Obi-Wan sifted through the medical bag that had been provided to him. Gauze? Check. Bacta patches? Check. Oh, there was tape too… he supposed he would need that for the gauze. And… wait, what was that? Or that rolled up thing? Was that more gauze? What was in the big bag? Or the case? Or… blast it, he was clueless.
Sighing, Obi-Wan sealed the seemingly endless pouches and slung the bag over his shoulder. He wasn't sure if he was more nervous about dealing with the Sith Lord one-on-one or treating him with the aid of tools he didn't recognize alongside his own scant medical knowledge.
The Rebel guards looked at him warily. He hoped they would let him pass after what had transpired with Siri. It seemed that Qui-Gon had notified them ahead of time, however, since they stepped aside to allow him entrance. When Obi-Wan gazed into the viewing area, he noticed with a jolt that no one was in there; Qui-Gon had apparently taken Siri elsewhere to speak with her. Should he wait? Or should he proceed? If Vader didn't sense Qui-Gon and Siri around, it would make this seem more informal, but… but…
There is no emotion; there is peace. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, calming himself. A Jedi didn't fear anything. He had to face this alone.
The cell door opened with a gentle hiss, and the air grew immensely colder. Obi-Wan entered, turning towards the seat where Vader would be. He was extremely unnerved to notice that the chair was unoccupied… and floating. Everything in the room was floating, save for one solitary figure lying on the ground, facing away from him.
How had the guards not noticed that Vader had somehow loosed his bonds?! Obi-Wan whirled back towards the door, keen on informing them, but the Force surged gently, practically shoving him away from the door. Was that Vader or was that the great mysterious energy field's not-so-subtle way of saying get your asteroid in there and talk? Obi-Wan shook his head at the rude imagined order – blast Siri had been influencing him too much.
Slowly making his way towards the man, Obi-Wan avoided the objects hovering in the air. It was as if he were in a room with zero gravity but he was completely unaffected. It was a very odd feeling. It didn't help that it was freezing in here – were the heating units not working?
Obi-Wan's head throbbed slightly, and the closer he got to Vader, the worse the headache became. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he tried to focus on anything but the pain. He eventually reached the Sith Lord and hesitated once more, peering over to see if the man was asleep or not.
Vader was staring at the wall, his eyes half closed. Obi-Wan looked nervously at the floating objects once more. He certainly hoped he didn't give the Sith Lord any reason to turn those into projectiles. Then he took another calming breath; he could handle this. He was good at speaking with others.
"I'm here to help you," he eventually said, surprised at how soft his voice sounded.
Vader's eyes opened fully, and his entire body stiffened. Obi-Wan waited patiently for a few seconds, tense with apprehension, but the Sith did nothing else. Eventually, Obi-Wan knelt in front of the man and placed the medical pack on the ground beside him. He paused, eying the Sith carefully. "Will you let me help you?"
Vader didn't answer, and the room grew colder. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if that was acquiescence; though his headache was intensifying, he wasn't getting any warnings from the Force. Leaning forward slightly, he stretched his hand over to the man, trying to prevent his fingers from trembling. As soon as his fingers brushed the Sith's shoulder, Vader hissed and tucked in tighter, and Obi-Wan jerked his hand away, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. His other hand reached for his lightsaber (though honestly, what the blazes could he do against a Force user who had infinitely more training than him?), but he didn't activate it. Vader grew still once again.
Obi-Wan sighed heavily, stressed and exhausted. This Sith was going to be the death of him. "I can't help you if you don't let me."
Vader remained motionless.
How could he make him speak? Obi-Wan tried having a one sided conversation instead of asking any questions. "You know, there are some who think you're redeemable. Some who say you can still be helped. Of course, there are others who claim you're too far gone. In either case, nothing will be accomplished if you continue as you are. It doesn't matter what your plans are, Vader; if you let yourself stay in disarray like this, you won't be able to do anything."
The Force hissed a warning. The objects floating in the air crashed to the floor. Intense power bore down on Obi-Wan's left wrist, and he gasped as his mind registered that the Sith had grabbed him. Yellow, feverish eyes glared into his own. The Sith looked like he wanted to say something, like he was screaming so many words all at once, but he didn't speak. His hand squeezed tighter, and Obi-Wan bit back a moan of pain.
Perhaps that wasn't the best way to handle the matter, then. Trying to ignore his drumming heartbeat and his growing panic, Obi-Wan fought his body's automatic reaction to strike back and grasped the Force, attempting to ease the pressure off his wrist. He imagined Vader's grip loosening, and as he did, the Sith's eyes darted down to his hand. The man released him, seemingly startled.
"You can use the Force," he whispered hoarsely, gazing at Obi-Wan with suddenly brilliant blue eyes. "You're one of them."
He really never had detected Obi-Wan's sensitivity to the Force? The Padawan shouldn't have been surprised, but he still was. He brushed past it quickly enough, though, and at least the man was now talking (but Force his wrist hurt). "One of them?"
Vader slinked back, slowly sliding to the floor as if he were returning to his previous dazed state. Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist, mirroring his earlier move. "Talk to me. I'm here to listen."
"I thought you were here to help," Vader muttered, not looking at him.
Obi-Wan smiled in spite of the situation. "That can be the same thing, you know."
The Sith Lord said nothing. Blast, there had to be some way to get him to talk. Obi-Wan shifted, sitting on the floor. He looked the young man over and began to notice little details he'd missed in all his previous dealings; old scars that were obvious on his unnaturally pale skin, a touch of ginger to his hair, powerful muscles, and such a young, young face. He also noticed the new features: angry red blisters from lightsaber burns, blood stains from recent wounds, blossoming bruises, bloodshot eyes, and a swollen lip.
Obi-Wan swallowed, and he eventually decided upon something that ought to garner a reaction. "Why did you ask Padmé for help?"
Vader tensed. The air grew immensely heavy, and Obi-Wan bent forward slightly, leaning on his arms. Then, as quickly as the weight had come, it left. Before Obi-Wan knew it, Vader was sitting up and staring at him, centimeters from his face. His brow was furrowed marginally, his lips parted ever so slightly. "Why did she say that?"
Breathe. Breathe. There is no emotion; there is peace. "She didn't want to keep a secret from me."
Alarm sang through the Force. "She told you everything?"
Obi-Wan paused. He wasn't sure if he should admit that she hadn't entirely trusted him… it might give Vader an advantage. But what if he did tell him? Would it matter? "She told me enough."
Vader looked down, losing his energy. Obi-Wan decided to get what he could while the man was still talking. "Why did you listen to me earlier?"
The Sith Lord slid to the floor once again, curling even tighter than before. The room was filled with heavy silence for a moment before Obi-Wan heard a broken whisper.
"Because you're her brother."
Something tingled in the back of Obi-Wan's mind. He let his body relax. The pressure on his chest eased away. The Force felt suddenly hollow, and the weight of the air vanished, though the room remained so frigid it stole his breath away.
Had Vader really cared about Padmé so much that he would listen to Obi-Wan simply due to association? Why would he have let her die, then? Why would he have allowed any of this? The Force didn't lie, and nor did the man's broken demeanor; he hated himself for allowing her to die. But…
Obi-Wan had to know. "How did she die?"
