Sorry for the delay, life's been crazy. Apologies in advance for typos.
Imperial Center was radiant. It was strange, considering all Al had ever seen of the place lately were the dull, cloudy days of the wet season. It seemed like the dry season was finally arriving, which was great. The warm air was comfortable, and a breeze blew against his face. A part of him wished it was still dull and cloudy, so he at least felt more hidden than this (and so he wouldn't look like some sensitive person who had to wear a hood to avoid the sunlight). He'd been sticking to the lower levels and he'd been avoiding security cameras and probe droids, but he still felt so exposed now that he was back.
Creeping around the edge of a building, Al finally saw the turbolift that would take him to the proper level. Blowing out a calming breath, he pulled his hood further down over his face and walked as calmly as possible to the lift. A few others piled in with him and they were all silent as they rose to the upper levels. After a few minutes they arrived, and Al hastily blended in with the crowds. Pulling out a small data pad he activated it and glossed over all the security feeds Okima'yak had provided for him. He caught sight of the agent leaving his apartment complex and Al hastened in that direction. It was finally time to meet this guy and prove that Padmé hadn't died in vain.
The walk wasn't too far, and before he knew it Al finally had a visual of his target. The man was small in stature and his loose clothes revealed little of his muscular build. He had pale skin, freckles, shocking red hair that was cropped close to his head, and a prominent nose. He shouldered his bag with a small bounce in his step and walked briskly.
Al followed him from a distance, wondering if he would be able to avoid the man's detection; Intelligence agents were experts at tailing people, after all, so he assumed they also were quite aware of when they themselves were being tailed. Five minutes of following the man, however, quickly revealed that this guy either was letting Al do this or he just didn't know he was there at all. Was this guy new or something? He suddenly recalled Obi-Wan mentioning on Nar Shaddaa that the guy had spoken with a Coruscanti accent and had revealed his affiliation with Intelligence. Was he just a bad agent or was something else going on? Maybe that had been an operation on Nar Shaddaa instead of an illegal dealing? But then why wasn't the guy noticing that Al was behind him?
Eventually Al saw his opportunity. The agent was heading towards a metro stop, but he had to cross a bridge connecting two elevated walkways. Beside the bridge, the large building that the walkway was attached to split, leaving a gaping street that was darkened by the towering skyscrapers around it. Al hastened his pace and caught up to the man just before he wandered too far from the street. "Oki Heuk?"
The man froze. The name Al had used was his pseudonym that he'd gone by on Nar Shaddaa. If he had any brains at all, it wasn't his real name, which meant calling him that would immediately tell him Al's affiliation with him. Al's hand was on his blaster, hidden by his cloak, but the man didn't pick a fight. Instead, he backed into the darkened street as the smuggler had hoped.
"What do you want?" he hissed. "We already made our—wait, you're not the dealer. Who are you?"
"I might be a friend, depending on what you say," Al smiled, his hand still firmly on his blaster. He was sure to keep his hood low over his face, however; he figured an agent might know that he was wanted, after all. He was walking a fine line right now, as the churning in his stomach was reminding him constantly. "How's the Kelathik? I figure it wasn't for you unless the Empire's come up with some scientific miracle I haven't heard about."
The agent looked around wildly, his eyes wide with panic. So Nar Shaddaa hadn't been a mission. Good. This would make bribing him easier, assuming Al lived long enough to get to that point. He really didn't like this arrangement too much, but he had to do it. Still, this guy looked more nervous than Al felt; why did something not quite feel right?
"Why are you here? What do you want?" he asked in a soft voice.
"I want an even exchange," Al replied carefully. "My friend changed her mind about your payment. She doesn't want just words, she wants results. She delivered her end of the bargain. Now you need to deliver yours. Unless you want your employer to find out, of course."
He was taking a big risk associating himself with the dealer considering he'd never met the woman, but he figured it was unlikely this guy would get in contact with her anyway. The agent paled and took a few steps back. "No, don't—don't tell them. I… we'd agreed on the payment!"
"Yeah, and she changed her mind," Al repeated. His grip on his weapon tightened in anticipation; if this guy got too jumpy he might try to attack him. "She wants information."
"I-information?"
"Where are the Rebels? What does the Empire know about them?" Al asked, taking a menacing step closer to the man.
His eyes widened further. "I—I don't know, I—please, don't tell Intelligence, I'll—I'll do anything, but I—"
"Then tell me what I want to know!" Al interrupted him with a hiss, both to sound intimidating and to shut the guy up; if he got too loud they'd attract attention, and that was the last thing Al wanted.
"I don't know!" he shook his head fervently. "Please, I—my name's not—I'm not with—please, I don't know anything!"
Al grabbed him by the arm and dragged him further down the street, finding a suitable alley and shoving him into it, finally pulling out his weapon. The man flinched and plastered himself against the wall, holding his hands up. This guy couldn't be Intelligence, not with the way he was acting. "Who are you? Really?"
"Odeki Rubar," he immediately said in a quivering tone. "I… I do work for Intelligence, but I'm not an operative… I'm just maintenance. I work on the droids that they use in their main facility. Please, please, don't tell them about the Kelathik!"
What? He… he was maintenance? Al had wasted days on a dead end? Frustration surged through him, and he uncharacteristically smacked the man's temple with the butt of his weapon. "You are not getting out of it that easily! You're still getting me my information!"
Odeki yelped at the hit and slid to the ground, holding his temple. He looked at Al fearfully, and as much as the smuggler wanted to beat the hell out of him for all the trouble he'd inadvertently caused, he just couldn't. This guy wasn't an evil Intelligence agent; he was just a dope lost in the insanity of the Empire.
But damn it, this was not the result he'd wanted!
Blowing out a very irritated sigh, Al asked, "Who's the Kelathik for? Your wife?"
The man nodded.
"What does she do?"
"She…" he trailed off worriedly, rubbing his temple. "She works with the Science Bureau. That's all I'm telling you! You… you can kill me if you want, but you won't hurt her!"
Al stared at him long and hard for a few seconds and then finally holstered his weapon. "I'm not going to kill you. Look, I… I can help you. Both of you. You need more Kelathik, right?"
He couldn't believe he was asking this. He couldn't believe the conversation had come to this. He'd risked his hide to come back here, Padmé had died because of this mission, and in the end it all boiled down to this. But he couldn't not offer to help; Al was jaded, he could be sardonic, and he tended to be emotionally distant from a lot of people's problems, but he wasn't entirely heartless. It was one of the reasons he hated being in his line of work; no, he couldn't save everyone, and yes, even if he did help somebody another sod would take that person's place, but he despised adding to the problem, and that's what people in his profession did. They just added to everything that was wrong. Sure, smugglers could get important commodities to those in need, but most of the time criminals only compounded upon the misery; smugglers more often trafficked slaves, drugs, and weapons than anything else, and Al hated it. He refused to be a part of that. He refused to make things worse in the galaxy. So here he was, offering to help the person he was supposed to be threatening. By the stars he was hopeless. And worthless.
"H-help me?" Odeki repeated, looking at him confusedly and hopefully. "But… no, no we don't need more Kelathik; my wife's a biochemist. She can synthesize more now that she has a sample. Who are you?"
He was quickly losing any upper ground he had in this conversation, and that really wasn't good. "Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is keeping your secret."
The man grew worried again. "Please, don't hurt my wife!"
"Your wife's in more danger from the Empire than she is from me," Al noted, trying to turn the tables back in his favor. "She needs to leave."
"Leave?"
