(AN: Well, what do you know? This chapter turned out longer than I had originally thought)
(I'm going out beyond the 'safety net' of ROTS. That was merely a setting, grounding the story in its start. After that, we start to kick this story off for real. I'm not going to rush ahead too much, since I want to enjoy as much as I can of both worlds: post-ROTS and the interim)
(Here we see the emergence of a familiar face)
Coruscant.
The capital city of the Republic. A sprawl of almost a trillion beings spanning the vast reaches of the Republic. Now it was the seat of Imperial power. Bail Organa had seen the changes that had happened to it in the scant hours between that morning, when he and the others of the Committee of 2000 had met and 'conspired', and that evening, when he saw the Jedi Temple in flames. Much more had changed since then, with the establishment of the Empire.
One of those changes was the permanent garrison around the capital.
"Tantive IV," the voice of a clone pilot came on the other end. "This is Coruscant Security 1. Transmit your authorization codes for landing."
"Authorization?" Captain Antilles queried.
"It's part of the new security system," the clone said. "Transmit at once or we'll consider you hostile."
"It's alright, Raymus." Bail said to the captain of his vessel. He leaned over and punched in his Senate security code, then clicked the communicator on.
"This is Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan," he began. "I'm reporting to my Coruscant office at the request of the Emperor."
"Transmission received, Senator." the clone returned. "It checks out, though you'll need to speak to the governor for updated pass-codes. You're clear to land."
Antilles turned the Tantive IV on its course down toward the glowing lights of Coruscant's night-side. After a simple re-entry procedure, the Security vessels transmitted the coordinates of the nearest empty landing platform, where the ship touched down.
As soon as the gangplank was lowered and Organa and his aides and bodyguards exited the Tantive IV, a dignified looking human, flanked by four clone troopers, approached.
"Senator Organa, I presume." the human asked.
"Yes." Bail returned. "And who, may I ask, are you?"
"Wilhuff Tarkin," the man returned. Bail noticed his accent: Eriadu, if he knew anything. "The Emperor has given me the position of interim Governor of Coruscant."
"Don't you have someone else to do the dirty work for you, governor?" Organa queried.
"I would hardly call seeing to the welfare of the Imperial Senate dirty work, Organa." Tarkin returned. "And if I were you, I would watch that loose tongue. Things will be different in the new order, Senator: I promise you that. Now, if you will follow me, your quarters have been prepared at your office."
"I don't need an escort." Organa returned.
"It's part of the new security measures, Senator." Tarkin said, a rather sinister smile stretching the skin on his skull-like face. "After the recent Jedi coup, His Excellency has deemed it worthy to tighten security in the Capitol."
Bail nodded, and followed Tarkin and his soldiers as they led them toward a shuttle that was waiting for them at the end of the landing platform. Two of the clones remained on the platform while the other two accompanied Tarkin and Organa's party onto the shuttle.
The ride from the platform to the Senate House was uneventful, though Organa saw a large cluster of worker droids buzzing around the Senate Building as their shuttle landed. Once they exited the craft, Bail took a moment to look around and saw that the Senate House was under-going a very thorough aesthetic makeover.
"Do you like our new modifications, Senator?" Tarkin asked. Bail thought he saw a hint of pride in Tarkin's smile as he walked up next to him.
"Too dull, too...repressing, don't you think?" Organa returned.
"But that's the idea," Tarkin reasoned. "It is our plan to remove all that diluted the greatness of our fair Republic."
"By replacing it with the cold, hardship of a new Empire?"
"It won't be hard to those who are obedient servants of the new order." Tarkin returned. "All we seek to do is...make ourselves unique in the galaxy. Too long the Republic has become a thing of non-humans. Surely you recall the tragedy of the Naboo Blockade almost fourteen years ago. Did the Republic revoke the Federation to save Naboo? No! It remained bogged in protocol and bureaucracy, pandering to the needs of greedy, inhuman slime while good, honest humans were being slaughtered wholesale.
"Even worse, the Clone Wars were started by the non-human led Separatist Union, while human heroes like Anakin Skywalker led the Army to great victories. Look back in the history of the Republic, Senator Organa, and you will see that our entire existence is owed in no small part to the work of humans."
"You should write a book about this." Organa commented facetiously.
"Oh, I am." Tarkin added. "I plan to make the reasons for our Glorious Emperor's revolution manifold to the common people, that they may see the merit of the new Empire." He patted Organa on the shoulder as the doors slid open.
