing to hear him say it, like she'd suspected something similar but hadn't been able to put her finger on it. But this opened the doors to so many more questions, and they were all cascading on her at once, so she just took a step away from Vader, staring at him, unable to close her mouth or say anything.
He stood watching her expectantly, even patiently, with bated breath. As the seconds seemed to stretch for hours, though, he began to reconstruct his features into the typical mask of aloofness that she'd grown so used to seeing. It was as if she was watching the door to his mind and heart slowly close, and she knew that if she didn't grab it now it would never open again.
Say something, dammit. Say something!
"You…" she stammered, trying to put words together into a coherent sentence. "How… you… what—how could you think that?"
His eyes glimmered slightly; the door was still open, only by just a crack. "It's just what I am."
What I am. I'm not everyone. People have wants, not me. You're a weapon. You'll learn eventually. I do whatever is required. By heaven, he'd been saying it all along. Padmé felt nauseous. She felt as if a mountain had been erected in front of her, one that was impossible to climb. She wanted to help him, but now her own emotions were tearing her apart. He finally confirmed that he'd killed Sabé—something she'd basically concluded on her own, but it still hurt hearing him say it. She recalled their game of truth or dare, where he hadn't shown any indication of remorse over Sabé's death, and just now when he spoke of the Rebels. Every time she thought of it she wanted to smack him again, but she felt an empty ache instead; he was just too pitiful now. But how the hell could she help him? And why would she? Just hearing the words help him in her head made her heart ache and her mind scream; there were too many contradictions going on—there was too much everything right now.
"Work with me. Fight with me. Be with me." Vader asked her, taking a small step towards her.
"Where did this come from?" she suddenly asked. "Why… when did you… what difference do I make?"
Stupid question, Padmé. She wanted to smack herself now. This man had no exposure to emotions, to any sort of concern from anyone, including himself. She had him eating out her hand as soon as she told him she cared—as soon as she said he mattered. She felt sick. She felt so sick. This was so wrong; she'd known, she'd known as soon as she'd kissed him on Imperial Center that she would regret this. This wasn't fair to Vader; she couldn't manipulate him like this.
But was it really manipulating? Did she really feel nothing for him at this point?
Padmé felt her heart skip a beat. No, no! Why would she feel anything for him? He was a murderer! He was…
Lost. Alone. Just like her.
Dammit!
Padmé shook her head fervently. "I… I need time. Just… I need time."
Before Vader could say anything, she hastily left the cockpit.