"Yes, leave," Al emphasized. "Even if she keeps using Kelathik while she's pregnant, that won't stop them from finding out when the baby's born. Kelathik can be lethal in high doses; the only reason it's okay during pregnancy is because the dosage is so small and the mother's blood dilutes what little is there, so neither mom nor baby gets hurt. If you put that stuff directly into the kid, you'll kill him, and they do a midichlorian test on all newborns."
Odeki shook his head. "We're traveling. She's having the baby in the—"
"It doesn't matter where you guys decide to have the kid, it's not going to end well," Al interrupted. "A security bill that passed before the recess said that all Imperial territory has to have these tests now, not just the Core Worlds. The only other place you could find a respectable hospital would be in Hutt territory, and even then I'm really stretching the term respectable. Do you want your kid born in a Hutt hospital?"
"Where do you suggest I go? Why are you here?" Odeki asked.
"I'm here because we both need help." Al explained. "You need somewhere safe, somewhere to live where you won't be constantly worrying about your youngling. I need information. We can work together."
"You were threatening me two minutes ago!"
"I thought you were an agent," Al replied irritably. "Seeing as you're not, I don't really consider you a threat, unless you change my mind. In either case, I can get your wife somewhere safe."
"Wha—no, we can't just disappear," Odeki stated, horrified. "The Empire would brand us traitors!"
"You're already traitors," Al whispered, crouching down to look him in the eye. "The very fact that you've kept the baby alive and gotten Kelathik is enough for them to execute you."
The man gulped, unable to say anything.
Al sighed, gathering his thoughts. "Just… hear me out. You're maintenance for the droids in Intelligence's main compound, right? Sabotage the droids to get information. It doesn't even have to be much; just enough so I know how much they know about the Rebels. You do that for me, and I can take your wife somewhere safe. When the time comes for her to have her baby, you can join her."
"You're a Rebel." Somehow, the man managed to look even more nervous.
Great deduction, genius. "Glad you figured it out. Want a medal?"
"But you people are terrorists!" he blurted out.
"We're the ones who have been wronged by the Empire," Al corrected him firmly. "Just like your youngling."
This made the man pause, but he still looked uncertain. "How do I know you can even help?"
Al shrugged. "You don't. But you also don't know if I'll tell the Empire you're using Kelathik. I'd take my chances with a smuggler rather than an Empire with a track record for killing people for no rhyme or reason."
Odeki looked terrified and conflicted. He bit his lip, staring at the ground and balling his fists. Al wouldn't put him too much on the spot, he supposed, but he wasn't going to be so soft on the guy that he'd let himself get trampled. "Talk to your wife, Rubar. We can meet here tomorrow morning, same time, when you come to your decision. But don't do anything stupid; I've got my eye on you, and you don't know when I might just stroll over to your workplace and let the truth slip out."
After that, he motioned for the man to leave, and Odeki hastily leapt to his feet and shuffled out of the alley, continuously glancing at the smuggler. Al leaned against the wall, groaning. This wasn't how he'd hoped it would come to pass, but at least he had something to work with. Pulling out his data pad, he watched Odeki trot across the bridge. The guy really wasn't good at hiding his anxiety, was he? For his sake, Al hoped the man pulled himself together by the time he reached Intelligence. In either case, he'd be keeping a close eye on him.
In the Palace District, a time zone away from Almusian, Tarkin made his way down to the large dining hall.
The weather was amazing today, and it was perfect for the outing the grand moff had reluctantly planned. He recalled back during the Clone Wars when the meteorologists had started the wet season program; they'd been forced to do so when they'd received budget cuts due to wartime expenditures. There was no way they could control the weather as much to give year-round perfect, sunny skies, and the inhabitants had treated the change like the apocalypse. That seemed like an eternity ago now.
Entering, the grand moff caught sight of Darth Vader. The Sith typically had breakfast down here; he never really bothered calling servants to bring up his food, and he rarely cooked unless he was on some mission where it was required. As Tarkin approached him, he noted that the apprentice was merely picking at his food instead of eating it. He supposed it was probably due to his queasiness from last night, though he'd assumed the boy would have been feeling better by now.
Sitting across from the young Sith, he pondered how he would broach the subject. An outing was a pointless venture unless it had to do with a mission, and though Tarkin had a reason for dragging Vader across the district, it certainly wouldn't seem to have a point to the boy himself. Of course, Tarkin could just state that it was to get the idiot's head on straight, but that would indicate that Vader was showing obvious weakness, and the grand moff wasn't quite sure how he would react to that. Vader had almost always gone to Tarkin when he'd had a problem, so the man assumed that the Sith wasn't uncomfortable with showing weaknesses to the grand moff, but somehow it didn't seem like a good idea to actually voice that observation. Vader had never specifically said anything to that effect, and it seemed that in order to maintain the status quo, it should remain that way.
So how in the blazes was he going to explain this? He didn't exactly enjoy the idea of taking the Sith on an outing. Honestly, Tarkin himself had better things to do, such as actually using Vader for something important, but he supposed since Darth Vader was his main weapon and the boy was at the breaking point, he needed to piece him together before he could do anything with him. Still, Tarkin was an introvert; the idea of spending the entire day with the Sith Lord just… socializing… wasn't particularly enthralling. Nevertheless, he had to do what he had to do.
This had better be worth it.
Darth Vader glanced at him, waiting expectantly. The apprentice no doubt was wondering what Tarkin had planned; after all, he'd told the boy last night that they'd be going out. Tarkin didn't really explain much immediately, though; some servants brought breakfast to him and he chose to eat instead of speak. After watching him take a few bites, Vader eventually returned his attention to his own food. Now that they were sitting across from each other and he wasn't under Vader's scrutiny, Tarkin sized up the young Sith Lord. His color was better today, though he still looked tired. He probably hadn't slept too well, but Tarkin didn't have the energy to ask. This day was going to be draining enough.
Eventually the grand moff finished his breakfast and then took a deep breath. "Meet me at the palace entrance after your walk."
"I have a mission," Vader replied immediately.
Tarkin looked at him curiously. He knew the man always chose Palpatine's orders over his own, but he hadn't mentioned this issue last night when Tarkin had said they were going out tomorrow. Was he just avoiding the matter, then? That was… different, though typically the boy didn't have any issues to avoid in the first place, so Tarkin supposed he shouldn't be too surprised.
"What's your mission?" he asked.
"I… have to investigate the new senator for the Chommell Sector."
Tarkin tensed his jaw slightly. Surely the emperor saw the kind of turmoil Vader was in; was it wise to do this? It seemed that the Sith Master was enjoying Vader's pain a little too much; this kind of move was something Tarkin would do to an enemy. He was beginning to debate whether he should find a way to get Vader off Imperial Center and away from the emperor. In either case, the mission wouldn't interfere with today's objective. "All you have to do is tell Intelligence to handle the matter, and you know that. Or did the emperor come up with some new stipulation?"
Vader shook his head, but his eyes were stormy. He wasn't keen on this outing. Neither am I, Tarkin thought dully, but he'd do what was necessary. "Then it's settled. Meet me after your walk."
"I have to spar," he argued calmly, still picking at his food.
Tarkin debated the matter. Would sparring help more than what he had planned? It might, but he was fairly certain the man was using sparring as a way to avoid the problem rather than face it. "You had no qualms last night, milord, and my order still stands."
He didn't actually have any authority over Vader, but he used his seniority in this case.
The Sith Lord sighed, lowering his utensil to his plate. He nodded in acquiescence and then stood and left. The grand moff watched him go before returning to his own quarters. Vader's walks typically took about thirty minutes to an hour depending upon his agenda for the day, so he had some time to prepare. Sitting on one of his sofas, he sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hands, steeling himself for the long day. It would have some uses, but he wasn't sure how he would explain it to the young Sith.
