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Chapter 20 – Deductions
Without a single cloud blemishing the sky, the fourth sunrise Padmé saw over the Great Western Sea was easily the most beautiful. Though she wouldn't admit it out loud, the scenery was doing wonders to ease her mind and soul since he left. It was inevitable, she figured. If this place could soothe the second most evil man in the galaxy, it would charm her with no effort at all.
Luke and Leia were still no less enamored with the place than when they arrived. Each day from sunup to sundown they gloried in the warm, fine sand that stretched a full mile along the shore. Padmé did her best to keep their fair skin protected with solar block lotion, but a constellation of freckles had begun to spread across both their faces. Faces that, for the most part, smiled incessantly these days.
Had someone told her five days ago that she'd soon find herself a guest in Vader's personal retreat, comfortable and provided for all hours of the day, she'd have laughed to hide her terror at the prospect.
Life certainly hadn't gone as planned the past week. But with each passing day, that seemed to matter less and less.
Fear and hope still battled for dominance in her mind, but the fact that fear wasn't winning by a landslide meant something. Very little of what she'd seen and experienced since their capture had followed Obi-Wan's predictions. Vader's selfishness wasn't manifesting itself how any of them expected. He'd imprisoned them, but without ultimatum. He chose the terms by which they lived, but those terms were far more generous than she'd imagined possible.
Everything was so gray, not the black and white Obi-Wan convinced her existed. If only Vader could tip the scales decisively away from black… with some gesture of good faith, like leaving Palpatine… but the odds of that happening were surely nonexistent. If nothing else, she should accept this was as good as it would get: no violence toward her or the children, no harsh living conditions, no
Not yet, anyway. The possibility remained that he was manipulating them all into comfort and security, only to rip it away when the time was right.
If that was his plan, there was little she could do to thwart it. She might as well enjoy the retreat's luxuries while she could. After all, would an inmate hours away from execution wish for anything more?
Because if he intended to abduct or brainwash the twins, he'd have to kill her first.
And he surely knew that already. He may be tormented, but he wasn't stupid.
Padmé raised the rim of her mug to her lips, sipping tea as she watched the sun slowly climb the Manarai mountains. Her tranquil moment ended a minute later when the twins sprinted into the room.
"Morning mom!" they chirped together.
"Good morning," Padmé lifted the mug away from their level just in time. "Ready for breakfast?"
"Yeah! Can we have pancakes again?" begged Leia.
"If there's enough flour left."
"There's tons of flour!" proclaimed Luke. "And fruit and bagels and juice…"
Blinking, Padmé followed her enthusiastic children to the kitchen, where a bountiful spread of edible items covered the counters. There were baskets overflowing with ripe fruits and vegetables, some of which she recognized as being quite rare. Interspersed were loaves of freshly baked rolls and bread. Upon opening the food preserver, she discovered several beverages of every color spectrum.
"See? Told you there's plenty!" Luke stated proudly.
"Yes, there certainly is," Padmé agreed, astounded. This was the second time they'd awoken to such a display. Half the items from the previous delivery still hadn't been eaten.
"I want blueberry this time," Leia declared, pulling herself up onto a stool.
"And I want chocolate chip," Luke placed his order next.
Padmé set about heating the stovetop, marveling at the excess food. She hadn't heard anyone enter the house the night before. Nor had she heard anything prior to the first delivery a few days ago. Vader's servants knew how to be quiet as mice.
"What are you gonna have, Mom?" Leia asked.
"Probably some eggs and fruit."
Luke started rolling a purple fruit back and forth between his hands. "I wonder what Dad's favorite breakfast is."
"I don't know." Nothing we'd consider edible or appetizing, I'm sure…
"When's he coming back?"
Padmé was glad her back was turned to them. "I don't know that either, Luke. He didn't tell us when."
"He didn't even tell you in secret?"
"No, I'm sorry."
She could sense his frown without turning around. Why couldn't he give them an estimate? And what about that"special guest" he'd promised just before he left? Padmé was right to suspend her faith in him. His integrity and trustworthiness were, sadly, turning out to match Obi-Wan's opinion.
Sighing, she flipped over the first set of pancakes, trying not to dwell on the negative. At least they weren't in that prison anymore. That place smelled of death and despair. Vader's infidelity aside, she much preferred the scent of pancakes any day.
No sooner did she slide the food onto their plates when a knock at the door made them all jump out of their skin.
"Who's that?" Leia whirled around excitedly.
"Is it Dad?"
"I bet it is, I bet it is!"
"Quick, let's go see him!"
Padmé's mouth fell half open by the time they bolted from the room. Racing after them in alarm, she nearly tripped in her haste to overtake them. It was a lost cause – their head start brought them skidding up to the door in no time. With a quick turn of the handle, they opened wide the gates to allow Force only knew who into a home that wasn't theirs.