The pressure in the Force returned tenfold. Vader closed his eyes, trying to block out everything. Obi-Wan waited patiently, nearly holding his breath, desperate for the answer. It felt like an hour passed before he heard anything from the Sith.
"…I killed her."
He… he…
Obi-Wan's normal emotional control slipped. Waves of anger and grief destroyed his defenses. The room turned red hot. His entire body trembled. The truth tore through him, ripping his heart to shreds, making his mind scream, demanding that this be fixed, that justice be dealt. The words of the Jedi Code didn't even exist anymore. The image of Padmé's corpse flashed through his mind, and before Obi-Wan knew it, his hands had clamped down around Vader's throat. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt hot tears burn his eyes. His breathing became erratic, and all his energy was devoted to choking this man, to hurting the man who had done that to his sister, who had murdered his baby sister.
Vader didn't fight back. He stared at Obi-Wan with such sad eyes, with such emptiness and pain. He wanted this as much as Obi-Wan did.
And that was what made the Jedi Padawan realize what he was doing. For a second he still chose to strangle the Sith. Just for a second. And then he allowed himself to remember that he was Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a Jedi Padawan. He was not a murderer. And the man in front of him was nothing more than what Siri had already said: a broken mess.
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.
Obi-Wan let him go.
Crying freely now, all he could do was ask with a thick voice, "Why?"
Vader shook his head, gasping for air.
Obi-Wan didn't have the strength to continue this. Pulling away from the Sith entirely, he leaned against the wall, burying his face in his hand and trying to eliminate the quiet sobs that were racking his body.
"Master told me to."
Obi-Wan pulled his hand away to stare at the man. Hatred reared its ugly head once more, but Obi-Wan fought it with every ounce of strength he had left. He couldn't think straight, couldn't fathom how a man who obviously had feelings for his sister could just kill her because he was ordered to.
"Darth Vader was raised to think he was nothing more than a tool for the emperor. He has no opinion of himself. He was raised a soldier, he was raised to follow orders."
Listening to Padmé's words just hurt now. Had she realized the extent to which Vader would follow those orders? Had she even thought about whether the emperor would take her actions into account, would perceive her as the threat that she so obviously had been? Had Vader ever suspected it would happen? Had he somehow tried to prevent it?
Did the man even know any better?
Oh Padmé… why didn't you realize? Why didn't you see that this could only end badly?
"Master wanted her dead. So she's dead. I killed her." Vader was rambling now, completely oblivious to Obi-Wan's presence. "He wanted her dead. And now he's… I…"
The room seemed to swirl in front of Obi-Wan's eyes. The Force swelled with pain, anguish, loss… the emotions were so familiar to Obi-Wan, immediately recognizable. He'd sensed them from himself, from his wife… he'd sensed it from his parents, from Sola… it had surrounded him ever since Padmé's death.
But this didn't just have to do with Padmé.
Obi-Wan grew nervous. He recalled Siri's warning; Palpatine was a trigger for violence. This… he couldn't ask about the man. It was too dangerous. He had to at least establish some kind of rapport with the Sith Lord first.
Establish a rapport with his sister's murderer.
He really shouldn't be angry or disgusted. He knew that. He should feel pity. This man was obviously devastated by Padmé's death just as they had been. Though Obi-Wan had banished most of his immediate hatred away, however, he couldn't quite get himself to feel sorry for the Sith. He would need time for that. Time to recover from the realization that his hunch had been correct, time to meditate… he would just need time.
Now that he had gotten that out in the open, Obi-Wan wasn't even sure what else to talk about, what else to ask. He would have to discuss this with his master. Obi-Wan pulled farther away, preparing to stand, when he saw the medical bag and blatantly remembered his original 'reason' for coming here. Sighing, he opened the pouches and then reassessed the Sith.
"Don't."
Obi-Wan jumped, startled, and looked at Vader. "Don't? Don't what?"
Vader closed his eyes, sighing. Obi-Wan watched him for a while before slowly resuming what he had been doing earlier. When he pulled out some bacta paste, he looked at the Imperial again, hesitant. He would have to pull away the man's tunic, and… wait, come to think of it, Obi-Wan just realized that while everyone in the base had cold weather attire, Vader was dressed for a temperate climate. The man was probably half frozen.
Now that he looked closely, he did see that the man was shivering.
Pulling off his outer jacket, Obi-Wan laid it over Vader, who flinched and looked at him. The Force wavered, anguish turning to confusion, emptiness turning to aggravation. The Jedi watched the Sith carefully, and Light and Dark briefly clashed before the Darkness receded back into the Sith, consuming him from the inside.
"I said don't," Vader repeated firmly.
"You don't want me to help you?" Obi-Wan surmised. "Why?"
"I…" Vader tried to explain, but his voice cracked and he immediately looked away.
After waiting almost a minute, Obi-Wan started to prompt him. "You…?"
"Leave." Vader ordered, pulling himself into a sitting position and shrugging off Obi-Wan's jacket.
Obi-Wan was tempted to listen merely to get away from the Sith. Instead, he waited, and he listened to the Force. It was strangely silent, as if even it was holding its breath in anticipation. Anticipation. He was on the precipice of discovering something. He just had to hold out a little longer, push a little farther.
"And if I don't?" he queried, holding on to his resolve. "Will you kill me as you did Padmé?"
The words stung. Vader flinched and shifted back, looking at the floor. Obi-Wan grabbed his jacket and placed it around the Sith's shoulders, tightening it so the Sith had to turn his attention to him. Obi-Wan looked sternly into his eyes. "I said I would help you. That's what I'm going to do."
"Why?" Vader asked, suddenly confused and desperate all at once.
Obi-Wan blinked. Blast. He supposed he should have had an answer ready for that. "Because you're hurt."
Simple enough, right? Yet for some reason that answer didn't satisfy Vader at all. In fact, the Force suddenly cried out in warning, and Obi-Wan was on his feet in a heartbeat, reaching for his lightsaber when Vader grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him against the wall, pinning him. The Sith's face was twisted, darkened by the shadow of the harsh cell lighting and by some kind of monstrous hatred that was eating its way out of him. "I killed your sister! I've killed Jedi! I've killed thousands of Rebels, all of your operatives on Naboo—entire systems have fallen to my blade! Why are you helping me?"
The cell door opened and guards rushed in. Vader's attention shifted to them, and ferocity suddenly accompanied the hatred of his features. The Force's warnings turned to screams, and Obi-Wan grabbed the Sith by the wrists, garnering his focus once more. "Don't do it, Vader."
The guards raised their weapons, and Obi-Wan quickly looked at them. "Stop! It's fine."
The guards looked at him incredulously, probably wondering if he'd lost his mind (honestly he himself was beginning to wonder that); he no doubt looked ridiculous claiming the situation was under control whilst dangling from the Sith Lord's grasp. "Vader's going to put me down and calm himself. There isn't a problem. Please leave."
Obi-Wan then looked a little pleadingly at the Sith Lord. The Imperial watched him, his narrowed eyes slowly opening, and his face eventually relaxed into confusion as he let Obi-Wan's tunic slip out of his fingers. The Jedi's boots hit solid ground, and he leaned heavily against the wall to stop himself from shaking.
The guards slowly lowered their blasters. After one more suspicious look, they backed out of the cell.
"There," Obi-Wan said breathlessly, attempting to smile. "That's better, isn't it? We don't want a fuss."