Their first destination was a park; it was almost ridiculous to think about, but the Palace District Park was one of the most exclusive places on all of Imperial Center. It would give them both privacy and allow Tarkin to dig up some bad memories without anyone witnessing or getting hurt. Besides, it was the first nice day in weeks. After the park Tarkin knew he'd need time to recuperate from the ordeal, so he'd planned on going to a museum where he could enjoy himself and just let the sulking Sith follow him like a shadow. Perhaps he could come up with some silly training assignment to occupy the boy's mind while he was there. Once they were finished at the museum they'd get lunch, and by then, perhaps, Vader might have had enough time to get his head on straight for the evening.
Tarkin always had many invitations to different events due to his status, but one in particular had caught his attention: a charity (more like an embezzlement scandal waiting to happen) had a gala ball this evening. All the wealthiest of Imperial Center were associated with it in order to appear as if they actually cared about anything apart from themselves, and since the organization was spread across many worlds, the elite of most of the Empire had been invited. Typically Tarkin would find such an event tiresome and certainly not worth his time or notice, but in this case, it would be a good test for Vader. He could introduce the boy as a relative of some sort, have Vader operate covertly, and watch how he fared. If a distant unimportant relative of his made a few social mishaps, people might speak ill of the boy's breeding, but it wouldn't cause too much damage, particularly since Tarkin ensured the family name was spoken with reverence and fear. However, if Darth Vader messed up, it would make him an immediate target for the vultures of the aristocracy. It was far better for Vader to be undercover on this mission. Tarkin would watch him closely, as would his agent.
Leaning his head back on his sofa and closing his eyes, Tarkin enjoyed the quiet the sound dampeners provided before finally standing. It was time to get to work.
When he reached the entrance to the palace, he saw that Vader was already there waiting. The apprentice was pacing between pillars, but he quickly noticed the grand moff's approach. Offering a nod of acknowledgement, he awaited Tarkin's lead. The grand moff glanced at his chronometer; it had barely been ten minutes. He wondered if the boy had even walked at all, but he didn't bother asking. They'd have enough confrontations once they reached the park, and perhaps the Sith would be able to get his morning walk in while they were there.
Leading the way, Tarkin walked down the large stairs heading to the plaza just outside the palace. Casually passing some guards who were patrolling, he tossed a brief glance back to ensure Vader was following him. When he saw that was the case, he increased his pace and briskly headed out of the plaza towards an elevated walkway. Eventually the two finally reached their destination. Pausing, Tarkin expected some kind of question from Vader once the man realized where they were, and, as predicted, the Sith raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"We need to talk," Tarkin said pointedly. "This setting will suffice."
Vader glanced back at the palace before looking at him once more. He suspected the boy was wondering why he hadn't just spoken his peace in the dining hall, but, surprisingly, the Sith didn't argue. Instead he faced the entrance, awaiting Tarkin's lead.
The park entrance was a relatively small and innocuous doorway in one of the large skyscrapers. Once the two passed through (after Tarkin showed his pass to the guard; this park was exclusive for a reason: only residents of the Palace District were allowed to enter), the air cleared considerably and he heard birdsong. The indoor area of the building was gutted in favor of large bio-domes with holographic skies. The entrance bio-dome had most of the garden mazes that held Tarkin's interest. It was a relatively moderate forest climate. It reminded him of his home territory back on Eriadu.
It was odd now that he thought about it, though; he was fairly certain that in all of his nineteen years, Darth Vader had never set foot in this place. Sweeping the thought aside, the grand moff headed towards one the larger mazes. It began with stone stairs leading to a circular gravel entranceway with a large fountain. Bushes rimmed the edge and arched over entrances, and ivy hung loosely like curtains. He turned to face the apprentice. "I brought you out here so we could discuss matters frankly, milord. I assume you'll cooperate."
Darth Vader watched him with sharp, keen eyes, and the Sith tipped his head forward in acquiescence. It seemed this outing was a useful diversion for him; he was spending more time figuring out Tarkin's motives than thinking about anything that would disturb his emotional balance. That wasn't the point, though; the point was to sort out the problem, not bury it.
Stepping towards the center arched entranceway, Tarkin motioned for Vader to walk alongside him. The Sith did so a little stiffly. The grand moff allowed them to walk in peace for a few minutes, only listening to the crunching of the gravel beneath their boots and the continuous birdsong. He searched for the right way to broach the subject, and decided to latch on to Vader's new mission. "Did you inform Intelligence about the new Chommell senator?"
Vader faltered in his step for a heartbeat before continuing. He placed his hands behind his back, and Tarkin noted how he started to wring them immediately. His jaw set tightly. He offered a stiff nod.
He hadn't expected the man to reply, and he'd expected the question to spark a reaction, so he took this in stride. Tarkin knew that when one had a conversation with Darth Vader, one had to always lead the topic. There was no small talk with this Sith Lord, and there was most certainly no dancing around the subject. Still, he would take this slowly, breaking his usual protocol in conversation with the man. "I'm surprised they managed to get a replacement so quickly. Queen Jamillia must have already had several candidates lined up in case anything happened to her dear senator. I can't imagine why she would have such contingency plans. Do you think the queen might be involved in the Rebel plot?"
The Sith was taking steadily smaller steps, and he tightened the iron grip on his hands. "I think the queen wanted to prevent Imperial interference in the next senatorial election."
An adequate answer, and a likely possibility. The man was at least still thinking clearly, but now it was time to face the issue. "You're probably right. I suppose she wasn't aware of Senator Amidala's treachery. A pity she couldn't live much longer; she would have made a wonderful gift for the emperor. Still—"
"Enough," Vader interrupted sharply, stopping. He caught himself off guard with the quick outburst more so than the grand moff, and he took several deep breaths. He looked like he was about to center himself, but his composure slipped, his brow furrowed, and he took hasty steps forward, passing Tarkin entirely. The grand moff walked to catch up with him.
"You can't keep avoiding this," Tarkin finally said. When the Sith didn't make any remark, Tarkin stepped into his direct path. "Your turmoil over her fate has been putting everything in jeopardy, milord. You have to learn to control these emotions."
Something flared in the Sith's eyes, and he took a step towards Tarkin, towering over him for a moment. "I have no emotions, governor. You will not speak of such things."
Tarkin felt a chill run down his spine, but he still stood up to the young apprentice. In fact, he had to bark out an amused snort. "Saying you don't have emotions is like saying the senate is a pristine establishment of saints. If you supposedly don't have emotions, then what, pray tell, has been happening to you over the past eight days?"
The Sith's mouth twitched, and his eyes grew even stormier. They almost looked yellowish for a second, and Tarkin was reminded strikingly of the emperor.
Well, then. Perhaps he should back down a bit… but only a bit. "Milord, I only mean to help you. You cannot keep brooding and letting… whatever is wrong… interfere with your work, your health, your life."
In a heartbeat the anger was gone. Uncertainty fell upon his features, and he backed away from the grand moff, breathing erratically. "I… I don't know what's wrong. I can't… I…"
He grew silent, facing away. Tarkin waited patiently merely for Vader's sake; he knew the boy wouldn't keep talking about it unless he was forced to, but he'd let him try to regain his own composure first. He only gave the boy a minute. "What is going on, milord?"