The face beaming down at the twins was as shocking as it was benevolent. Padmé froze several feet behind the children, relieved yet too shaken to speak.
"Grandpa!" cheered the twins, who fought for real estate on Ainar's torso. Their zeal almost knocked him over.
Laughing in amazement, Ainar squeezed them both. "What a welcome! I wasn't expecting this!"
"We missed you!"
"I knew we'd see you again!"
"Well, I missed you too," he improvised, astonished. These were the children he'd met on the transport two weeks ago. Force, no wonder he'd felt a connection to them! They were his grandchildren, and the woman standing behind them was…
"Padmé?" he peered uncertainly at her over the top of Luke and Leia's heads.
Her voice hadn't yet fully returned. "You… you're…"
"Ainar," he gently set the twins down and extended his hand, smiling like a fool. "You may or may not remember me…"
"I do," she exhaled. "I absolutely do."
Their handshake quickly dissolved into a hug. "You look surprised, yet the twins seem to have known I was coming."
"They sense things I usually can't."
"Because they're Force-sensitive."
"Yes."
Ainar grinned broadly at the three of them. "You have me to thank for that. I'll tell you all about it once I'm settled in. Who wants to help me with my things and show me my room?"
"We do!" the twins volunteered without a moment's hesitation, racing to grab his bags. The commotion gradually died down over the next hour, during which the twins hardly paused to take a breath. When at last their mouths started to wind down, the grumbling of their stomachs became audible.
"Hungry, are we?" Ainar observed.
"We had just sat down for breakfast when you arrived," Padmé explained. "There's plenty for you, if you care to join us."
"I'd love to."
Having Ainar seated at the breakfast bar in Darth Vader's exclusive retreat was surreal to say the least. Yet no more surreal than any of the other events leading up to this moment, Padmé wagered. She tried but failed to keep from gazing at him with open awe. The similarities he shared with Anakin seemed even more striking now in this light. There could be no doubt this man was exactly who he claimed to be.
Thank heavens, I'm not crazy! Bail and Breha tried to tell me I was, but it's true – he is Anakin's father.
So where has he been all this time, and why did he only return now? So many questions…
"These pancakes are excellent," Ainar praised, taking another bite.
"Thank you. I've been trying to improve my cooking skills over the years."
"I haven't had food this good in well over two decades."
The pensive look on Padmé's face made Ainar hastily swallow the rest of his breakfast. "Luke and Leia, I bet the water's the perfect temperature for swimming right now!"
"How do you know?" Leia asked.
"Trust me, it's always perfect just before noon," he insisted. "Go on, you don't want to miss it!"
"Are you coming with us?"
"Not right now. I'm too full to go swimming just yet."
Shrugging, the pair hurried to don their bathing suits, which were still damp from the day before.
Padmé watched as they splashed along the shore, wishing she knew how to start this conversation.
"You must have a thousand questions for me," began Ainar, much to her relief.
"How can I not?" she pressed her lips. "No offense, but you shouldn't exist."
"No one is more aware of that than I am."
"Explain it to me, please. I just can't imagine how a boy can grow up believing he's fatherless when he's really not."
"Once you hear my story, you'll know how," he promised her, and began.
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Ainar and Padmé weren't the only pair watching Luke and Leia that morning. At a private table on the Manarai Restaurant's rooftop sat a duo nearly as treacherous as Palpatine and Vader.
Leaning back to bask in the midday sun's rays, Xizor leisurely sipped a cocktail with Guri at his side. Long eyelashes shaded her synthetic eyes from glare as she looked through a slender telescope.
"The children are at play again," she remarked dully.
Xizor made no immediate comment. His face was the epitome of contentment, eyes closed and mouth slightly upturned.
"Don't you wish to see?" Guri prompted.
"Mmm, not this instant, my sweet," he purred.
"You seem underwhelmed by their presence."
"That's not it at all. I'm simply taking a moment to savor this. To stop and smell the roses, if you will."
"What roses?"
Xizor chuckled. "It's a figure of speech, Guri. A poetic turn of phrase. I'm pausing to revel in our exceptional fortune."
"I see," Guri drew back from the telescope. "To use another figure of speech, haven't you counted your chickens before they've hatched?"
That brought Xizor to sit upright again. "Very good!" he praised her. "You used that correctly. But no, I'm not celebrating prematurely at all."
"You are in my assessment. These children mean nothing to us yet. What leverage have we gained by observing them thus far?"
"Oh Guri, how you confound me!" exclaimed Xizor, shaking his head and grinning madly. "Even with the finest cybernetic programming money can buy, there are still many things for you to learn."
"Enlighten me, Xizor."
"It would be my pleasure. We may not know those children's names, but we know so much more. We know they are important to Vader."
"You assume as much."