"Ah, here we are." Tarkin commented. They were now at the Senate Building. In all honesty, Bail mused, this once sacred house of democracy was reduced to nothing more than an empty building. Power now rested with Palpatine and the Senate was just an outward display.
An outward display of normalcy, to keep the people content with the new order.
This Palpatine is no fool, Bail Organa thought. Even if he were no Sith lord, as Master Yoda had told him, he was obviously smart and knew how to play to the fears and prejudices of the people.
Back in his office, Bail was busy doing what any Senator did in this new order: not much of anything. Two clone troopers were positioned outside his office, and Bail was almost certain that wire-taps and audio-listening devices were littered throughout the building. He had been part of the Committee of 2000, it would only be natural that Palpatine wouldn't trust him. This is what he had to do next, earn Palpatine's trust: if not, Alderaan would surely pay the penalty for it.
His assistant, Sheltay Retrac, was back from maternity leave. Her return had occurred before the "Jedi Purge" had been ordered, and she was with him while they rescued Master Yoda and Master Kenobi. Now she was, perhaps, one of the only people he could trust.
"Sheltay," he said.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"I have a private matter that I find myself unable to carry out in person."
"I'm avail..."
"Wait," Bail held up his hand. He walked over to the door and sealed it shut. It wouldn't make much of a difference, but it would better than nothing. Lastly, he turned on a com-link and left it on the desk. Perhaps the signal would distort any listening devices in the room.
"I need to locate a private organization I can hire for a project." he said.
"What would this project entail, sir?" Sheltay asked.
"Genetics," he said. "You understand that I can't tell you the full details until..." He lowered his voice to a nigh whisper. "Until I can be certain that this room is not bugged."
"I understand, sir." she nodded.
Sheltay bowed and walked over to her desk, while Bail began sweeping the office, looking in every possible hiding space. He had to make a place of relative secrecy, since it was the only time he would be able to contact Polis Massa.
That facility itself was supposed to be secret, and if its location or that of the two who had been born thereon was leaked, it would mean the end of hope.
And already, things looked rather grim.
Kenobi had arrived back at the hovel. It was quite an abandoned-looking thing, nestled out on the slopes of mountains that marked the end of the Dune Sea. It was still dark, and the three moons of Tatooine made the sand look like oceans of snow. The effect was quite peaceful, belying the grim reality of the Clone Wars, and the Force knows what else the Empire was doing in the wake of the war.
The exchange of the previous evening had gone well. They treated him with a kind of quiet ignorance, though they were more than happy to accept baby Luke into their family. He was as safe as he could be, now. This planet was remote, far beyond the reach of the Old Republic and, therefore, of the Empire.
But he had to go back to his hovel now. There was something else to tend to.
The door slid open as he walked toward it. It was rather bare, but Jedi did not need material comforts. In fact, there was only one thing that qualified as 'fine furniture' in this place: a large trunk. He walked over to the trunk and waved his hand over it. The lid gently slid open, revealing the young woman with her child in her arms.
"Padme," he said. "I've returned."
She said nothing.
"I assure you," he continued. "Luke will be safe. I will look after him and protect him from harm; you have my word."
But still silence came from Padme's lips. The middle-aged Jedi Master noted that tears were welling up in Padme's eyes.
"Padme, please." he pleaded. "I know you must be sad..."
"Do you?" she returned. "Do you really know what it's like to be sad, Master Kenobi?" The way she spoke his title was too formal, too cold. "To have your son taken from your very arms? To lose the one you love? Do you know what that's like, Master Jedi?"
The answer was supposed to be no. A Jedi must know no love, that was what Master Yoda had instilled in him since his youth. But Obi-wan had broken those rules. He loved Anakin, and still did. It was impossible for him to conceive how someone as idealistic, as kind and as noble as Anakin could possibly become the thing that slaughtered the Jedi at the Temple.
It was as if the Dark Side of the Force had transformed him into something completely different. Then Master Yoda's words came back to him.
The boy you trained, gone he is: consumed by Darth Vader.
He sat down on one of the stone benches in the hovel.
Contrary to what Padme believed, he did know what it was like to lose someone he loved.
He had witnessed that loss first-hand: nay, he had been the orchestrator of that loss.
He knew what it was like to lose one he loved.
(AN: Tell me what you thought of that. I'll try to make another bigger chapter up soon)
(Also, I think George Lucas modeled Tarkin after Joseph 'Skeletor' Goebbels. ["Niemals!"]. They both look like a skeleton and have big positions of importance in their perspective "empires". And yes, that was a Downfall moment.)