"I don't know!" Vader yelled, whirling around. His eyes truly were yellow now, but in the blink of an eye they were blue again, and filled with fear. "I close my eyes and I see her. Her blood's everywhere I look. She's a traitor. Master told me to kill her. I killed her. I killed her, I killed her…"
His voice died, and he looked at the ground. He looked like he was so lost, but in another mood swing he was suddenly angry again, marching over to Tarkin. "You should have left me alone, you should have let me spar—I need more training, I need to—I don't—Master ordered her death, she—she chose it, she was so stupid, and I—I did the right thing, the right thing—she's gone, it's done, she's supposed to be gone—why the hell are we out here?!"
He had to admit, though Tarkin never cowered, it was… unnerving to have a completely destabilized trained killer yelling at him. Taking a calming breath, he stepped slightly away from the Sith Lord, giving them both some space to breathe. "We're here for this very reason, milord. Yell if you like, but get it out – bottling it in is what's doing this to you. The senator was an attractive woman; it makes sense that you'd be… slightly attached to her. She was intelligent, feisty… she would have been a good match."
Again, Vader's anger vanished, but this time he looked at Tarkin with astonishment. The grand moff dully wondered if he should tally how many times the boy had a mood swing; he was fairly certain he'd exceed a hundred before their walk was finished. That aside, the conversation had turned in a direction that he hadn't been expecting, but its outcome was a crucial moment if he chose to continue this train of thought; he had to indicate that he liked Amidala as much as Vader, and this somehow was a miscalculation on Palpatine's part. If the emperor had Vader kill someone he was fond of and another person reinforced Vader's deepest doubts in his master, it might start tipping the scale in Tarkin's favor.
"Just imagine if she were still here," Tarkin continued carefully. "What a double agent she would have been. It's a shame the emperor made such a… miscalculation."
He could see the cogs turning in the young Sith's mind. Vader fidgeted, uneasy and enthralled all at once, looking queasy and excited and giddy and nervous. Tarkin had never before suggested that Palpatine made mistakes; it was borderline treason most days with as many plots as there were to overthrow the man. Not that any of the other plots mattered; there hadn't been any other serious internal threat to the throne since Palpatine had Vader kill Grand Moff Ketyr and his entire family two years ago. That incident had sealed into many upstarts' minds the realization that the Sith was not to be trifled with. Of course, Tarkin knew far better how to play this game than most, and he had the key player right in front of him.
"M… M-Master doesn't miscalculate," Vader argued feebly, his resolve quickly failing him. Tarkin had hit the right spot.
"The man has been on the throne for a very long time," Tarkin acknowledged. "That is proof of his power. But it can also lead to complacency, and that dulls the mind, milord. You can never rest easy when you hold the Empire in your hands."
The air was thick with tension, and even the birds seemed to grow silent in anticipation of what would happen next. The two faced each other, one strong and full of power, the other fracturing under uncertainty. The stand-off ended abruptly when Darth Vader shook his head sharply. "Master knows what to do. He created this Empire. You don't get to question him. What he says is what you do."
"Milord, you aren't a boy anymore," Tarkin noted with some sincerity. In many respects the Sith was still a youngling who had been thrown into affairs far before he should have, but those affairs demanded a man, not a child. Vader had risen to the challenge brilliantly in all ways but one, and this final problem – his apparent lack of any kind of emotional development – was what they now had to overcome.
Tarkin had to be careful with this train of thought, though; Vader's blind loyalty would serve his purposes perfectly, but he had to ensure he removed all ties to Palpatine first. In order to do that, he had to give the boy insight, and somehow he had to balance that with not making Vader too uppity. "When a teacher tells a youngling to do something, the youngling complies because the teacher said so. When someone tells a man to do something, he chooses to comply or not based on his own principles. You are a Sith Lord; your principles are based upon the facts of life that all reasonable people understand: power is everything. Emperor Palpatine holds the power, but if he does not keep vigilant, he will lose it, and he's already making mistakes."
Vader's uneasiness grew, and his brow furrowed. His body grew tenser than before. He said nothing.
"Tell me, milord: what do you think of Amidala's death?"
"Master wanted her dead. I killed her." He replied quickly and sharply.
"I know the facts, Lord Vader," Tarkin crossed his arms, not backing down. "I want to know your opinion on the matter."
The Sith swayed unevenly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. After a few seconds he started to move again, unable to stay still. He brushed past Tarkin, who didn't miss a beat and strode alongside him. The Sith led them through several paths, turning sharply and stochastically, leaving the grand moff slightly dizzy.
After a few minutes of this, the Sith stopped abruptly, breathing heavily. "I've no opinion on the matter. I do as Master commands."
"You're burying the problem again, milord," Tarkin noted. "That will only hamper your ability to do your duty."
"Then what do you suggest?!" Vader whirled on him, his eyes yellow once again. "What do you want, governor?"
"I only want you to be well again," the grand moff answered delicately, keeping his face composed. "I'm asking your opinion so you can simply let it out. If you do so, it will help. You can trust me, milord."
Something he said clicked within the Sith Lord's mind, and he calmed immediately. "I trust you."
Tarkin smiled. "Then tell me."
Vader's eyes flickered from the grand moff to anywhere else, and he shook his head. "I don't know."
Tarkin held back a sigh of annoyance. "You can't describe anything?" When the Sith remained silent, he asked, "How long did it take for you to kill her? When did you follow your orders?"
"I…" Vader hesitated, looking at his feet. His hands fiddled with his tunic. "I… waited a few hours."
"Normally you fulfill his orders immediately," Tarkin noted pointedly. "Why did you delay?"
"I don't know."
"Milord," Tarkin stepped towards him, making Vader look him in the eye. "You know."
Vader took a step away from him, panic steadily growing in his eyes. "I… no. I have no wants, nothing. I have nothing."
"People who have nothing often want something," Tarkin noted, adding, "Force knows you deserve it."
"D-deserve?" The word seemed almost foreign to the apprentice.
"The senator seemed to think so," Tarkin said, his smile returning. Yes, this was the bait that she'd used on the boy. It seemed to be working splendidly for him as well. "As I recall, you said she thought you were worth the effort. I suppose she thought you… deserved her notice."
Vader almost latched onto the concept, but then something grew in him, and he balled his fists, storming by the governor. "She made her choice."
Intrigued, Tarkin followed him. "Her choice?"
"She chose Éothen."
"You killed her out of jealousy?"
"I killed her because Master told me to." Vader snapped, stopping. "Those were my orders. Kill her. I killed her. I killed her—what more do you want me to say?!"
"I want you to say why it bothers you," Tarkin answered firmly.
Before the Sith Lord could speak, another sound pierced the air. Both men jumped, glancing around, and Tarkin eventually recognized the noise just as the thing producing it came into view. A little girl was wandering around, her red pudgy face covered in tears as she wailed. Amidst the slobbering sobs the grand moff could make out that the girl was crying for her parents, who she'd apparently lost in the maze. Irritation coursed through him; of all the blasted interruptions, it had to be a pathetic youngling squealing? He had neither patience nor tolerance for younglings; it was one of the main reasons he'd been fairly distant to Vader before he'd become interesting.
The distraction served Vader's purposes well, considering he took the opportunity to turn away and compose himself. Tarkin saw the cracked pieces of his usual façade come back into place, and in less than a minute he was the cold, heartless Lord of the Sith the Empire knew him to be. The governor grew even more frustrated, particularly as the girl waddled closer to them.
Just as Tarkin was going to speak to the brat, Vader opened his mouth first. He'd done a remarkable job of finally calming himself, and if it hadn't been for their previous conversation the grand moff wouldn't be any the wiser about his emotional problems. "If you're attempting to get your parents' attention, you should widen your search radius."
