Padmé lay in bed shaking. She didn't know if the cause was rage, terror, hurt, or the cold chill from the rain outside. She was a mess of so many emotions, thoughts, and desires that she couldn't even see straight. The room was spinning. Everything was insane. Nothing made sense.

Mon Mothma was dead at Vader's hand. He… why would he do that? How could he do that?

Because Palpatine told him to.

A wave of nausea overcame Padmé. Over and over again Vader always insisted he did whatever was necessary, whatever Palpatine said he had to do. Every single time it hit her differently, affected her differently, reminded her of how screwed up he was… but it had never stabbed into her like this. It had never clicked just what do whatever necessary meant.

"You're no longer a target." His voice whispered in her mind. A cold chill shook her to her very core, one that she didn't quite understand.

Reaching to her nightstand, she pulled out the box full of materials for her shoto. As she gazed at it she felt tears fall from her eyes. Life was so kriffing screwed up. Squeezing the box she unceremoniously tossed it back into the drawer and buried her face in her pillow. He couldn't help it. He was just following orders.

How long will you keep telling yourself that? How long will you lie to yourself? A small voice whispered in the back of her mind, but she shoved it down. No. He needed her. There was good in him. She'd seen him act almost normal – she'd seen him open up to her. He was capable of being so much more than what he was; why couldn't he just realize that?

And what about Obi-Wan and Siri? They were Force users? How long had they known? Why hadn't they told her?! Sure, she kept a secret from Siri, but she'd tried to open up to Obi-Wan. Why would he not mention his ability to her? It was pretty kriffing important! And he had the nerve to tell her not to keep secrets from him? What about Siri? How long had she known about their sensitivity, about her pregnancy? She obviously hadn't told Obi-Wan yet, so that might have been a more recent discovery, but—

Oh stars above. The baby. The baby was without a doubt Force sensitive.

Padmé sat up abruptly, her breath punched out of her. She was about to run out to the den and mention this revelation when she realized Siri had no doubt come to the conclusion herself. What were they going to do?! Siri couldn't hide her pregnancy, and once she started to get prenatal checks the tests would reveal the baby's Force sensitivity. Heaven only knew what the Empire would do. Padmé didn't know the details of Force sensitivity testing, but she knew the end result: Force users were always killed.

How in the blazes had Obi-Wan and Siri survived? Did her parents know? Was there anything else they'd hidden from her?

Who in the blazes could she trust anymore?!

Eventually Padmé's anger drained her so much she couldn't even stay angry anymore. She slowly reached back to her nightstand for the parts Vader had given her. Grabbing the data chip he'd provided she placed it in a pad and watched the instructions scroll across her screen. They read like a technical manual, but it was still relatively straightforward. Grabbing the pieces of machinery she spread everything out in front of her on the bed. Sorting through the different objects was like solving a puzzle, and it gave her something to do with what little adrenaline was left in her system. As she read the manual and started piecing together the hilt her mind wandered back to Vader. What was she going to do when he got back? He told her to train while he was gone, and she'd said they'd be totally honest with each other upon his return. How in the blazes was she going to pull that off now? She couldn't exactly accuse him of doing similar considering he was doing it under Palpatine's orders, and she'd already lied to him about switching loyalties. What a mess. How in the blazes was she going to sort this out? She hoped she had a few days to get her head on straight before he got back.

Sighing, Padmé glanced at her progress and noted that she still had a long way to go. Putting everything back in the box she finally felt exhaustion overcome her and she collapsed against the pillows, dreading tomorrow. Well, almost dreading it; at least lunch would be normal… maybe even a good escape from the rest of her chaotic life.

Tarkin stood calmly as he watched the Red Guard drag the body of the warden of their highest security prison from the throne room. Palpatine had been less than pleased that they hadn't found Organa or any suspects since a prison breakout that had occurred last night. As Tarkin observed the removal of the body he thought dully that it would be nice if Palpatine could do the same to the chief of police - at least then he wouldn't have to worry about making amends with the chief after they'd exchanged less than polite words at the party for the Festival of the Stars.

Honestly it was slightly annoying that Organa had broken out, but it wasn't particularly Tarkin's concern at the moment. The Jedi and Amidala were his biggest problems, and Vader was already handling one of those; in fact, Tarkin had inquired about the mission and the last known report was that Death Squadron had found and engaged the Jedi fleet. He was planning on going to Intelligence for an update later this morning. In the meantime he'd been busy making plans for Vader's return; with Palpatine's permission he was now going to be giving the boy political training. He'd use Amidala as the test subject. The results would most certainly be interesting, especially if Vader told the woman that Tarkin knew of their secret. He couldn't wait to see how he could manipulate her.

Smiling to himself, the grand moff wandered off to the hangar to meet with his spy. He had a lot of information to collect before the young Sith's return.