Somehow his words upset the Sith even more, but this time he didn't get an angry outburst. Vader shuddered, lowering himself to his knees and elbows and holding his hair as if he were about to pull it out.
"You have to keep me alive," he panted. "You need me. All of you. Information. I'm a tool, I'm a tool, I'm always someone's damn thing to use…"
Obi-Wan stared at him, baffled and shocked. Where had this come from? He hadn't expected quite so much… self awareness; every Sith apprentice was nothing more than a means to an end in the eyes of their masters. The fact that Vader knew this and was only bothered now that his master was dead was… well, it didn't make any sense. On top of that, Padmé had mentioned that Vader had been raised in this manner, but that would imply several different outcomes: one, Vader wasn't aware of this and simply thought it was normal, or he was aware of it and had no qualms with it, or alternatively, he was aware and was bothered by it. It seemed like the third option was the most likely, but if it had bothered him before, why was he only showing it now? Nothing had changed in that the last time he and Obi-Wan had spoken they were enemies; that was still the case, wasn't it? Sure, Obi-Wan was Padmé's brother, and Vader in some twisted way had apparently assumed he could show respect for her by listening to Obi-Wan, but… blast it, this didn't quite make sense. If he was aware of his position in life and had issues with it, then why hadn't he refused to kill Padmé? Obi-Wan felt like some key piece of information was missing, and he was almost certain it had to do with Palpatine.
Of course, now his main problem was that he had a Sith Lord who was borderline hyperventilating, and he had to do something about it before the man worked himself into more of a frenzy. How had this gone from Obi-Wan strangling Vader to Obi-Wan having to calm Vader from his own random panic?
"Calm down," he said a little helplessly; he'd never been good at reassurances, and honestly he wasn't quite feeling up to assuring this particular man.
Vader shot to his feet again. "I've no more use, no more function—I failed, don't you get it? Get out!"
Obi-Wab tried to make himself sound braver than he felt, though he was genuinely curious as well. "How did you fail?"
Vader stared at him incredulously. Then he backhanded him. Obi-Wan grunted, falling and holding his lip, which slowly began to ooze blood. His mind whirled, both from near panic over any more possible retaliation (he was angry too, but he was smart enough to realize that picking a fight with Darth Vader would not end well) and, more importantly, from bewilderment. How in the blazes was he supposed to reach him? Why had his question upset him?
Palpatine. This had to do with Palpatine. Was it because he'd died? Did Vader somehow feel responsible for that? Why did the man even care? Obi-Wan bit back the question, knowing it would only lead to more unfortunate situations, at least with the state Vader was in. Instead, he slowly stood and wiped the blood away, asking, "Will you let me treat you now?"
Vader bit his lip, looking at the floor. He balled his fists, and the Force grew heavy for what felt like the millionth time. The man's mood swings were bringing Obi-Wan's headache back tenfold. He somehow needed to alleviate this tension; Obi-Wan wasn't sure why requesting to treat Vader's wounds was such a travesty, but it wouldn't do anyone any good to keep him this upset. He needed to change the subject.
"How old are you?" he suddenly asked; it would catch the Sith off guard and it would answer one of his many burning questions. After all, the more Obi-Wan looked at Vader's face the younger the Sith seemed.
Vader's head shot up as he locked eyes with Obi-Wan, brow furrowed. His expression mirrored the guards' earlier bewildered looks.
Well, yes, it was a random question considering what had just happened, but Obi-Wan was willing to try just about anything to figure out how to speak to him without starting a fight.
"Nineteen."
Obi-Wan blanched. Vader was a teenager?! Memories flooded him of that period of his own life; it had been a stressful time since he'd been with the service corps, and he remembered the constant issues of hormones, mood swings, fighting for more independence… Obi-Wan hadn't been a typical teenager, but he hadn't been immune to many of the trials they endured, either. There were times when he now looked back that he wondered why the Naboo allowed their people to do such things at such a young age; it was important for them to get exposure, but to put younglings in precarious, risky, stressful situations like that seemed a little too much sometimes. Still, it made him who he was now… but gods above… for a teenager to experience and do everything Vader had done?! Obi-Wan could hardly fathom it; the more it sank in the more he remembered hearing about so many atrocities Vader had committed over time, going as far back as six or seven years ago.
Force, no wonder the boy had so many issues. Was he simply a natural psychopath or had Palpatine molded him into one?
Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan approached the situation differently with this new information. If Vader was that young then Obi-Wan was his superior simply by seniority; he would brook no argument from the Sith. "Well, then. Let's sit down, shall we? I'll look over those wounds and get you some warmer clothes."
Vader shifted his weight, but he didn't sit. "…What happens when you die?"
Obi-Wan blinked. What? "Eh… I could give you a host of answers to that question, but no one really knows."
"Would you still care about what happens here?"
Where had this come from? "I don't know. On Naboo it's believed that when you die, if you're cremated your spirit returns to the planet; you become part of Naboo."
Vader stared at him, looking slightly concerned. After a few seconds he crossed his arms, his face darkening. "That's stupid."
Obi-Wan sighed heavily. Now he was sounding like a teenager. This conversation had taken the most bizarre turn he could imagine, and he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to continue it… but at least Vader wasn't in a fit of some sort. "Why?"
"Because it's pointless," Vader immediately answered loudly, growing agitated. "They would never do something that pointless."
"They?" Obi-Wan questioned carefully. When Vader didn't reply, it gave him the answer he expected: Palpatine and Padmé. A small part of the Jedi bristled, screaming that Vader had no right to ever think or speak about Padmé again after what he'd done, but Obi-Wan silenced it.
"Besides, what if you don't die on a planet? Do you become part of space?" Vader argued irritably.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, bemused. "I take it you've been thinking about this quite hard."
Vader's frustration melted away, and he was left looking exhausted and empty once more. He leaned heavily against the wall and sank to the floor. Obi-Wan took the quiet moment as an opportunity to organize the insanity that had occurred over the past few minutes (few minutes – it felt like an eternity). He felt himself grow colder as he thought about what Vader had done to Padmé, which he supposed was better than feeling angry about it. Looking at the boy he almost felt a sliver of pity worm its way into his heart, but then he remembered Padmé's funeral, and all he could do was just ask why over and over again.
"She loved you, you know," he said quietly.
Vader stiffened and lowered his head into his hands, snarling, "Love is a weakness; a filthy, disgusting weakness."
The Force trembled. Obi-Wan was flooded with overwhelming grief that wasn't his own, and he put the pieces together fairly quickly.
Vader had loved her in return.
The realization shook the Jedi, and he couldn't imagine how any brainwashing would compel the Sith to murder the woman he loved. He couldn't fathom how it must feel to just be him.
All right, perhaps he did feel just a miniscule amount of pity for Vader. But why the absolute obedience? Why? Surely the boy could have realized that the way he'd been raised was wrong, or at the very least he could have decided that no matter what way he'd been raised he didn't want to kill her.