Xizor rested a nonchalant elbow on the table. "You know Vader's character better than your own circuitry. Is there anything in your memory banks that indicates he'd show benevolence toward children?"
Guri frowned, scanning her databanks. "No."
"Exactly. Two young children inhabiting Darth Vader's beach home is like a mouse dancing on an adder's tail! It violates natural law. It –"
"Xizor," Guri's tone cut him short. "Come look at this."
The Prince shifted over to squint through the lens. His one open pupil dilated at what he saw.
Two adults had joined the children, one of whom was not previously described in Guri's notes. Alongside her was the man known only as Starkiller; his smile flashed as brightly as the sparkling sand beneath his feet. He flipped and tossed the children like bags of flour, eliciting endless laughter from both. The woman looked on with open joy and wonder, clearly at ease with their interaction.
"Assuming the woman is their mother, might that be their father?" posited Guri.
Swiping the datapad from Guri, Xizor's fingers flew across the surface to retrieve something. I have to find it… I swear I remember…
And there it was – the five-year-old photo of Bail Organa's last jubilee celebration. The one Palpatine had shown four days ago to remind Vader of the Viceroy's appearance. A photo that, Xizor recalled, had evoked a potent emotional response from the Dark Lord.
But it wasn't Organa that Xizor sought this time. It was the brunette politician standing next to him.
The one whose sympathetic eyes and dimpled cheeks looked exactly like the ones Xizor saw across the water. The one, according to the photo's caption, was senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo.
That was a name he'd heard several times in the past. A basic holonet search yielded thousands of articles, most of them obituaries. Interspersed were various editorials from the Clone Wars years. Publicity photos of her with other dignitaries were a dime a dozen. Yet as Xizor browsed through them, he noticed a pattern. Every other image showed her in the company of at least one Jedi. And more often than not, that Jedi was Anakin Skywalker.
Skywalker. Phonetically similar to Starkiller. His subconscious had indeed been trying to signal something.
Narrowing his search, Xizor knit his hands together with intense interest. Amidala and Skywalker's friendship had been public knowledge, it seemed. Their professional and personal alliance was known to many. The senator attended every Jedi-related event that Skywalker did, and the young Jedi frequented political functions and rallies at her side. Both became influential icons during the intergalactic war.
And then, at its very end, they both vanished.
Amidala's disappearance was tragic, sudden, and very public: an open casket drawn through the mournful streets of Theed. Admirers from across the galaxy wept at her lifeless form, which showed the heartbreaking curve of a pregnancy never brought to term. Everyone's anguish doubled at this postmortem revelation.
Skywalker, meanwhile, went from being the war's poster boy to essentially having never existed. Xizor could find no record of his death. Nor could he determine why Imperial law prohibited anyone from speaking Anakin Skywalker's name ever again. What had this Jedi done to erase himself from the annals of time and become a curse upon himself?
Then, slow at first but swiftly gaining momentum, the pieces began to align.
Xizor hadn't lived to be 120 years old and Vigo of the Black Sun by being naïve, unobservant, and slow to catch on. Rarely did he need an interpreter for all the clues he collected. And this case might just be the easiest of all.
Piece it together, Xizor…
Padmé Amidala, not dead but very much alive… twin children in her care who looked to be five years of age… the three of them lodged at Darth Vader's private retreat… Darth Vader, who coincidentally appeared just after Anakin Skywalker left without a trace…
His hands shook with terrified wonder. How had he – or anyone else for that matter – not connected the dots before? It all seemed painfully, startlingly obvious now. And so did the fatal, ultimate advantage this would give him at last.
"No…" he muttered, finally answering Guri. "No, that is not their father."
"How can you be so sure?"
Xizor let the datapad fall to the table and stared at the lapping waves, entranced. "Trust me, it's not."
"Your expression implies you know who is."
"Perceptive as always, my dear. Are you ready to hear it?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, because the truth is so deliciously scandalous that it might cause you to short-circuit."
"Doubtful. Only an exo-membrane breach can cause that sort of malfunction."
Xizor rolled his eyes. "You take so much fun away from times like these. But I'll tell you anyway. Vader is their father."
Guri fixed him with a deadpan stare that dared him to take back his words. "There are more logical errors in that statement than I can compute."
"On the contrary, it's the most rational breakthrough I've had in years!"
"No one has ever confirmed that Vader is even human. Humanoid, yes, but not necessarily human."
"Circumstantial evidence overwhelmingly says that he is," Xizor maintained. "Based on my findings, I am unequivocally convinced that Darth Vader is the former Jedi Anakin Skywalker. And that woman on the beach is his former mistress."
Guri raised a skeptical brow. "That's quite a presupposition. How do you intend to verify it?"
Xizor couldn't keep a vicious grin from spreading across his face. "That's where you come in, my talented assistant."
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