Obi-Wan had been walking eggshells around Siri all morning and it was beginning to grate on her nerves. They'd barely slept since yesterday, but they'd also barely spoken; neither knew what to say to the other or how to cope with the situation. The discovery that was she was pregnant had floored Siri; it was wonderful news, but it was also terrifying news – she suspected most parents felt a healthy amount of nervousness about becoming parents, but she was fairly certain most didn't have to worry about their child potentially being killed before it ever had a chance of being born.

Sighing, Siri once again shot Obi-Wan a glare as he picked something up for her. The last thing they needed was to attract attention to the problem, which was exactly what would happen if he continued to watch her like some terrified kiimke waiting for something to happen to its young.

"Don't you have something you should be doing?" she whispered to give him a relatively obvious hint to leave her alone. She had a kriffing preppy handmaiden to train and he had paperwork. They wouldn't be seeing much of each other until lunch when they'd meet up with Al.

Al.

Would he even be there? He had to smuggle Bail off-world, right? If he was there, though, he would be the biggest miracle worker in the galaxy – he could get Kelathik serum for Siri. Thank heaven Obi-Wan had found out about that stuff on Nar Shaddaa – maybe if Al found that agent who'd bought some they could even ensure the Empire would stay out of their way from both sides of the issue.

Siri glanced at Padmé as these thoughts went through her mind and then she was coldly reminded of the other problem that had been plaguing her. Padmé had done a lot of stupid things in her life, but never had Siri pegged her as being even more emotionally reckless than herself. Siri had been called the loose cannon during her time in the RRM because she'd constantly been looking for attention; growing up in a foster home had made her feel left out and she'd been quite insistent on making people know she was there and that she mattered. After she'd settled with Obi-Wan he more than satisfied that desire, but before they'd gotten together she'd been the biggest emotional train wreck the Naberrie clan had met. What in the blazes made Padmé beat her in that department? How the blazes had Darth Vader managed to dupe her? Was he that good at manipulating people? Siri hadn't gotten the impression that was the case when they'd had dinner several weeks ago (how long had it been? Three weeks?). He'd been blunt, unnerving, and obvious – how had Padmé fallen for him? What had happened on Naboo? Obviously they couldn't talk about it here, but Siri would definitely find time to talk to her.

"Lady Naberrie?"

Siri turned to see the new handmaiden, Lek Ieru, smiling a little sheepishly. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid I don't know where this data chip goes. It's locked so I can't access it to see the recipient."

Siri glanced at the data pad. When she activated the chip there was an insignia just above the code access; it was Organa's seal. The data chip must have been for Padmé or Obi-Wan but had been detracted when the senator had been arrested. Smiling at the handmaiden, Siri said, "Don't worry about it; I'll handle it."

Ieru nodded with an understanding look and walked away. Siri sighed, leaning against the wall; at least the woman understood discretion. With that attitude she'd go far in this despicable line of work.

Briefly looking at the data pad once more, Siri headed towards Padmé's office and plopped it on her desk. The senate was in session at the moment, but she had little desire to sit in the pod provided for her sector and listen to the useless chatter – it wasn't like the senate could actually accomplish anything, anyway. Besides, she had busywork to do; if anything it would keep her mind off the millions of other problems she was mulling over.

By the time the morning session ended Siri didn't feel much better, but the possibility of talking to Al made her hurry to her husband. She figured she should also confront Padmé, but she was a little more concerned with the baby. Obi-Wan and Siri did their best to act calm as they left and went to their usual lunch spot. They sat and remained silent for a few moments as the waitress brought them drinks. The two occasionally glanced around expectantly, waiting for Al. Siri hoped everything had gone smoothly last night – as much as she didn't like Padmé working with strangers, she was still pretty happy it had happened. At least something had gone right. Obi-Wan did have a valid concern, though – this Éothen person, along with two other strangers, knew of Padmé's involvement in the matter. Siri had no doubt Al would try to protect Padmé, but she wasn't sure how much he could actually do.

"You think everything's okay?" she asked softly.

Obi-Wan sighed, and Siri grew even more nervous. Were those her own nerves or was she feeling Obi-Wan's? Now that she was fairly certain she was Force sensitive everything made her jump as if she wasn't sure what emotions were her own and what were others'. It was no wonder Obi-Wan hadn't had a nervous breakdown yet if this was what he'd been enduring since Salkende.

Changing the subject for the sake of her sanity, she brought up another point that had been bothering her. "Why didn't you tell me about Padmé?"

"I said why before you even knew the issue."

"You thought I would make it worse?" Siri recalled his argument, crossing her arms irritably. "I don't see how it could be worse. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I wish we could just get off Imperial Center. That would at least be a start. It would certainly be the healthiest option for all of us."

Siri had to laugh at that. It was indeed amazing how toxic this planet was for them.

"Hello lovebirds."

Jumping, Siri and Obi-Wan both turned sharply to see Al pulling up a chair. Immense relief flooded Siri and she snatched him into a hug. Al seemed startled by the maneuver but he returned the gesture happily.

"Now see, that's a warm welcome," he said pointedly to Obi-Wan. "None of this we weren't expecting you rudeness."