Exasperation flooded the grand moff. Honestly, if there was one person even less equipped to deal with younglings, it was Darth Vader. As it was, the girl didn't heed his advice anyway, still screaming as loudly as possible. Tarkin was debating how best to shut her up and find her parents so they could resume their conversation when he felt the hairs on his body stand on edge. A crackling sound emitted from beside him, and when he glanced he saw Vader holding some electricity in his hands, ready to strike. The grand moff grew alarmed and immediately grabbed the man's wrist. "Milord, no."
Vader looked at him curiously. "She's not listening. She should be punished."
Several images of a bloody, broken boy flashed through Tarkin's mind before he hastily shoved them down. "Killing her does not let her learn the lesson."
"She won't die." Vader noted. Before Tarkin could argue further the man realized something and the electricity vanished. "I understand. People are delicate."
Tarkin ignored the remark and focused on the girl. The sooner he could get rid of her the better. "Where did you last see your parents, youngling?"
The girl tried to answer but was sobbing too much to do so. Attempting to hide his irritation, Tarkin instead turned it into a learning opportunity. Facing the Sith apprentice, he motioned to the girl. "Let this be a lesson, milord. Pacify her without harming her."
At the very least, this would be entertaining. More importantly, it would give Tarkin time to strategize on the conversation to come.
Darth Vader glanced at the girl before looking curiously back at Tarkin. Eventually he sighed and stepped towards her, towering over her. "Stop crying."
Now, where should he start once the brat was gone? He'd have to attack more directly, but he had to be careful. His main goal was to ensure Vader could function again, that he could get rid of the flashbacks he'd apparently been having. Tarkin recalled briefly back in the Clone Wars that he'd once passed a briefing room filled with soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and a counselor had been in there talking to them. Group therapy sessions were the best the Republic could offer, and even then they were rare. What was it that the counselor had been saying? Tarkin honestly couldn't remember; he hadn't been particularly interested in the conversation at the time.
"I said stop crying."
Well, if he couldn't remember what the counselor had said then he'd have to try another approach. Had he himself ever had a traumatic incident where he'd received unwelcome flashbacks? Tarkin honestly couldn't recall any sort of scenario; even when he'd been held prisoner back in the war it hadn't left him too scarred. If he ever had some sort of unbidden thought he'd quickly let his current duties sweep it away. He just never let anything bother him that much; he was never invested in anything or anyone but himself, after all.
"I—I-I w-want my m-mommy-y-y!"
"Simply stating that isn't going to bring her. You have to search for her."
He supposed he could just try to mentally beat the flashbacks out of the boy. It didn't make sense to tell him to simply think about his current duty instead, however, because honestly, his current mission revolved around the senator. Apart from that, he had nothing else to do, nothing else to occupy his mind.
"I—want—my—mommy!"
"I just said—"
"MOMMY! DADDY!"
Perhaps that was what Tarkin could do for him, then. He'd wanted Vader to face the matter fully, but it seemed that doing so might cause physical harm to people, most notably Tarkin himself. The possibility of this evening was both an opportunity and a concern, then; Vader might take to the task well, using it as a distraction, or he might falter…
Thud.
Tarkin blinked, focusing once more and looking to his right where Vader had been talking to the girl. The young Sith stood over the girl, who was lying prone on the ground. Alarm spiked through him, and he took a hasty step forward until he saw the girl's back rise and fall. He looked at Vader. "What the blazes did you do?"
"I pacified her," Vader replied, glancing at Tarkin calmly. "She's unharmed."
Turning, the Sith Lord walked in another direction. Tarkin looked between him and the unconscious girl and sighed heavily, scooping the youngling into his arms. "We can't just leave her here, milord. We have to find her parents."
The apprentice flicked his wrist sharply and the girl awoke with a scream, making Tarkin jump and almost drop her. When he looked up to ask the Sith why the blazes he'd startled her awake, the man was gone.
The day was a relatively sunny one, bringing warmth to the air around him. Birds chirped in the distance, and the sound of a small waterfall cascading down different levels of a cliff side made itself known whenever the birds were silent. The large circular building that served as the main council chamber was a little stuffy, but open windows provided a breeze that brought some relief. Twelve chairs faced the center of the circle, but only two of them were occupied as Qui-Gon entered the room.
Jedi Masters Shaak Ti and Mace Windu stood when he approached. The three were the only remaining Masters from the Order before the Republic fell, and though Qui-Gon refused to sit on the new Council, he still spoke often with them.
"What's the situation with the Imperial fleet?" Qui-Gon asked.
"They left Wild Space; they weren't anywhere near us," Mace replied, and though the news was good, his expression was stony. He didn't think this was a reprieve, and he didn't like the situation. Qui-Gon didn't either; long ranged scanners had picked up on a large fleet lingering in Wild Space a few days ago, and though Mace had just said the fleet had left, it seemed only a matter of time before the Empire discovered the enclave.
"Have we looked at the possibility of new locations?" Qui-Gon asked, regarding Shaak Ti. Mace had unofficially become the head of their military forces and consequently his main focus was solely external. Shaak, on the other hand, had been tasked with caring for all the Jedi in the enclave and overseeing their training. There were only roughly a couple hundred people here, which seemed miniscule in comparison to what their numbers used to be, but it was still a decent amount, and it kept her quite busy.
"The Council is to decide on that later today," she replied. "It's likely we'll send out several Master/Padawan teams to find a suitable place, but we don't want to attract too much attention."
Qui-Gon sighed. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. The Jedi were supposed to have eliminated Darth Vader and proceeded to Coruscant in the chaos that would have ensued. That plan had fallen to pieces after Rahm's and Galen's deaths. So what were they going to do? "And the Rebels?"
"You say they've found a planet for their base?" Mace reiterated Qui-Gon's earlier report, which he had obtained from Almusian the day of the smuggler's departure. "We can't join them immediately, unfortunately. First we have to assess the threat that the Empire presents to us personally, and we have to ensure the safety of the enclave. Then we can go to Hoth." He paused for a moment before adding, "Consequently, we have to reassess the situation with Darth Vader."
"Is it wise to be attacking him so soon after our loss?" Shaak questioned with concern.
"We don't have much time to waste," Mace replied. "His forces took a hit after that battle. If we wait too long, Death Squadron will be fully operational once more, and at this point we don't have the resources to handle that. I can't risk my fleet; it's the only one we have left, apart from a couple of salvaged frigates that serve as orbital protection for the enclave."
"Would it be prudent to even face his entire fleet at this point, then?" Qui-Gon asked. "Our window of opportunity is quickly closing, and now we have to worry about the possibility of the Empire discovering the enclave."
"I understand that," Mace sighed, gazing outside the windows. His frustration rippled through the Force briefly, interrupting the calm aura that blanketed the enclave, but he released it into the Force with a small nod of his head. "The Rebel Alliance took an enormous hit, and we're down one fleet. This would usually be the time to rebuild and heal, but they're still coming after us. They won't relent, and we've already made our presence known. Palpatine won't wait for us to grow strong once more. We have to act now; we have to face Vader."
"How?"
Mace turned and looked at Qui-Gon. "I understand that your new initiates have dealt with him. We don't even have a visual ID on the man, Qui-Gon; gather what you can from them."
"They weren't trained when they interacted with him," Qui-Gon reminded him. "They'll only be able to tell us the superficial details."
"Perhaps a meditative session can help us all view their memories of him," Shaak suggested.
Qui-Gon sighed, shaking his head. "I don't think that will work for some time. Obi-Wan is taking to meditation rather well, but Siri is fighting it. She will come around, but it'll take time, and neither is skilled enough to handle sharing memories with us."
"Then you'll have to find out the old fashioned way," Mace pressed on relentlessly. "Ask them for what they know about Vader. We'll have to formulate a new strategy on how to eliminate him, and their information will be beneficial to that plan."