Sighing, Obi-Wan grabbed the medical bag and knelt in front of the Sith. Somehow Palpatine must have left him no choice, though he couldn't figure what leverage the emperor would have had over the boy. In either case, both Vader and Obi-Wan were too fatigued to continue this, and so the young Sith allowed the Jedi Padawan to pull off his tunic and look over his numerous injuries. A lot of them seemed to be flesh wounds, even though the blistered burns looked fairly unpleasant and possibly needed more treatment than he could offer. The most notable wound, however, was a seemingly old one: a large bluish yellow stain that spanned most of his lower left abdomen. Obi-Wan cleaned everything and then put gauze over most of it, though it looked like some cuts would need stitches. Vader flinched as Obi-Wan smeared bacta over a particularly bad laceration that stretched almost ten centimeters, but apart from that he did nothing. Eventually Obi-Wan found every wound there was, and he repacked the medical supplies, standing. The Sith remained where he was, shivering from the cold.
Obi-Wan picked up his jacket and put it around the boy's shoulders once more. "I'll come back later."
With that, the Jedi Padawan left the cell. Outside in the viewing area there was a veritable platoon waiting for him. Obi-Wan immediately sensed their intent.
"Don't go in there; you'll only antagonize him," Obi-Wan advised after the cell door had closed.
"He needs to be put in binders… again," one of the guards said without much gusto; he didn't seem eager to put useless electrobinders on someone who could easily kill all of them. Smart man.
"He's calm now," Obi-Wan explained. "If you go in there and try to tie him to a chair, heaven only knows what he'll do." The guards still looked uncertain, so he added, "Besides, Master Ti ordered no one to enter his cell without her permission. Leave him be."
This last remark seemed to be enough incentive, and they slowly nodded and backed away from the door. One of them said he would inform his superiors that Vader wasn't bound, but apart from that they didn't seem keen to cause the Sith Lord any trouble. Obi-Wan glanced around to ensure everything was fine and then he headed off to find Qui-Gon and Siri.
The Drunken Dewback was especially lively tonight. There had been at least one fight that the bouncers had broken up, and the musicians were getting tipped so much that they grew overjoyed and played louder than ever. One particularly large party bought a round of drinks for the entire cantina, and everybody was suddenly best friends with the people around them, even though no one knew each other's name.
Erwyna sighed happily as she swirled the ice cubes in her drink. She'd had some time to rest back at Tlenden's apartment before she wandered back here. She hadn't been waiting too long, and honestly the environment kept her entertained. Eventually, she saw the green skinned Twi'lek sauntering over with a data pad and a drink of her own.
"Those people are the best!" she said happily as she nearly collapsed across from Erwyna. "They know how to party."
"Yeah, too bad we're here for business," Erwyna reminded the slicer carefully; as much as she loved a good drink, she was here for the security feeds.
"Meh, we could join the fun after," Okima'yak shrugged, putting the pad on the table. She kept her hand over it and raised her eyebrows, waiting.
Erwyna pulled out a money pouch and dangled it in front of the slicer. "Forty-eight hours of feeds?"
"Hey, you've seen me deliver before," Okima'yak remarked, shoving the pad in front of the lieutenant. "You doubting me now?"
"I've got no reason to," Erwyna replied, tossing the pouch to the slicer. "Did you see the feeds yourself?"
Okima'yak shrugged. "A little. Not sure how much you'll like it."
Feeling as if she'd finally shine some light on all this insanity, Erwyna accessed the security camera recordings on the data pad. She had the option of viewing any of the halls, lifts, and a few of the apartments, but she wasn't particularly interested in anything beyond public areas, especially near Amidala's apartment. She sped through most of the first day's footage and saw nothing out of the ordinary, though it was very strange to see Amidala wandering around as if she were still alive. There was some action in the middle of the day where Amidala, Obi-Wan, Siri, the Jedi, and a foreigner Erwyna didn't recognize all rushed through the halls in a huddled bunch before vanishing into Amidala's apartment, which had no cameras. The stranger left first, though now she was dressed as Amidala had been and bore such a striking resemblance to her that Erwyna didn't realize it wasn't the senator for a second. Then Kenobi departed a little later before he returned after about two hours. Apart from that, the day was uneventful until late evening, and then Erwyna realized that she knew why all those events had happened.
There had been an attack on Siri. She'd almost forgotten – it was the entire reason they'd left for Salkende with her. That hullabaloo earlier must have been their frenzied reaction just after the incident. She recalled that Kenobi had explained that there had been some sort of infiltrator disguised as a handmaiden who'd been responsible.
Well that was old news, then. What was important was what would happen after midnight; the beginning of the next day's feed.
The new day started quietly; a few inhabitants of the apartment were wandering around, but it was mostly still by one in the morning. At two, however, Erwyna caught sight of the Jedi Master—Qui-Gon something—leaving Amidala's apartment. The Jedi didn't look too thrilled, and he was constantly on his comlink as he left. Erwyna sped the feed once more as the minutes ticked by innocuously, and she sipped her drink.
Two thirty… Three… three thirty… four… there it was. Wait… what?
Erwyna furrowed her brow and leaned forward. Between the Jedi's departure and 0400 nothing was amiss, and then suddenly the police were everywhere. Where were the Intelligence agents that Brek had reported were there? What about the murder? Where was the perpetrator? How did he or she get in and out? How did the police seemingly appear out of nowhere?
"What the blazes…?" she muttered.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Okima'yak nod. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't like it. I checked out the specs for the senator's apartment; she's got an open veranda. Supposedly it had an energy shield, but it would be the best spot to enter without being noticed."
"Aren't there security cameras on the exterior of the building too?" Erwyna asked a little impatiently.
"At all the entrances and exits, sure," the slicer leaned back in her seat, propping one arm on the booth behind her. "I got you those, but they've got nothing incriminating on them."
As Erwyna grew increasingly more frustrated, the slicer suggested, "You know, there are security feeds for the streets too, as well as adjacent buildings. If you get enough angles you ought to see the entire apartment complex, both inside and out."
"Can you get that?" Erwyna asked, growing more impatient by the minute – she really missed military intelligence now; they would have already given her all of this the first time.
"Sure," Okima'yak replied nonchalantly.
"How long will it take?"
"Few seconds."
Erwyna looked at her disbelievingly. "It took you almost six hours to get this much."
"I already got it, though," Okima'yak smirked. "That's why it took me so long. People don't hire me for nothing, you know – I'm thorough. You want to see what happened in that apartment? I get you what happened in that apartment."
For the first time since the slicer's arrival, Erwyna started feeling some hope and excitement. "Well hand it over!"
"Fee first."
"I already paid you!"
Okima'yak shrugged. "This was extra work. You only asked for 500 Republica."
Erwyna sighed heavily. "How much?"
After the slicer named her price, Erwyna grudgingly handed over the money. She'd barely have enough for the taxi fare back to Tlenden's apartment at this rate.
As soon as the credits were in the slicer's fingers, she pulled out a data chip and inserted it into the pad. More feeds appeared, and Okima'yak pulled up several. "These are your best bets, I should think; they provide a good view of the penthouse apartment, especially this one, which shows the veranda."
Erwyna watched the indicated footage. At approximately 0300 a speeder hovered just outside of the veranda for a few seconds before landing. So much for an energy shield. It was impossible to see the driver, however, which was aggravating beyond belief. Pausing the feed, she pointed to the speeder. "Is there any way you can zoom in on the driver?"
Okima'yak shook her head. "No. But if we get enough security cameras we could find one where the speeder's close to the camera. You know, like when it's on its way to the apartment or on the way back. I can recognize the model, at least. We just need traffic cams."