Obi-Wan, who looked similarly relieved, laughed. "You'll have to forgive me, Al. I've forever wronged you."

"Exactly," Al nodded curtly with false annoyance. Then he smiled brightly. "So how are you two?"

Obi-Wan and Siri's smiles quickly faded.

Al's did too. "What's the matter?"

Neither said anything initially, but Obi-Wan eventually found civil words to describe the situation. "We've… had a lot going on over the past twenty-four hours. I assume you're already quite aware of some of it."

Al shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I might be."

"What happened last night?" Siri leaned in, asking her friend softly so they weren't overheard. "All we know is the end result."

"From what I could tell things were… a little rough, but they managed." Al replied. "The team was competent, so I think they'll get through without trouble."

"What do you think of her partners?" Obi-Wan immediately questioned, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Al took a deep breath. "Careful. Quiet. Understated. Relatively well organized, though for SpecForces I figured maybe they could get the job done a little cleaner. Still, from what I understand they didn't have much time to plan, so I guess it is what it is."

"Cleaner?" Siri repeated nervously. "What happened?"

"Alarm went off a little early," Al answered. "But like I said, they managed. I can't deny they can improvise in a tough situation. My money pouch sure is lighter, though."

"We can refill it," Siri said, taking this as a good segue into the biggest problem in her mind. However, as soon as she was about to continue, something made her feel uneasy. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she glanced around. Obi-Wan seemed similarly bothered, but neither could pinpoint what was wrong. Al gazed at them confusedly.

"What is it?" he asked.

Siri shook her head, unsure, until her eyes settled on a familiar face. What was Ieru doing here? This restaurant wasn't really affordable on a fresh college graduate's salary.

"We'll tell you later," Obi-Wan whispered, glancing at his menu to look calm. "Can you meet this evening after the session?"

Al stretched and smiled, looking like he was getting ready to leave. "Yeah, sure. I've got more to tell you, anyway… like about some sage guy who's coming into town. Usual spot? I could really go for some good juri juice."

"I'll have to pass on the alcohol," Siri sighed, suddenly realizing that she'd have to give up that beautiful luxury for quite a while.

"If you can, we'll be needing a different concoction," Obi-Wan said softly. "Do you think you can get your hands on some Kelathik serum anytime soon?"

Al's smile faltered a little, and his eyes widened slightly. He caught their meaning well and clear. Letting out a small whimper through his strained smile, he actually looked rather amusing for a moment before he quickly cleared his throat and sobered. "Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can do. Anything for an old friend. See you then!"

Giving an extravagant wave he skipped away, seemingly merry as ever. Siri felt a little lighter as if some stress had been taken off her, but she still didn't like feeling… watched. She gave Obi-Wan a brief smile to act casual, but as she grabbed her water she asked, "Do you sense it?"

Sense it. Blast, she was already talking like she was a kriffing Jedi.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied softly, stroking his chin as he looked intently at the menu. "You don't think Padmé was followed somehow from last night, do you?"

"I don't see how." Siri shook her head. "Besides, there'd be no reason to tail us."

"We don't even know if it's a tail. It's just that something's wrong."

Siri blew out an irritated breath. "Well it ruined our meeting, in either case."

"It's fine," Obi-Wan reassured her as the waitress approached. "We'll find out what we need to tonight."

Padmé sifted blindly through some information on her data pad before gazing out the window. She still didn't know what she was going to do about Vader, and she hadn't heard anything from Al, so she wasn't sure if Bail was off-world or not, and she hadn't spoken to Obi-Wan and Siri since yesterday; the flight to the senate building had been spent in tense silence, though she was fairly certain it was mainly due to their own concerns over the baby rather than her. She had so much stress on her she wished she could just sleep the day away, but if she did so it would accomplish nothing and make her even more anxious.

How was it possible that two days after her supposed vacation had ended she felt like she already needed another one?

A knock at the door caught her attention and she answered it. Cordé was waiting on the other side.

"Yes?" Padmé prompted.

Cordé offered an apologetic nod. "Sorry to interrupt, milady, but a man from the Tsograda Sector says he has a lunch appointment with you."

Padmé was momentarily surprised but then she quickly remembered the invitation for lunch. Smiling, she figured she could at least use the opportunity to just stop thinking about everything for a little while – it was probably best for her health and sanity, anyway. Besides, she had plenty of questions for Éothen, anyway.

"Tell him I'll be right there," she said.

Cordé nodded but paused. "Milady?"

Padmé knew that look. Cordé had been her handmaiden since she had begun her term as senator, and though she wasn't as close to Cordé as she had been to Sabé, the two had still become relatively good friends. Cordé was being sly and curious, and Padmé figured she knew what was going through the handmaiden's mind. "I just met him, Cordé. Don't get too excited."

Cordé let out a soft laugh. "Milady, you could definitely use the break. Just some friendly advice."