Qui-Gon bowed. "Yes, Master."
Leaving the building, Qui-Gon squinted slightly against the sunlight and pondered the matter. He'd wondered if he would run into Vader on Coruscant, but that hadn't been the case, and he still wasn't sure if what he'd been sensing on that planet was purely Palpatine's doing or a conglomeration of everything that had gone wrong over the years. The Dark Side had clouded his mind so thoroughly while there that he hadn't even sensed the danger Amidala had been in until it was too late. Sighing, he released that particular frustration and loss into the Force; feeling guilty over her death wouldn't bring her back, and it wouldn't help anyone now.
Qui-Gon enveloped himself in the Light Side's warm embrace and took a deep breath, sensing out Obi-Wan and Siri. It was still a little strange to train them now and just look at how much they'd grown since the last time he'd seen them. Their connection to each other was very strong, a bond forged through love, the union of marriage, and through their sensitivity to the Force. In terms of their other abilities, however, they still had a great amount of work to do. Siri was catching on rather quickly to lightsaber combat (at least what little he would allow her to learn – Qui-Gon had been quite adamant that she would go slowly with her lightsaber training due to her pregnancy), and Obi-Wan's strength seemed to be in creating a connection to the Force. They both listened to Jedi teachings and tried to assimilate them, though each had their own quarrels with the matter. Despite all the hurdles they had to overcome, however, they were doing quite well for only having trained barely a week.
Of course, though they opened themselves up to Qui-Gon readily, he could indeed sense that they knew more than they were letting on. He wasn't sure why they would withhold information, but he suspected it was more of a matter of attachment to those involved in the secrets than any actual mistrust towards him. Still, he wasn't sure what they could tell him about Darth Vader that the Jedi couldn't find out through other means apart from a visual ID.
The couple sat near a training stage where some other initiates were practicing with training droids. Siri watched the initiates deflect blaster bolts while Obi-Wan read information from a data pad out loud. As Qui-Gon drew closer he heard the words that were so familiar to him they were ingrained into his soul.
"There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony. There is no death; there is the Force."
"Hm," Siri pondered the matter as Qui-Gon silently approached. "No passion? I take it the Jedi aren't much into partying, then?"
"You'd be surprised," Qui-Gon intoned, startling the two slightly. "It depends on the Jedi."
Obi-Wan and Siri stood and bowed respectfully, to which Qui-Gon nodded in return. Then he said, "The Jedi Code is central to all of our teachings, principles, actions, and beliefs. If you have any questions about it, now is the time to ask."
Siri shrugged. "It's pretty straightforward, honestly."
Obi-Wan, however, gazed thoughtfully into the distance and then looked Qui-Gon in the eye. "Do the Sith have a code?"
"Yes," Qui-Gon replied, pleased with Obi-Wan's curiosity. "Their teachings are opposite to ours. Peace is a lie to them; only passion matters. Their greatest concern is to gain power."
The two looked elsewhere, contemplating the matter in their own ways. Qui-Gon used this as a good opportunity to talk about Vader. "You've met a Sith, you know."
"Vader." Siri spoke the word with contempt, and the Force rippled sharply as she was filled with a fiery hatred for the man.
"Be mindful of your emotions," Qui-Gon warned her gently. "Darth Vader has done many despicable things, but giving in to your anger will only make you similar to him."
"You'd probably be pretty hard pressed to find someone who doesn't hate him, even here," Siri argued in an even tone, her brow furrowed slightly. "Surely you don't feel nothing about the guy."
"The Sith are only out for themselves, and they bring death and destruction to the galaxy. I stand against them," Qui-Gon acknowledged. "But I do not hate them. Letting your emotions guide your decisions leads you down a dark path, one that often leads to anguish and pain."
The Force shuddered sharply, as if it had been pulled back and released and was vibrating in response to the violent action. Obi-Wan shifted slightly in his place, looking uncomfortable and miserable. Qui-Gon folded his arms, studying the young man. Obviously his words had brought forth this reaction; he supposed Obi-Wan was recalling some incident that mirrored the statement. He wouldn't press the matter for now; Obi-Wan seemed agitated enough, and Qui-Gon had to get to the point. He would discuss this particular incident later, perhaps this evening after dinner.
"Know that Darth Vader must be defeated," Qui-Gon finally said. "But do not let hatred consume you. What did he do that garnered such strong feelings from you?"
"His track record isn't exactly the best," Siri said, suddenly closing herself off from the conversation. Through the Force she couldn't hide anything, but Qui-Gon wouldn't enter her mind; he respected her privacy, and she'd sense he was perusing her thoughts. But what was she keeping from him?
"I need you to tell me everything you know about Vader," he told them. "After all, there is no ignorance; there is knowledge. We have to know our enemy before we can face him."
"He's unflappable," Obi-Wan said, his gaze locking on to Qui-Gon. "Nothing can get to him. If the Jedi mantra is about having no emotion, then I'd almost call him a Jedi if it weren't for his actions. But you can't sense the kind of peace from him that you sense here. He's… cold. And manipulative."
This last statement garnered a reaction from Siri, who quickly glanced at Obi-Wan with a sharp gaze. Some unspoken dialogue occurred between the two and the Force rippled once again, and Obi-Wan grew silent. Qui-Gon watched them closely, but he only asked, "What does he look like?"
Siri described him, and as she did so, Obi-Wan slowly walked away from the conversation, sitting off in the distance and focusing on the data pad. He stretched out his hand, focusing on summoning it to him, and the pad trembled a little before lazily floating a few centimeters off the ground. It hovered in place before finally plopping stubbornly into the grass once more, and Obi-Wan sighed irritably. Qui-Gon watched this, but he paid keen attention to Siri, creating a mental picture of the man they would have to face. It was an odd image to make; apparently he didn't have any defining marks to indicate his prestige or status as a Sith apprentice, which added all the more to his mystique – after all, Darth Vader was the strangest Sith anyone had ever heard of. He was ruthless to be sure, but he never did anything outside of his tasks. He did nothing more than what was necessary. It was too ordered, too pristine, too organized. There was no chaos to it, no sadistic pleasure, no passion. Vader seemed more like a warped Jedi than an actual Sith, and Siri and Obi-Wan's brief description of him only seemed to add to that. Qui-Gon was interested in meeting this man; he entertained a brief hope that he would be assigned to the team that would engage him.
After Siri finished, Qui-Gon thanked her and glanced briefly at Obi-Wan. Siri ended the conversation there, bowing and saying she and her husband really needed to review the Code, adding that they'd be pretty pathetic Jedi if they couldn't memorize their core beliefs. It was a quick and obvious avoidance of the topic, but they'd provided enough information, so he would bring it up later instead of press the matter now.
Once the Jedi Master left, Siri scooped up the data pad that Obi-Wan had been trying to summon and walked over to him. As she tossed it to her husband, he remarked, "Why did you want me to avoid mentioning that?"
Siri sighed heavily. Obi-Wan had been on the verge of telling Qui-Gon about Vader's manipulation of Padmé, but she'd stopped him. "It's not like that's pertinent to anything anymore."
It was true; Padmé's romantic feelings for Vader didn't matter anymore. She'd been in love with him, but nothing had happened apart from that fact itself. Siri saw no reason to speak ill of the … the… of her sister-in-law, particularly since she was still convinced it was one of Padmé's stupidest decisions. It was possible that it led to her downfall as well, though that was probably a mystery that would frustratingly never be solved; Intelligence had been all over the scene when Padmé was found, so the general consensus was that an agent had done the dirty deed. Still, Siri and Obi-Wan both suspected Vader had something to do with it, even if it was just giving the order.