Erwyna felt her gut clench. She wasn't sure she had enough credits to pay for that on top of everything else… at least not on her person. She did, however, have access to emergency funds provided to all the Bidra, and Mother knew Tlenden had plenty to add to that account. But that would leave an electronic trail unless Okima'yak was willing to cover her tracks.
The speeder sat at Amidala's veranda for almost ten minutes before it took off once more, slipping into traffic. Erwyna was getting ready to pause the feed and ask for traffic cams when the image seemed to jump slightly. Blinking, she gazed at the slicer confusedly. "What was that?"
"That," Okima'yak said dramatically with a big smile. "Was the best part."
Erwyna raised her eyebrow, bemused. "A weird little tick in the footage?"
"It's classic for anyone who knows what to look for," Okima'yak explained, her smile growing. "Somebody tampered with the feed. If you look carefully, it's only the feeds that show the veranda. Same kind of handiwork as the apartment footage."
Erwyna felt her heartrate rise—now she was getting somewhere. Then she grew confused. "The apartment footage was tampered too?"
Okima'yak laughed. "Of course it was—wasn't the same person, though, at least not initially. The veranda feeds were doubly messed with, though I don't know if that was intentional or not."
"What do you mean?"
"There were two slicers for this job," Okima'yak explained. "One hacked the feeds of 500 Republica and all the buildings around it. The other only tampered with the surrounding buildings. Our first hacker messed with the feed right before CorSec showed up and around the same time with the other buildings, while our second hacker messed around just after the speeder left the veranda."
"So either hacker or the speeder pilot could be the murderer," Erwyna muttered as she looked at the paused feeds. "One of those hackers has to be Intelligence."
Okima'yak shifted, suddenly uneasy. "Intelligence?"
Erwyna paused, wondering if she should tell the slicer what she knew about the incident. Well… the Twi'lek already knew about her investigation anyway. "My sources said a lot of agents were on the scene when Amidala was found. They had to have done some of the tampering so people wouldn't notice they were there."
The slicer nodded slowly. "Okay, well, that's one out of our three mysterious perps. I can get you traffic cams by tomorrow afternoon."
"Is there any way to recover what Intelligence messed with?" Erwyna asked.
Okima'yak sighed, crossing her arms. "A lot of classy places have backup storage for security footage, which trips up most amateur slicers because then investigators have a template that they can compare the doctored feed to. Intelligence isn't filled with amateurs, though, and worst of all, they're perfectly legal; I've no doubt they wiped everything the apartment security forces had. Still, if this was for some sort of mission, they might have records in their own computers as to what they did and why."
Erwyna eyed the slicer. "So we'd have to break into Intelligence's computers."
The slicer's face hardened. "You're not actually suggesting we do that, are you?"
Erwyna continued to gaze at the woman firmly. Okima'yak blew out a breath, looking away for a second, and then she leaned in. "Are you out of your kriffing mind? I don't care what kind of offer you give, I ain't breaking into Intelligence. I value my life, thanks."
Well, Erwyna supposed she'd found the slicer's limits. She wouldn't tell the woman about Odeki Rubar, then, but perhaps Okima'yak could still be useful in this manner. "Could you design some kind of computer spike at least? I'll find my own way in."
"I'd have to know the systems, and even if I did, I still wouldn't do it," Okima'yak hissed. "They'd trace it back to me—Intelligence always finds its mark. If you want to live, don't get anywhere near them."
"So let me get this straight," Erwyna surmised. "You can hack into military computers just fine and break into Imperial penitentiaries, but you won't touch Intelligence?"
"Kark yes," Okima'yak immediately answered. "You'll be hard pressed to find someone suicidal enough to tangle with Imperial Intelligence. Nobody messes with them. They're the freaking secret police!"
"All right, all right, calm down and I'll buy you another drink," Erwyna eventually blew out an annoyed breath. "Get me those traffic cams, though, got it?"
"Fine," Okima'yak replied. "I'll have them by noon tomorrow… now where's that drink?"
Erwyna rolled her eyes and headed to the bar. At least she had something to work with now. If Intelligence had been the ones to kill Amidala, though, then who was her late night visitor, and who else tampered with the security footage? Could the Jedi have been the one driving the speeder? No, that would make no sense; he'd apparently been there to be Amidala's protector, so if he'd returned (why had he left in the first place?) he would have saved her.
Fat lot of good he'd been.
Erwyna leaned against the bar as she waited for the drink. The more she learned, the stranger this got. And now that she really thought about it, she hadn't seen a handmaiden anywhere in those feeds, either; the news had specifically said that a handmaiden had found the body… so where was the handmaiden? Intelligence would have no reason to mess with that, wouldn't it? She had to look into this further.
Well, at least it was something… but stars above, this was one big fat mess.
Hoth felt particularly damp at the moment, though Obi-Wan was fairly certain it had to do with the blizzard outside and his lack of a heavy outer coat. He was heading towards the medical center in order to return the pack he'd borrowed for his conversation with Vader. He was intent on finding his master and his wife afterward, but the closer he got to the med bay the more he realized that they were there too. Growing slightly confused and concerned, Obi-Wan quickened his pace a little.
When he arrived he saw Siri lying on one of the provided cots. Al was sitting beside her, watching her. Siri's eyes were on the doorway; she must have sensed Obi-Wan's approach.
Obi-Wan immediately went to her, but before he could say anything, she asked, "Where's your jacket?"
"I gave it to Vader; he was freezing." Obi-Wan answered dismissively. Al and Siri exchanged completely flummoxed glances, but he didn't let them comment. "What happened?"
"Morning sickness," Siri grumbled in a tired voice, looking at him once more. "Haven't gotten sick except the one time, though."
"One time?"
Al laughed halfheartedly. "Yeah, that was almost on me and Qui-Gon."
Obi-Wan bit back a snort of amusement at the thought. At least Siri wasn't hurt. "I thought you'd skipped morning sickness, at least according to yourself."
"Guess I was wrong, then," Siri moaned, sitting up a little.
"Now here's the funny thing," Al piped in. "I thought morning sickness was only, you know, in the morning. It's nighttime!"
Obi-Wan looked at his chronometer curiously and noted that it was well after midnight. Blast… no wonder he felt exhausted. Today had been the longest day of his life, from arriving in time for the Alliance to engage the emperor's fleet to Vader's capture to everybody's celebrations to Vader's interrogation to their realization that he listened to Obi-Wan to Siri's loss of control to… blast. "I suppose technically it is morning."
"It happens at any time of the day, you shaaks," Siri sighed heavily. She looked more drained than Obi-Wan, and he remembered abruptly that while he had taken a nap during the flight from Ilum to Hoth, Siri hadn't. They'd left Ilum around midday local time, and they'd arrived on Hoth in the early morning hours; she'd practically been up two days. Siri interrupted his thoughts when she sat up fully and asked, "How was it?"
Obi-Wan sighed, trying to find a word to describe it. "It was… interesting."
"I can't believe you went in there alone," Al shook his head. "You're both nuts; I'm still surprised Siri's alive."
"Speaking of that," Obi-Wan began, and his wife answered his unasked question.
"Lots of meditation. And a ridiculously long lecture about controlling one's emotions," Siri remarked with a small smile. "I didn't argue; as much as I don't like meditation, I figure I deserve every bit of it for what I did."
"You need it," Obi-Wan corrected her.