Padmé grew a little worried. "Is it that obvious?" She didn't need the Imperials noticing anything was wrong.

Cordé shrugged. "You look haggard, milady. Just enjoy your date."

Before Padmé could protest that it wasn't a date, the handmaiden had closed the door on her. Cheeky.

Sighing she pushed her mild irritation aside and allowed herself to laugh. To think that Cordé was assuming she was doing something as normal as having a nice date with a handsome man was… charming. Maybe if she lied to herself she'd believe it too. Maybe.

Organizing her desk a little, Padmé exited her office and walked into the foyer. Éothen was there waiting for her, wearing dark brown trousers, leather boots, and a thick deep blue tunic that almost reached his knees. The collar was high and had a little fur on it, and some embroidery decorated the edge of the sleeves. His left arm was back in a sling. He bowed in acknowledgement. "Senator."

Padmé smiled. "Good morning. How's your arm?"

Éothen shrugged, reciprocating her smile. "Well enough. I trust you slept well?"

"Heavily, to be sure," she admitted with a laugh. "I was surprisingly tired."

"I can't imagine," he replied cheerfully and offered his right arm. Then he paused. "Wait. Cultural customs are different here, aren't they?"

Padmé chuckled at his naïveté, and she shrugged, approaching him. "Yes, but I don't mind. Imperial Center is such a cold planet – I prefer my own home culture."

Éothen paused briefly and then offered his arm. "Then shall we?"

"You know Naboo culture?" she asked just as she wrapped her arm around his.

"My father is from Naboo," Éothen admitted. "It's part of the reason you caught my interest."

Padmé raised her eyebrows, surprised. "The warlord's husband is from Naboo?"

"Circumstances were… different when they met." He answered. "He loves doting over the planet, though. I think I could probably describe all of Theed to you even though I've never been there."

"So he grew up in Theed?"

Éothen nodded. "What about your parents?"

"My father teaches part-time at Theed University," Padmé answered. "My mother helps with the Refugee Relief Movement."

"The RRM, right?" Éothen latched onto the subject. "My father talked about that. He said he joined it for a rotation when he was fourteen."

Padmé guided Éothen towards her usual lunch spot as he briefly talked about some adventures his father had experienced. She enjoyed listening to his soft voice, but as she finally saw the small restaurant, her mind immediately returned to Darth Vader. The last time she'd been in this restaurant had been with him. They'd barely known each other. Sometimes it still felt like she barely knew him, but she supposed the true issue was that she didn't know his past. She basically knew him at this point – his point of view of himself and his life motivation was pretty blasted straightforward, after all.

Éothen seemed to notice her change in attitude. "Is something wrong, milady?"

Padmé blinked quickly and shook her head. Blast it all, why couldn't she just enjoy the moment? "No, just… remembering something. Please continue."

Éothen paused and faced her fully. "We can go back if there's something you have to do."

Padmé smiled at his kindness. "It's fine, really. I just… have a lot going on in my life right now."

That was the understatement of the millennium.

"Sounds like you don't get to relax much," he remarked, resuming their walk towards the restaurant.

Padmé sighed. "Not really."

"Weren't you just on vacation?"

Padmé laughed mirthlessly. "Yes."

Éothen attempted to offer a reassuring smile. "Whenever we get anxious back home we often sing – heaven knows there are plenty of songs to choose from."

Padmé giggled at the thought of a group of SpecForces soldiers randomly bursting into song. Éothen seemed spurred on by her amusement, and he said, "One of my favorites is Ké Varg. It's about—well, here, let me just sing it."

Padmé raised an eyebrow questioningly, wondering if he was actually going to do so. Éothen didn't notice, but he was most certainly true to his word. He began belting out a song in his native tongue, making half the inhabitants in the Pampered Palette jump and look at him, affronted. Although most of the clientele here consisted of aides and clerks, they all still held their employers' sensibilities and stiff Coruscanti manners. Each planet had their own sets of cultural customs, and even different ones within the world, but if there was one very important rule in upper Imperial Center society, it was that one did not make a raucous in public. Padmé was fairly certain singing as loudly as possible fell in that category.

She did her best to listen to him without being too distracted by the baleful looks, but eventually she started glaring back at the customers. Éothen could care less. Padmé suddenly mirrored him and just stopped bothering with the other customers altogether. Éothen's voice when he spoke was a baritone, but when he sang it was a deep resounding bass. The tune was somber and nostalgic all at once, and even though Padmé had never heard it before she felt immediately immersed in some ancient history as if she knew the entire story. When he finished singing the restaurant was unusually quiet since everyone had stopped what they were doing to either stare or turn up their noses, but everyone quickly resumed their previous conversations and the chatter filled the air with a soft buzz.

"That was beautiful," she remarked with a soft smile.

Éothen tipped his head in thanks. "One of my favorite stories."

"What's it about?" she asked curiously.

Éothen paused, briefly confused, and then his orange-brown cheeks darkened in a blush of embarrassment. "Right. Sorry. I, uh…"

Padmé furrowed her brow and then understood with a laugh. "No, I don't speak your language, sorry."