When she was found murdered. Murdered. Padmé was—Siri shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, shoving the world shattering fact out of her mind.
"I suppose," Obi-Wan muttered, snapping her out of her internal crisis. He glanced at the data pad once more. "But it isn't wise to keep secrets from him."
"Do you really want the Jedi and the Rebel Alliance to remember Padmé as the woman who is—was so hormone driven and idiotic that she fell in love with the Empire's evilest enforcer?" Siri remarked, throwing him a slightly accusatory look. "Do you really want them to think of her as just one more moron who thought she could fix somebody?"
"Padmé could make foolish mistakes, but she was never hormone driven and you know it," Obi-Wan replied somewhat defensively.
"Obi, what else could have caused that? I'm still baffled about it."
Obi-Wan was silent, and for once Siri couldn't read him. He looked concerned, but he was hiding some suspicion even from her. Before she could say anything, he cleared his throat and said, "Come on, let's get back to figuring out the Code."
Siri sighed, watching the other initiates train as her husband read the words once again. Her hand wandered to her abdomen and she touched the Force just enough to sense the baby's presence. With a soft smile, she closed her eyes and calmed herself, pushing the concerns over Padmé and Vader out of her mind. The enclave felt like a strange safe haven from everything, including her own worries. The baby was safe here, her husband was safe here, they were training to become Jedi, and Al would return soon. He would.
Even the issue of the Rebels seemed so distant, particularly with the calming presence of so many Jedi defiantly pushing the darkness away. Siri had never really understood what they meant by the Dark Side until she'd come here; it had been like entering a warm, welcoming home after being blind and freezing in a storm for so long.
"There is no emotion; there is peace."
Yes, yes, no emotion. Siri could get behind that – at least she could try to. She would be the first person to admit that she had a temper, but she could try to curb it. Still, even she needed a release, so she hoped the Jedi had a better alternative to getting angry than just meditating.
Obi-Wan shifted in place, lowering the data pad to his lap. "If there's no emotion… then is there no love as well?"
Siri looked at him, a little startled. "I should think not. Besides… besides, Qui-Gon had said yesterday that loving is fine, it's just attachment that's a problem."
"Attachment," he muttered, glancing at a small brook that cut through the training grounds. "It's a thin line between loving and attachment, then, isn't it?"
"We can balance it just fine, Obi," Siri smiled, leaning over and kissing him reassuringly.
Obi-Wan received the kiss tenderly, and he smiled in return when she pulled away. Stars it was good to just see him smile again – Obi-Wan had never been an overtly emotional man, but she hadn't seen him show any sort of sign of relief, contentment, or happiness since that horrific day. She'd had little relief herself, but here she felt safe, and she was always at home when Obi-Wan was around, so she'd started to shake the shock and rage off of her. Of course that left the pain as well, but she had him and the Jedi and their training, and just the sheer distance between Ghanu'jivo and all the hell occurring in the galaxy. It was enough to let her not worry about it constantly, to not remember it… but then her mind found other ways to occupy itself; she'd been up practically all night thinking about Al, but she knew he'd be safe. He had to be safe.
Obi-Wan's eyes briefly looked somewhere beyond Siri, and then they twinkled with dry amusement. "Careful, dear; I think you're scandalizing the locals."
Siri looked and saw a few initiates watching in horror at such a display of affection and she had to laugh. "Sensitive little things, aren't they?"
"Naïve," Obi-Wan corrected with gentle humor.
Siri gazed back at her husband once more and she placed her hand on his thigh to get his attention. When their eyes locked, she gave him a reassuring smile. "Obi… you're okay, right? I mean, I got to let it out yesterday… if you want to talk…"
Obi-Wan rarely showed his inner turmoil to anyone, but after they'd married he'd been far more trusting and open to Siri. The past few days, however, he'd been acting as if the years of helping each other through their weakest, darkest points hadn't even happened; he used the same politeness, poise, and control around her that he used with anyone else. Sure, he was more affectionate with her, but he hadn't been open. It wasn't upsetting her, but it was worrying her – he had to have a release, and she was sick of leaning on him constantly. She wanted to help him.
Obi-Wan swallowed. One of his cheeks tightened slightly, and his eyebrow twitched - telltale signs that he wanted to say something, but for the life of her, Siri couldn't figure out what it was. She could normally read him better than this; it seemed that he was learning proper Jedi decorum, but he was learning how to shut even her out, not just strangers. Before she could say anything, he picked up the data pad once more. "Yes, let's talk about this Code, shall we? After all, it says there is no ignorance, and heaven knows we have a lot to learn about the Jedi Order."
Siri was far too stubborn and knew her husband too well to let him slip out of it that easily. "Yeah, sure, let's talk about the Code. Does it mention how you're not supposed to lie to those you trust? Or how you're not supposed to keep secrets from them?"
"I'm fairly certain the Code doesn't mention that specifically," Obi-Wan replied dully, stiffening slightly and turning his attention towards the pad. "But we can look it up."
"Obi-Wan."
"There is no emotion, Siri." Obi-Wan said firmly, his eyes closing tightly. "There is peace."
Let it go. Siri sighed heavily, relenting. Fine. She wouldn't push the matter. For now. "Yeah, and there's no something else, too… passion, I think?"
"Yes."
"There is no passion; there is wide-eyed naïveté and a lack of spunk and life altogether."
"Siri." Slight exasperation, but tinged with amusement. Good.
"Forgive me, oh mighty Padawan," Siri bowed to him in an exaggerated fashion. "There is serenity. And then a whole bunch of other stuff that I can't remember."
Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "We have a lot to learn."
Tarkin was often too busy planning and maintaining things to really look over his life in general, but sometimes in moments of sheer frustration and exasperation he would wonder how in all his years of military and political prestige he'd end up in the most absurd situations. Wandering around the park, hopelessly lost – in the maze he'd specifically chosen to guide Vader – with a screaming youngling just happened to be one of those absurd situations, and his patience was running thin very quickly. Honestly, the only reason Tarkin was a married man was because his wife held political power and riches necessary to further his position – he was not a family man, and he was most certainly not a fatherly man. He had no tolerance for younglings – they were chaotic, noisy, needy, and just impossible to deal with. That's what sitters were for, or, even better, droids.
Besides, he already had a youngling to look after, and that one wasn't nearly as irritating. And he actually served a useful purpose.
After what felt like an eternity, the grand moff ran into a frantic looking mother and was happily relieved of his slobbering, noisy burden. As soon as he got away from the brat's wailing, he grabbed his comlink and called Vader, who subsequently didn't answer. Tarkin allowed himself an uncustomary growl of annoyance since he was alone, and he proceeded to search the maze for the next hour and a half before finally running into the Sith apprentice.
Vader was sitting at the edge of the maze, having found the exit. He gazed off into the distance, lost in thought as he observed some waterfalls in another part of the bio-dome. Tarkin crossed his arms irritably. "I called you several times, Lord Vader."
The young Sith either didn't hear him or was ignoring him. In either case, he looked dazed, as if something about the waterfalls put him under some sort of spell and he was completely lost in thought.
Tarkin cleared his throat. "Milord."
Vader jumped slightly, startled out of his musings, and he stood. He offered a tip of his head to the grand moff, saying nothing.
"What have you been doing for the past few hours?" Tarkin demanded, making his displeasure at Vader's actions quite evident.
"Walking," he answered, and Tarkin felt his irritation diffuse a little. Was he actually doing his usual morning routine? If that was the case, then he should be more stable than he was before… so why had he not noticed Tarkin's approach?