His wife looked like she was about to make some snide remark when she saw something on his face, and she traced the corner of his mouth with her fingers, her brow furrowing in concern. "He hit you?"
Obi-Wan felt her fingers glide over the now clotted and frozen blood that had previously flowed from where Vader had backhanded him. "Just once… I might have pushed him a little too far."
"I thought the point was that he wouldn't attack you," Al piped in worriedly.
"He… is willing to listen to me, I think," Obi-Wan guessed halfheartedly. "It's complicated. Where's Qui-Gon?"
"On his way," Siri answered, her demeanor slightly more agitated after learning of Obi-Wan's mild injury. "He left to meditate for a little while, but he should be back about now."
As if on cue, Obi-Wan and Siri both sensed their master's approach, and they turned to face him as he entered the medical bay.
Al shuddered slightly. "You know, it's downright creepy how you guys can smell each other out like that."
Siri laughed. "We don't smell each other, Al."
"It's good to see everything went well," Qui-Gon noted with a small smile.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "You didn't expect it to?"
"It was an uncertain situation," Qui-Gon replied.
"So you were going to let him attack me?" Obi-Wan half surmised and half joked; he knew his master wouldn't do that, but a part of him was slightly irritated at the possibility.
"I had informed the guards to alert me if anything happened," Qui-Gon assured him gently as he walked over to stand beside Siri's bed. "They called me once and said that Vader had you pinned against the wall, but you apparently claimed you had the situation under control."
"What?!" Siri and Al both exclaimed.
Obi-Wan sighed. "As I said, it was… interesting. And complicated. He was having a little trouble with mood swings; it was difficult to predict what would set him off."
"I suspected he might be that way," Qui-Gon nodded. "The Force indicated as much. What did you learn?"
Obi-Wan blew out a breath. Where to even begin? "He killed Padmé."
Siri bolted out of bed just as Al leapt to his feet. Qui-Gon furrowed his brow. Perhaps that wasn't the best way to start, Obi-Wan mused, but he couldn't exactly help it; that was one of the matters that was bothering him the most. Before any of them could speak, however, Obi-Wan added, "But he loved her too."
"What?" Siri stared at him in bewilderment, her presence in the Force a flurry of anger, hurt, and confusion. Obi-Wan could sense her desperately fighting to control it, however, which was at least an improvement from what he would normally expect. He supposed he shouldn't be too harsh on his wife; it was common knowledge, after all, that pregnancy played merry havoc with one's emotions… and it wasn't like Obi-Wan had completely gotten over the discovery, either.
"I don't understand it," he shook his head. "Vader obviously feels guilt over her death, but he freely admits he killed her. It hurts for him to say, but he won't deny it. When I asked him why he did it, all he could say was that he was ordered to… but he seemed aware of his position, as if he knew that simply following orders made him an insignificant pawn to Palpatine. I can't… I don't understand it. Did he simply realize it after the fact, now that Palpatine is dead? How could he kill the woman he loves? No order would make me ever kill Siri."
Everyone was silent for a long time, and then Al spoke first, albeit haltingly. "There… there's this story that's told sometimes… about a woman who could use the Force who lived thousands of years ago. She wasn't a Jedi, wasn't a Sith… she had kids, too. One day, she realized that her kids had become monsters… and she decided that she had to stop them. She killed them. Killed her own younglings because she thought they were wrong. But it saved the galaxy, 'cause they were ready to krif the whole place up. You think it's… maybe the same with Vader? He's an Imperial; maybe he thought Padmé was going to mess things up too much?"
"Possibly," Qui-Gon muttered, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I'm not sure that's the case, however. If Obi-Wan specifically asked why Darth Vader killed Senator Amidala and his response was simply because he was ordered to, I find it more likely that the order itself was his reason, not any sort of argument behind it."
"Nobody follows orders to that degree," Al argued, gesturing angrily. "Not if they care about somebody."
"I'll reiterate what my Padawan revealed earlier since you weren't there: according to Amidala herself, Darth Vader was essentially brainwashed by the emperor," Qui-Gon said pointedly.
"That's some karking brainwashing," Al growled, crossing his arms. "Is the guy a person or a droid? You can make decisions on your own, you know."
"What else did you learn?" Qui-Gon pressed on, looking to Obi-Wan once more.
"He listens to me because of his feelings for Padmé," Obi-Wan continued. "He doesn't seem to have any particular loyalty to anyone at this point. I'm not even sure he realizes he's basically emperor now."
"I heard some of the soldiers talking about using him as some sort of bargaining chip," Siri remarked, still stiff from the earlier realization. "They want to use him to broker a truce with the Empire. I told them they were out of their minds; no Imperial would agree to losing power just because we've got the emperor."
"You figure we can get Imperial info out of him?" Al asked. "Obi-Wan, could you ask him?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I doubt he'll listen to me. He seems too lost in his own grief. I still haven't figured out anything about his concern over Palpatine, except that it is genuinely there. He said he'd failed at one point; I can only imagine he means he failed to kill all the Jedi."
"Or perhaps he failed to protect his master," Qui-Gon suggested.
"Why would he care?" Siri questioned. "It's not like Sith worry about each other. Even if he's capable of feeling something, it wouldn't be for the guy who's holding his leash, right?"
"I don't know; he seems pretty screwed up," Al remarked darkly.
"How compliant was he with you, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. "So long as I didn't trigger some sort of unpleasant memory, he responded well enough. I assume… you'll want me to establish a rapport with him?"
Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, that will be necessary. I need you to learn everything you can from him, especially in regards to Palpatine."
Obi-Wan shook off a shudder. The next few days would certainly be interesting. He wasn't nervous – honestly, that was the last thing he felt at this point. He just didn't know if he had the energy to do it… or the wherewithal to know what to say without setting the boy off. Boy… that's right… "One more thing, actually: I found out he's nineteen."
Al blanched. "He's a kid?"
Qui-Gon furrowed his brow. "Strange… Palpatine normally didn't have apprentices so young. He's exceptionally powerful in the Force for his age."
"There's another Jedi like that too, right?" Siri prompted. "I heard some initiates and Padawans talk about some kind of chosen Jedi who would defeat the Sith. They never said who they thought it was supposed to be."
Qui-Gon's eyes saddened, and he sighed heavily, leaning against the cot. "That's… a different matter. A prophecy made long ago spoke of balance, a chosen person who could bring balance to the Force, casting away the majority of the Darkness. A great deal of younger Jedi thought it was a Padawan who showed more potential and promise than anyone in the enclave."
"Who?"
"A young man named Galen Marek," Qui-Gon answered.
"Hey, well maybe we can send him to interrogate Vader," Al suggested cheerfully. "He can match strength with him, right?"
Obi-Wan didn't have to wait for his master to answer; the man's change in mood was enough to tell him. "Vader killed him, didn't he?"
Qui-Gon tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Galen was the Padawan of a Jedi Knight named Rahm Kota. Both were killed at Vader's hand prior to my arrival on Coruscant."
Al moaned while Siri bit her lip.
"Good thing I don't believe in prophecies, then," Siri muttered.
"It's not like the prophecy is our concern, anyway," Obi-Wan interrupted, brushing the matter aside. "I'll talk to Vader tomorrow, Master."