"It's a stupid assumption," Éothen replied sheepishly. "I've never been off Salkende, so I get a little… airheaded sometimes."

"You've never been off Salkende?" she repeated, surprised. Traveling to other planets always was a pretty dramatic experience for those who weren't on the move as often as herself, but to have never visited any place but home and then to suddenly be on Imperial Center was quite the culture shock. Éothen was handling himself awfully well – she didn't know much about Salkende but she was fairly certain it wasn't a planet-wide city, so she would have expected him to be in awe or nervous or something. For heaven's sake, she'd been asking him where they were when he took her to that cantina yesterday.

Éothen shrugged. "I've been… busy back home."

Padmé glanced briefly at his arm and then looked him in the eye once more. "How long have you been fighting? How long has that war been going on?"

"The war started about twenty years ago," Éothen answered. "That's… almost as long as I've been fighting."

What? "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," he said nonchalantly.

"When did you start fighting?" Padmé asked, surprised and concerned.

Éothen, paused, considering it. "Hm… about… well, I guess it depends…"

"Depends on what?"

"What you consider fighting."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I was responsible for defending the camp and the younger ones when I was eight," Éothen explained briefly. "Alongside my brethren, of course. By the time I was about thirteen I hit the battlefield. I wasn't put in SpecForces until a couple of years ago. Just got the commander's position and formed my own squad a month ago."

Padmé marveled at how she always managed to find the guys who never had a childhood. First Vader, now Éothen. Though honestly, she supposed some would say she didn't have much of a childhood either, but apart from her time with the RRM and the Junior Legislative League she had a perfectly normal and happy childhood with a loving family and secure, safe home environment. Sure, she'd become governor of Theed when she was thirteen and had ruled the planet when she was fourteen, but at least she'd been a kid until she was twelve. These people, though… one was raised on the principle that he was nothing but a means to an end and the other was raised to be a soldier.

By heaven, Padmé was going to drag both Éothen and Vader to Naboo and just keep them segregated from the rest of the galaxy until they had some time to be normal, sane people.

Blast it she missed Vader.

"What about you?"

Padmé jumped and glanced at Éothen. Just hearing someone ask about her own past was astonishing at this point – she'd gotten so used to Vader knowing everything through Intelligence. This was actually kind of nice. "I… I learned some combat training when I became queen. I was fourteen."

Éothen's face immediately lit up. "You know combat training?"

Okay, so not only did she attract men with seriously screwed up childhoods, but also men who loved to fight way too much, even if they were for very different reasons.

"Just a bit," she reminded him with a smile. She thought briefly about her training with Vader, but she pushed the memories out of her mind. She just wanted to enjoy the moment. "But I still can't believe that you've never been off Salkende. You're taking this awfully well, considering everything you've done since you got here."

Éothen shrugged. "Salkende doesn't have any cities like this, obviously, but I've seen the holos. It's a little claustrophobic here, and I hate the smell, but it's manageable. At least it's temporary."

"What's it like on Salkende?" she asked, leaning back in her seat as the waiter brought them drinks.

"I can't speak for the entire planet, obviously," Éothen began with a slightly smile. "I've mostly seen Maa and Jord; they're only two out of our four continents. Jord's closest to the ice cap, so it's always pretty chilly and the winters are brutal, but they're beautiful too. Maa is milder, and it's got these massive mountains that are the biggest pain to scale and not the best place for battles, but they're still nice. The cities aren't normally too big – more spread out than anything. The architecture's homier in my opinion, and we don't use as many synthetic materials."

Padmé's gaze drifted away as she imagined the place. It sounded harsher than Naboo but still nicer than Imperial Center – honestly, anything was nicer than Imperial Center. She smiled dreamily, wishing she could be there, or home, or anywhere but this planet. Then she registered something he'd said. "Wait, not the best place for a battle? So you fought in the mountains?"

Éothen inclined his head. "My clan lived on Maa when they started the war."

Padmé blanched. "Your clan started the war?"

"Yes," he replied simply. "They had many alliances to other lesser clans and wanted to take over."

Padmé felt her insides churn a little. Éothen couldn't help what had happened or how the war had started, so she wasn't too uncomfortable around him, but she thought about his mother, the woman they were trying to get help from, and she suddenly shuddered. Did they really want help from someone who was making power plays at home? "Why did your mother do that? What was the point in starting a war?"

Éothen grew confused. "My mother?"

"She is the warlord, isn't she? Doesn't that mean she's the head of your clan?"

Éothen's eyes widened slightly in realization. "Oh—my mother wasn't originally the head of the clan. My clan used to be a lot bigger. The war killed all of them."

Stang. In a heartbeat she was filled with embarrassment and guilt. "I… I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," he interrupted her stammering gently. "I won't blame you for not knowing any better."