The grand moff's musings were interrupted when he felt his stomach grumble in protest. Sighing heavily, he checked his chronometer and wasn't surprised to see that it was already midday. Bidding the Sith Lord follow him, the grand moff exited the maze and walked around its perimeter, not keen on getting lost once again. The two trudged along in silence, one too exhausted to bring anything up while Force only knew what was going on in the other's mind. In either case, from what little observation Tarkin was making, it seemed that Darth Vader wasn't as distracted as he had been. Instead he just seemed out of it entirely; he paid attention to nothing at all, which was in contrast to his earlier behavior where anything and everything seemed to bother him.
Tarkin recalled where their conversation had been interrupted, but he waited for them to get some food before he brought anything else up. The grand moff was tempted to take Vader to the Crystal City, but despite the exclusivity and privacy of the booths, they still had to walk by everyone there to reach that point. Tarkin had no intention of making a spectacle of Darth Vader until he was convinced the man could handle it; the gala tonight would be enough of a trial.
The two headed into the safety of the palace, and Vader visibly relaxed as soon as they passed the threshold. Without having to prompt him the Sith Lord headed straight for the dining hall, and they sat together. Servants were already prepared for the lunch crowd and brought out the usual delicacies, though it was a special treat for Tarkin since he normally took lunch near the senate or his office at the naval base.
As Tarkin pondered how best to reopen their previous conversation, Vader suddenly spoke. "Governor, why do people hug each other?"
Tarkin blinked. What sort of random question was that? This had to do with the senator. "Typically it's to show affection."
"Is affection reassuring?"
"It can be," the governor replied, leaning back in his seat and studying the Sith apprentice carefully. Where was he going with this?
"Is it only done on Naboo?"
"People all over the galaxy give hugs, milord," Tarkin said, feeling extremely odd and silly saying such a thing at any time, let alone while they sat in the palace.
"But not here."
Was he trying to talk about the emperor? "It's unprofessional."
"It's a sign of weakness." Vader immediately surmised. He stared sternly at his food and stabbed unnecessarily hard at some meat.
"Yes," Tarkin acknowledged slowly.
The Sith was unnervingly quiet after that, so Tarkin decided to turn the bizarre conversation in his favor. "Speaking of weaknesses, we still have to handle your issues with your recent mission."
"The senator… the senator was weak." Vader said before Tarkin could continue. "M… The emperor wanted her dead. It's done. My mission is complete. I've no need to dwell on it."
Tarkin watched him suspiciously. Either that time alone in the maze had done him wonders or he was lying. Honestly, either was a possibility at this point; Vader typically had little reason or concern to lie about anything to Tarkin, but it made sense that he would hide something he would view as a weakness… but it was also likely (though probably not as likely) that, with the time alone, he'd not only done his usual rituals but also pondered more on Tarkin's words and finally reached some resolution. But what about Tarkin's suggestions about Palpatine's weakness? He wouldn't bring it up now; such things required time and calculation, not sloppy impatience, but he had to bring it up again soon to ensure it stuck in the young Sith's mind, particularly as Tarkin's plans progressed.
Well, in either case, if the man seemed ready, it was time to put him to the test… and time to finally start their training. Tarkin could plant more seeds into Vader's mind this evening. "I'm glad you've sorted it out, then. If that's settled, we have to get to more important matters, namely your training. The emperor wishes for me to teach you how to better manipulate your foes and how to handle those who would manipulate you in return. To that effect, you're joining me at a gala tonight. I'll send you information about it in a few hours. The most powerful and prestigious members of Imperial society will be there, so be prepared. I will accompany you, and an associate of mine will serve as your escort."
The idea of a training mission made Vader straighten, and his cold blue eyes brightened. He took a deep breath and nodded, rising. Tarkin didn't bother pointing out that he'd barely eaten; that issue could be rectified at the gala. Now it was just time to return to his quarters and recharge; he could handle his usual duties all day long, he could even juggle dealing with tiresome senators, blast, he could even tolerate being head of the military and having to constantly be in contact with Intelligence and the navy and the army – but dealing with an emotionally unstable Darth Vader for just a few hours was more exhausting than all of those tasks combined. As such, he drank up the solitude, finishing his food and returning to his apartment.
Tarkin didn't realize how tired he actually was until he passed out on his sofa. When he finally started awake he immediately looked at his chronometer and discovered that he'd been out for about four hours. The gala would start shortly, and he had to meet up with his spy before then. Standing, he gave himself a minute to just breathe, relax, and enjoy the silence before he hastened to his room and dressed in formal attire. Tarkin didn't have to dress excessively; he simply wore his formal military uniform, which was a white tunic that almost reached his knees, white pants, black tall boots, and gold epaulets on his shoulders. He gauged the weather outside by testing the air on his balcony and figured it was prudent to grab a robe, so he completed the ensemble with a black cloak lined with gold cloth on the inside. Clipping the cloak closed at his neck, he contacted his spy and set off to meet her at the Crystal City; they had more than just the gala to discuss.
When he arrived he was quickly shone to a private booth and his spy arrived shortly after. She was dressed casually, waiting for him to assign her an identity. Before he concerned himself with that, however, he immediately asked, "How are affairs on Eriadu?"
"Quiet and under control, sir," she replied immediately.
Tarkin nodded. Good. That's how they needed to stay until it was the right time. "Now, about the gala, Lord Vader will know you are Intelligence, but everyone else… we will keep them unaware. You may choose your identity as it pleases you, so long as you and Lord Vader can agree on your cover stories."
"Will Lord Vader be inventing his own identity, or will that be at your discretion, sir?" she asked.
"Lord Vader will be a distant cousin of mine," Tarkin explained dismissively. His family was large enough that it was plausible; the Tarkin name had considerable clout and size on Eriadu. "He recently arrived on Imperial Center and I figured I'd let him accompany me to the gala so he can experience the… delights of high society."
"Perhaps it would be best if I accompanied as his wife," the spy suggested, tilting her head to the side. "It would avoid the flirtatious nonsense associated with the youth of high society, sir."
Tarkin almost laughed at the idea of anyone assuming Vader would flirt with anybody. Then he shuddered at the thought of Vader having a spouse – Force forbid the emperor thought of furthering the family line anytime soon… though that would be inevitable, he supposed. Even Tarkin had that duty, though he barely spent enough time with his wife to do so; he hadn't seen the woman in almost two years.
"Very well," he finally acknowledged. "I will send the basic information to Lord Vader and give you his comm. frequency; you two can collaborate on the details. I'll send time and coordinates so we can meet before we leave."
The spy nodded and stood, saluting him before departing. Tarkin sighed, leaning back in the booth. Tonight was going to be interesting – at best it would be enlightening for Vader, at worst… well, hopefully at worst it would be extremely entertaining.
I was actually going to include the gala in this chapter but things got way too long so I figured this was a good spot to cut it off. I hope you all can bear with me - the pacing will be slow at first, mainly because I figured both the readers and (especially) the characters needed a breather after the insanity of chapter 30, but also because since this is the start of part 2 I'm building up for what's to come. Don't worry, things will go bonkers very shortly.
Since I'm not sure when the next update will be, here's a little semi-sneak peek into the next chapter: Al finally finishes his mission, Vader Tarkin & spy go to the gala and hijinks ensue, Obi meets Mace Windu, Éothen & crew reappear, things get messy for one of our intrepid Sithies, and Tarkin makes a decision that causes quite the cascade of events!
Fun fact: Odeki's alias, Oki, is a shout out to ruth baulding's The Hatchling; if you love Obi-Wan centric stories, you will adore that fic.