Qui-Gon, who had grown suddenly pensive, nodded and departed quietly. Al rubbed his face tiredly and sighed heavily. "I'm heading to bed; there's been way too much crap going on today. Night."
Obi-Wan and Siri bade Al a peaceful night and watched him leave. Then Obi-Wan faced his wife. "Are you allowed to leave the med bay?"
"Yeah," she replied with a weak smile. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? With… with all of this? I mean… he… he…"
"I know." Obi-Wan looked elsewhere. By this point he'd begun to grow numb to any feeling regarding Padmé and Vader's involvement in her death. Enough time had passed and too much was still going on… and he was frankly too emotionally drained to invest anything into it anymore. It worried him, but he supposed it was the Jedi way, so he didn't bother fighting it. The real problem would be finding ways to connect to the Sith Lord, he supposed, though he did find the boy a little pitiful.
"How can you kill someone you love?" Siri asked, though Obi-Wan knew the query wasn't aimed at him in particular. "Are you sure he meant that?"
"He never said he loved her," Obi-Wan shook his head. "He didn't have to. I sensed it."
"I still don't understand," Siri whispered, sounding so lost and hurt.
Obi-Wan watched her, unsure what to say. He wanted to reassure her, but he couldn't find any way how. Instead, he simply agreed with her. "I don't either, Siri. I really don't."
The couple gave up on the venture altogether and slowly exited the med bay to go to bed, too tired to even give themselves strength let alone each other.
Coruscant Security, colloquially called CorSec, was headquartered in a relatively nondescript building that barely stood in the skyline. It was two sectors from the senate district, and it was always busy. Tarkin was slightly annoyed that he had to go to headquarters to speak with the chief rather than have the man come to him, but he had to do everything in his power to ingratiate himself after their last interaction.
Upon speaking to the receptionist he'd been given a security droid as a guard until the chief could see him. Tarkin sat in a waiting area, growing steadily more irritated as people from all walks of life sat around him or strolled by; he'd never believed himself above others by birth – one had to earn one's position… but when he'd blasted earned his position already, he wanted to be shown some respect for it.
Having someone snoring beside him was not what he had in mind.
After almost an hour's wait (couldn't that blasted man hurry up? Tarkin had places to be and things to do as well… it was a new day and the senate was about to learn of the transition that was to take place), a constable finally showed him into the chief's office.
The chief of CorSec, a Human male named Sanju, was a broad shouldered man with a calming and commanding demeanor. He had dark brown skin, stubble all along his jaw, and short curly black hair. His chocolate brown eyes were hard but never cold. He was relatively young, probably in his late forties, and he typically was buried in work. Today was no exception; the man's desk was littered with data chips and several pads, as well as some other nondescript items that Tarkin didn't care to identify.
Chief Sanju stood politely as Tarkin entered, his fingertips resting on his desk, but he made no other gesture. Instead, he got straight to the point. "What can I help you with, governor?"
"How are CorSec matters going? I trust Imperial Center isn't rowdier than usual?" Tarkin asked conversationally. He was trying to gauge the man and ascertain how best to approach this; he had to ensure no one else bought off the chief and turned him against the grand moff. The last thing Tarkin needed was an insurrection on the capital world.
"Day's only just starting," Sanju replied vaguely, brushing some lint off his uniform. "But CorSec affairs aren't your concern, governor. This isn't your jurisdiction. It's mine."
Tarkin could see the man was already bristling; he obviously remembered their conversation during the party. The grand moff held back a sigh; he had been slightly tipsy and more than frantic at the time, and he hadn't thought about the consequences of his words. Of course he hadn't thought he would ever be in this situation, either.
"You are partially correct," Tarkin said. "The Seswenna Oversector is my jurisdiction for the time being."
Tarkin was about to continue when Sanju interrupted him. "I'm a busy man, governor. Kindly get to the point."
Biting back slight annoyance, the grand moff explained, "I am to be named emperor regent very shortly. I wanted to ensure that Imperial Center was secure for the transition."
Sanju crossed his arms, his brow furrowing both in confusion and surprise. "Emperor regent? What happened to Palpatine?"
"It'll be announced in the senate session today," Tarkin waved a dismissive hand. "You'll know the circumstances then. I still need your reassurance, however."
Sanju watched him for a long time, his expression stony. From what Tarkin could gather, the man didn't seem happy about this new predicament, and he looked fairly suspicious too. However, he also seemed careworn, and eventually he sighed. "What happens to the throne is way above my paygrade. If the senate approves of your authority, then fine. I'm just here to keep law and order in this city; the rest of the galaxy is your concern."
"As it should be," Tarkin agreed, and he saw the chief stiffen slightly. The grand moff then sized the chief up. "You seem like a dedicated officer, Sanju. I trust I can count on you, no matter the circumstances?"
The chief walked around his desk slowly, not taking his eyes off the grand moff. When he stopped directly in front of Tarkin, he lowered his voice. It wasn't quite a growl, but was certainly close enough. "I already said: my only concern is maintaining peace in the city. Not your issues or anybody else's. If something happens in my jurisdiction, I will deal with it accordingly. No one is immune to the law."
Tarkin wasn't quite sure to take that as a reassurance or a threat, but one point was evident: Sanju didn't care about all the political maneuvering occurring. Tarkin couldn't sway the man to his side, but nobody else could, either. That would have to be good enough.
Then that was it. Imperial Center was secure. Nodding, Tarkin left the office without another word, his mind already moving to his next objective. Otoren had already spoken to his high justices, and the majority was in favor of Tarkin's ascension as emperor regent. The hairs on the back of the grand moff's neck rose in anticipation just hearing the title. Emperor regent. If only he could eliminate the regent part; then he would truly be where he wanted to be, where he deserved to be.
Of course, in order for the regent part to be removed he needed Vader, dead or alive. If the boy was alive, it would only take a little convincing; Tarkin was fairly certain Vader had no desire to rule.
The grand moff's stomach churned. If the boy is dead… he shook his head. He couldn't let himself think about it. It was out of his hands until Intelligence could get solid information. He wouldn't let himself worry. He wouldn't.
Did he even need to worry?
Tarkin slowed his pace, slightly taken aback at the thought. It hadn't really occurred to him, but Vader's usefulness was… almost gone now. After all, the mere threat of his presence had done the trick to get Tarkin to this point, had allowed him to become emperor regent. If Intelligence suddenly discovered that Vader was dead, Tarkin would take the throne as his own. It would be official, legal. It would be indisputable.
Tarkin didn't need Vader anymore.
The grand moff shook his head. No, no, he did need the boy… everyone knew there would still be those who challenged his authority, such as Rhaegon and his mother. Vader would help him… right? He would listen to Tarkin's orders, he would eliminate any threats and step down from the throne… right?
Right?
What state was the boy in now? Palpatine had been everything to him; his obedience had been paramount, it had superseded everything, including his love for Senator Amidala. Was he an empty shell now, useless? Was he even worth saving?
Of course he is! Tarkin mentally scrambled to find a rational reason why he should keep the boy around. Vader would be his second-in-command. The boy knew how to handle the military; he could continue with that. Tarkin would give him everything he needed, everything he wanted. The grand moff wasn't a particularly sentimental man, but even he figured the boy deserved that much. He just had to tame the other half of that problem, and he had to ensure Vader returned in one piece.
Did he even need the other half of that problem?