Padmé marveled at how easygoing he was considering his upbringing. He seemed so much more at ease than the other times she'd interacted with him. Thinking about that brought up an important question, though, one she'd been planning on asking. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you help me yesterday?"

Éothen blinked a few times, formulating an answer after she abruptly changed the subject. "Your friend was doing the right thing. He didn't deserve to endure what was happening to him."

Padmé smiled. "Thank you."

The two sat in content silence for a little while as their food finally arrived. Éothen glanced briefly at it as if he didn't recognize some of the items on the plate, but he eventually started to eat. Padmé garnered some mild amusement from his behavior; he reminded her of a more innocent Vader.

Blast it, stop thinking about him.

"How long are you staying on Imperial Center?" she asked conversationally as they ate.

"Not much longer, I should think," Éothen answered. "My mother sent me here to recover."

Éothen could have easily recovered back home. From what Siri and Obi-Wan had told Padmé, the capital city of Fjesky wasn't exactly a warzone. It was far more likely that the warlord sent her son here to just get away from the war.

"What about your friend, Erwyna?" she prompted. "If she's your second-in-command, shouldn't she be leading your squad while you're gone?"

"My squad is on temporary leave," Éothen explained. "The war's slowing to a halt. We've almost won. It's why I don't understand why we can't just help your people already; it's not like we have much to worry about anymore."

Padmé considered his words and gave him a confused and concerned look. She wanted their help, and she knew the Alliance desperately needed their help, but Obi-Wan, Siri, and even Éothen himself had painted a pretty grim picture. "What about your clan?"

Éothen paused and sighed. "It's… complicated. Before the war, my mother was so inconspicuous in the clan she didn't even live on Salkende – she captained a freighter, and when the Clone War started she smuggled to planets under siege. She met my father while she was doing that. When the war started up, she was called home to help the clan. The war… tore us apart. If it weren't for the alliances we had to other clans we would have lost. Most of the other lesser clans were hit pretty hard as well, but when the Bidra Clan—Tlenden's clan—joined in we finally got the upper hand. Since my mother was the eldest survivor of my own clan, the Ønske, she became the de facto leader, and since our clan had declared the war, she will be the warlord once the fighting stops. But… she's too old to have more children, and I'm her only youngling. It's my responsibility to keep the line going. I figure part of the reason she sent me out here was so Tlenden and I could talk about getting a mate when I return home."

Padmé couldn't imagine what it would be like to have such a large family and then to watch them all die in a war. She felt immensely sorry for Éothen, particularly with the burden and responsibility he now carried. She also felt her heart sink at another realization. "That's going to be your mother's priority when the war ends, isn't it?"

"Probably," he answered, suddenly looking tired. "We have to rebuild the clan. I know my mother cares for your cause, but…"

"The clan's more important." Padmé finished for him, dejected. She really did feel sorry for Éothen, but at the same time she was saddened and frustrated that he could do nothing to help her. "So even when the war's over, we'll just be an afterthought."

Éothen shrugged. "I could join, I suppose; then she'd be forced to help – if a member of the clan is involved in the fight, all of Ønske pitches in, which would mean the entire planet would do so… maybe even the sector. But…"

Padmé's hopes, which had skyrocketed as soon as he'd said that, dropped a little as he paused. "But what?"

He shook his head, looking out the window. "I can't do that to her. I can't do that to my family. I have to find a wife and settle down… I have to make sure the clan lives on."

So that was that. Even after their war finished, they wouldn't help. Padmé hadn't come to lunch with the expectation of convincing Salkende to aid the Rebels, but it still felt like a punch in the gut to realize this. Their last hope for supplies and reinforcements was gone.

Well, almost. There was that Jedi fleet that Obi-Wan and Siri had mentioned. Heaven willing, the fleet would be able to rendezvous with the Rebels and bolster their forces. Then maybe they could try to reestablish a base.

There was no point in pushing for Salkende to join anymore. So Padmé just dropped the subject and went for something entirely different. After all, it was actually kind of nice and relaxing to be with Éothen. "Well if you're leaving soon you should at least see the best Imperial Center has to offer."

Éothen's tiredness evaporated and he smiled softly. "I suppose. My father told me to go to the opera – it's where he took my mother on their first date. Well, a less expensive opera house than the ones here, at least… he said she slept the whole time and he enjoyed the show. I'm not sure which one I would be if I went."

Padmé laughed. Stars, it felt good to laugh. "Let's find out, then."

Éothen's eyebrows rose a little. "You want to go to the opera with me?"

"Why not?" she shrugged with a genuine smile.

Éothen barked a laugh. "Yeah, you're right. But I don't know any operas here… or the venues…"

"I do," she said. "There's a showing of Cemran tomorrow night. Care to go?"

"I'd be honored, milady," he bowed his head.

The conclusion of lunch brought an entirely new wave of anxiety. Siri barely paid any attention to the new handmaiden and instead hovered close to Obi-Wan, looking for any sign of someone following him or her. She didn't like the feeling she'd had when they were speaking with Al. Eventually it seemed to fade, or at least it became less pressing in her mind when the afternoon session came to a close. Padmé returned to her office and Siri immediately closed the door so they could talk in private.

"I'm really busy, Siri," Padmé immediately said, knowing what Siri wanted. "Can we save it for later?"

"I don't have a later right now," Siri remarked, walking towards her sister-in-law. "Look, I'm not trying to pick a fight; I just want to know what the blazes is going on."

"You already know what's going on."

Siri rolled her eyes. "So tell me why it's going on."

Padmé grew annoyed. "You first."

"What?"

"Why didn't you two tell me about your…" Padmé gestured to her. "Gifts?"

Siri sighed. "Obi didn't want to worry you. And I only just found about myself yesterday."

"Including the baby?"

"Yes."

Padmé's gaze drifted elsewhere. She still looked frustrated and worried. Siri was too – after finding out that Padmé was… she shuddered. She couldn't even fathom how that had happened. Padmé said it was over, but the fact that it happened it at all scared her. "Padmé, what happened on Naboo? How did he trick you? What did he do to you?"

Padmé sighed heavily and sat down. "It's a long story, Siri. It's just… a long story."

Siri was tired and stressed, but she had to press on. She stood straighter and gathered what little strength she had so she could get to the bottom of this, but then she saw that Padmé looked equally exhausted. Siri's heart screamed out that she should ensure the matter was closed, that Vader could never hurt Padmé, but her mind said to wait; they were both fatigued from the chaos of the past few days. She felt her chest tighten as she held her anxiety back. Instead of pushing the matter, she looked at her feet and took several deep breaths and tried to ignore the migraine quickly forming in her head. Padmé had said it was over. She hadn't seen or heard anything about Vader anyway, so they were clear of him for a while, she hoped. She'd have to look into where he was to ensure that really was the case. She took another step towards Padmé and changed the subject. "Al's back in town."

Padmé immediately locked eyes with her. "Is everything okay?"

"Seems to be," she replied cryptically; Al never specifically mentioned Bail Organa, but considering he was wandering around calmly she assumed the trip to the Rebels was smooth.

Padmé leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes and blowing out a breath of relief. "At least something went right."

Siri snorted. "You're telling me. But what about the other people you were with?"

"It's fine, Siri," Padmé practically moaned. "Please, just trust me."

Trust her? She couldn't trust Padmé after what she'd learned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she replied. "One of them didn't know who I was, and the other two are fine. I even met with Éothen for lunch."

Siri blanched. "You did what?"

"Nothing bad happened," she waved her hand dismissively, growing even more tired. "It was actually nice."

Siri really needed to investigate Éothen and his crew more. For Padmé's sake, though, she finally let the matter settle. "Well... I'm glad you had a good time. Please, Padmé, know that we're just worried about you, okay? I'm not trying to be a murglak."

Padmé gave a small smile, her eyes softening a bit. "I know. You're still a bit of a murglak, though."

Siri rolled her eyes. "I only said I wasn't trying to be one, not that I'm not actually one."

The tension in the room eased a little and then Siri felt Obi-Wan approaching. She gave one last glance to Padmé. She seemed relieved over the news about Al and the change of subject, but still preoccupied with a million other thoughts. She was probably thinking about how the Alliance was going to survive – honestly, they were all thinking about that.

Siri made a mental note to arrange for dinner at one of the calmer, quieter restaurants on Imperial Center; heaven knew they all needed a break.

The door hissed as Obi-Wan entered. He immediately looked at Siri, then Padmé. "Everything all right in here?"

"Fine," Siri immediately answered. "You ready to go?"

Obi-Wan watched his sister for a while and Siri glanced at her briefly. She was watching them curiously.

"We're meeting up with him again," Siri explained quickly. "Things were interrupted at lunch."

Padmé stood. "Is everything okay?"

"Just making arrangements," Obi-Wan replied and he stood straighter in the doorway, motioning to Siri that they should leave. They had a lot of ground to cover to get to their usual meeting spot, and they had to take an extremely roundabout way to do so through tons of traffic. It was likely they wouldn't get home until after Padmé went to bed. "We'll be out for a while; I'll explain later."

Padmé sighed and sat once more, nodding. "Be safe."

Siri flashed a reassuring smile. "Always."

The two left her office and remained silent until they exited the senate building. Then Obi-Wan immediately asked, "How is she?"

"Stressed," Siri noted, crossing her arms. "You could have asked her yourself."

"We didn't exactly end last night on good terms," he remarked, shaking his head. "I confess I don't really have the energy to resolve that at the moment."

"You aren't the only one," Siri muttered.

"You seemed awfully calm with her, actually. You're not bothered by what she said last night?"

Siri tossed out a halfhearted response. "She said it was over. Besides, Vader's not around for now."

Obi-Wan was silent.

Siri looked at him suspiciously and her migraine compounded. "You think she was lying?"

"I think she's emotional," he replied slowly. "If she's… foolish enough to fall for him I don't think she'll lose that spark so quickly."