There were so many new issues to address, and the grand moff felt suddenly overwhelmed. Tarkin resumed his walk with increased gusto, heading towards the speeder that had taken him to CorSec headquarters. He would go to the palace and remain there, watching the fallout in the senate from afar. He would prepare his fleets and have his eyes and ears everywhere. He would think this through. He would have the time then.
He was quickly running out of time, though. As soon as the news of Palpatine's death hit the senate's ears, as soon as it flooded HoloNet… the dam would break free.
Intelligence had to find that base. They had to find Vader. He still needed Vader…
Didn't he?
It was early in the morning as Erwyna pored through the feeds Okima'yak had provided last night. Senator Tlenden had already left for the morning session, so she was alone in the den with a cup of water in her hand. The sleep had helped her injuries immensely, and she barely felt any pain in her arm. Her ribs were another matter, but she ignored the stiffness as she searched intently for any trace of a handmaiden in the footage.
There was none.
HoloNet had clearly stated that a handmaiden had found her body. Why would they fabricate that? If they didn't, why would Intelligence hide it from security cameras? Or was it the other slicer? It didn't seem likely that it would be the latter since Okima'yak had stated the other slicer only tampered with security cameras from the adjacent buildings, and there had to be some point where the handmaiden would have been caught on camera… unless she flew in through the veranda, of course.
About an hour into her search, Erwyna received a transmission from one of Tlenden's aides. It was encrypted, and it provided the information about the Chommell senator's aides and handmaidens. The new senator was a male, and he brought an entirely new staff of assistants and manservants with him. Apparently there hadn't been much rearranging required, however; as Erwyna continued to scroll through the provided information, she quickly deduced that all of the previous senator's handmaidens had already left for one reason or another. At least their pictures and basic profiles were included, though.
As Erwyna accessed the files concerning the handmaidens, she quickly noticed a possible discrepancy… one that led to questionable conclusions. At the beginning of her tenure as senator, Amidala had employed three handmaidens: Sabé Janren, Cordé Swen, and Siri Naberrie. Sabé had died in a speeder accident two years into the senator's tenure at the end of last year, and she was replaced at the beginning of this year by a woman named Lek Ieru. Siri was obviously not the one who had found Amidala's body; she'd been with Erwyna. Lek and Cordé were the two candidates… but one of the handmaidens had been a traitor; she'd attacked Siri, which had been the entire reason Erwyna had left for Salkende early. Cordé looked like the woman who had been with the Naberrie clan the day of the attack; she had returned to the senate dressed as the senator. She'd been the decoy who would have traveled to Salkende as well. That left Lek as the traitor.
So if Lek was the traitor, then Cordé had to have been the one to find the body. Why wasn't she in the feeds, then? Even more disconcerting was the nature of Cordé's departure from service. Officially, it stated Lek had quit her job and departed Imperial space. Cordé, on the other hand, had retired from service entirely. She'd gone back to Naboo and had contracted some sort of disease; she and her whole family had died barely a few days after Amidala's funeral. That sounded way too… convenient.
The more Erwyna dug, the murkier it got. The most startling information of all was that the death certificates for Cordé's entire family were all signed by the same physician. Surely one doctor hadn't been treating all of them at once? There were eight people in her family. There had to be other healthcare professionals caring for them as well.
Erwyna had been in enough black ops missions to know when she was staring at one.
Had Amidala known that it was coming? Was that what the shoto had been for? How did that play into all this? Erwyna pulled out the weapon, glancing at it. The more she looked at the hilt now, the more it looked eerily familiar, and she realized that the design was very closely based off of Vader's lightsaber.
Erwyna's stomach churned. She didn't like this.
What had Cordé seen that had gotten her killed? Was it Intelligence, or was it the other slicer? How did Vader play into all this? Obviously the shoto had to be related to him somehow; every wielder of a weapon personalized their tools, and if the shoto bore a similar design to his lightsaber, then it was likely he was the one who had designed it in the first place. Had Amidala stolen it from him? Had he given it to her? Why would either be the case? How did it fit into everything else she was finding? It had to be important; Amidala had ensured with her dying breath that it reached Éothen.
Erwyna's heart stopped in realization. Had Vader been the one to kill Amidala? Was that her purpose in sending the shoto?
But what about Cordé? Had she realized Vader was the culprit? Was Intelligence worried she would place the blame on the actual murderer instead of letting the galaxy think it was the Alliance? Was that all it had been?
But why was she cut from the security footage?
This still didn't make sense. Even if Vader had been the killer, even if Cordé had witnessed the act, something still didn't fit. Who was the other slicer? Why would someone separate from Intelligence be involved in this operation? How much did the Imperials actually know?
Erwyna paused the security feed on an image during the first day. Cordé was already dressed as Senator Amidala, heading back to the senate as a decoy.
A decoy.
The lieutenant felt her blood run cold, and she suddenly frantically searched through the footage again as if the handmaiden would magically appear. After sifting through everything at least five times, the latest conclusion that had taken root seemed all the more likely, and it left Erwyna even more frantic than before.
Cordé looked just like Amidala with a little touch up. She'd been the senator's decoy. She was never in the footage. She was officially declared dead days after the senator's funeral. One of the handmaidens was a traitor.
…
Was Amidala even really dead?
Beep… beep… beep…
Poke.
She groaned. Everything ached so much…
Poke.
"Not now, Vader," she grumbled, swatting at the air. "I thought we finished with hide and seek…"
Vader.
Padmé Amidala's eyes opened abruptly. Her vision was blurry for a few seconds before she could focus. She was lying on a bed in a white hospital gown. A medical droid stood beside her, prodding around her abdomen.
Where was she? How did she get here? What had happened? Where was everyone? Why did everything hurt? What the blazes was going on? Padmé nearly hyperventilated as all these questions bombarded her mind and she could only scramble and stumble to answer them. Everything seemed to be a blur, her emotions were all over the place, and blast it all her body hurt, especially where that blasted droid was touching.
"Please calm yourself," the droid said in a monotone.
Padmé managed to catch her breath. "Where am I?"
The droid didn't answer. Instead, it grabbed a bacta patch. Padmé propped herself on her elbows only to find her arms too weak to hold her weight. With a groan she collapsed against the pillow. Why was she in a hospital gown? Why was she hurt?
"I love you… but I loved him first."
He… he'd shot her. Vader had shot her.
Padmé exhaled heavily, unable to move, to think, to breathe.
He'd shot her.
Why? Why?!
A second later, Padmé gasped, her lungs hungrily filling with air. Her chest burned. Her heart drummed in her chest. She was shot. She'd been shot. She was on Imperial Center. Where was she now? How did she get here? Who brought her here? How long had she been out?
Where were Obi-Wan and Siri?
"Where am I?" Padmé whispered before her panic manifested itself. Adrenaline surged through her and she pushed down on the bed with her elbows once more. This time she managed to sit up, and she glared at the droid. "Where am I?"
The medical droid ignored her, finishing its task. Padmé tried to grab it, but her strength was quickly fading. Just as she reached for its arm she felt her abdomen scream in protest and she fell back, paralyzed by pain and despair.
Why, Vader? Why?
"Obi…" she muttered, and then she passed out.
Hope you liked it. :) How's the pacing, by the way? (Sorry I keep asking that; I'm a little paranoid about it since I don't have a great track record in that department...)