"He killed Mothma." Siri pointed out, trying to reason with herself as much as she was with Obi-Wan. She still couldn't fathom how Padmé could have been so badly fooled, how she could make such an obvious mistake. She'd been lonely and desperate on Naboo. That was all.

That was all.

"Siri, stop lying to yourself," Obi-Wan sighed, his gaze clouded. "We both know it isn't over yet."

Siri furrowed her brow and looked away worriedly. The migraine grew worse, and her hand drifted to her abdomen. No… nothing was over yet. The nightmare was just beginning.

Tarkin sighed as he finally relaxed in his quarters in the palace. He'd been running around all day gathering information, and between that and sitting on the floor with Vader a couple of days ago his knees were killing him.

Intelligence reported positively on Death Squadron: the Jedi fleet had been destroyed, and the Jedi were dead. Darth Vader was returning home triumphant. Tarkin had no doubt the boy was far more stable now – the notion that he was no longer a failure to Palpatine would calm him immensely. Maybe then Tarkin could finally manipulate him – if the boy was too unstable Tarkin wouldn't be able to talk reason into him, but if he was too complacent he would be his usual emotionless self. Tarkin had a fairly distinct suspicion that Amidala would be the key to maintaining that balance.

Speaking of Amidala, she seemed to have been quite busy as of late as well. She wasn't on the Intelligence's watch list, but Tarkin's personal spy had been keeping a close eye on her. Apparently she'd been making contact with some person from Senator Tlenden's delegation. Whether this was political in nature or pertaining to the Rebels was beyond his knowledge at the moment, but he'd watch the development closely. He couldn't have the woman doing something too stupid unless he needed her to do so.

Oh he couldn't wait to start training Vader. Once the boy returned he would order the apprentice to bring Amidala to his office in the senate building. They would have a lovely discussion about her treachery and how she would do everything Tarkin ordered or he would have her killed. Not that Vader would be around to hear that part, of course – Tarkin would preserve the boy's naïve heart for a little while. He'd let the woman's own disgusting nature speak for itself when the proper time came. In the meantime, though, he'd have her whisper all sorts of delightful notions into Vader's ear while Tarkin reinforced them through his teachings. He'd expose Palpatine as some sort of decrepit manipulator who really had no power compared to Tarkin and Vader – that ought to get the boy's attention. As a Sith, power was everything – if Palpatine showed weakness, that would be the end of him.

Tarkin smiled, leaning more into the comfortable cushioning of his chair. This was going to be most enjoyable. He had to be vigilant, though – he had no doubt that Palpatine was keeping a close eye on anyone who had enough power to challenge him. That was why he still needed some sort of Rebel threat. He had to ensure the Alliance didn't get completely wiped out – if they did he'd have to conjure up some new threat to keep the emperor's resources busy. The Jedi were no longer an option, but with Organa out of prison the Alliance might cause a bit of mayhem. Palpatine would certainly be looking for the culprit for a while, and that would be enough of a distraction for now.

There was a knock at the door, and Tarkin waved his hand lazily as if the person on the other end could see him. Sighing, he said, "Enter."

He heard the gentle hiss of his door opening and closing and the soft sound of small feet on the carpet in the foyer. "Grand Moff."

He recognized the voice. It was his spy. "Report."

"Senator Amidala spent the senate session in her usual manner, sir. No suspicious activity. She accompanied one of Senator Tlenden's entourage for lunch."

"Have you figured out who he is?" Tarkin asked, not bothering to look at the spy.

"Éothen of the Ønske Clan of Salkende. He is the son of the clan's leader, who will soon be warlord."

Interesting. What was she doing with someone of that stature? Was she trying to procure an allegiance from Salkende? The planet had been embroiled in its own issues – it cared little for galactic matters, though its sector's senator was quite vocal in his displeasure on certain subjects. "Anything interesting?"

"Casual conversation from what I could ascertain, governor."

"Very well," he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mulling over everything. "Anything else to report?"

"The senator's handmaiden and one of the representatives, sir."

Tarkin's eyes opened abruptly. He recalled that Vader had mentioned one of Amidala's handmaidens was probably an information gatherer for her. "Which handmaiden?"

"Siri Naberrie."

Naberrie. The name sounded familiar. Wasn't that the surname of one of the Chommell Sector's representatives? "And the representative?"

"Obi-Wan Naberrie, sir."

Wait. There was something else. "Naberrie is Amidala's true surname, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly it made perfect sense. Of course she'd have her family in on the secret. They were no doubt assisting her in some manner. For all the Empire knew she had an entire operation on Imperial Center. "What about them?"

"They've met twice now with a Zabrak male. I couldn't overhear their conversations, but I ran the man through Intelligence's database and saw that there was a flag on him. Lord Vader had assigned him to be followed and the agent doing so was found dead."

Score. He'd found his next source for information. "Find him and bring him to me. Use discretion."

"Yes, sir."