Author's Note: Hello lovely readers! Thank you for continuing to support this story, and for your lovely reviews, follows, and favourites! A little announcement: I just published a new story, "Everything You Can Take From Me". It's a story centred around the Star Wars sequel characters set in the Hunger Games universe. If you're interested, please give it a read and let me know what you think.

I hope you all are staying safe, washing your hands, wearing masks, and social distancing.

Enjoy!


Sybil hadn't wanted to admit it, but she had been terribly worried that night when she'd saved Gwen from falling, revealing her closely guarded secret. Thankfully, Gwen didn't seem more nervous than she had been before she found out about Sybil's Force sensitivity. After a week it seemed as if everything returned to normal. Of course, Gwen wasn't with Sybil every moment of the day, and she couldn't help but have nervous moments, knowing her secret was out there in someone else's mind. Gwen however, was nothing if not reassuring; never forgetting to tell her she hadn't told anyone. In fact, she kept reminding her so often Sybil had to tell her she didn't have to.

Now, as she was preparing to board the Verdant for the mission to Jakku, she felt a different kind of nervousness. Cousin Matthew said the Empire rarely patrolled the Western Reaches, and his reasoning was sound with the law of it all, but the new restrictions Mary spoke of from her senate meeting still put her in an uneasy mindset.

Still, she knew she couldn't abandon the villagers of Jakku, not when they were expecting her. What kind of person would she be if she abandoned her duty when the Empire tightened their grasp?

A smart person, the thought raced through her mind, but vanished just as quick.

Sybil needed to do this, and then worry about the Empire's new restrictions after.

"The cargo is all ready to go, my lady," Captain Branson said, descending the Verdant's ramp. The ship was parked on Grantham's main cargo dock, and the supplies and food and water bound for Jakku already checked by the Empire and loaded onto the ship.

No Imperial defectors, no contraband, no weapons. Everything had passed the Empire's inspection, and Sybil's heart eased a little. As a breeze whipped loose tendrils of her hair, she gazed beside her at the Verdant's captain. He didn't let her nervousness affect him, and he wore the same vacant expression he always did in public. But Sybil could detect a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. He never admitted it, but she knew Branson preferred flying relief missions to any other aspect of his job. He liked knowing he was doing a bit of good in the galaxy.

And it was the only time they could be alone.

"Very good, Captain," Sybil said, ascending the Verdant's ramp with him closely following.

The ship's engines powered on with a comforting rumble, and soon they were off the dock and flying away from the planet's surface.

Sybil felt a slight jolt as the ship jumped to lightspeed. She settled herself in her private chambers and tried to focus on the hypnotic blue swirl outside the room's viewport. When that did little to calm her nerves, she closed her eyes, thinking of her grandmother's teachings. On the evening when Mary had come back from Coruscant, Sybil knew she had been on the verge of losing control of her powers. As she had argued against the Empire's new restrictions on relief missions, she had felt her silverware shaking, her wine glass about to fly off the table. Her grandmother must have felt it as well, because in the corner of her eye she noticed her putting a hand flat against the table, and suddenly her feelings calmed, her voice evened. Violet's presence in the Force had been something wonderous, something she hoped to achieve.

As she sat in her chambers, eyes closed, she reached out through the Force in an attempt to feel her grandmother, to feel her presence. She wondered if Violet was doing the same.

After a few frustrating minutes of feeling only the vast emptiness of space, it came to her. Very faintly, she could feel her grandmother through the Force. It felt the same as it had that night during dinner. It felt comforting, like being wrapped in her arms, and she could smell the scent of Violet's house – black tea spiced with vanilla and lavender.

I'm so nervous, Granny, Sybil thought, straining a little harder to speak to her grandmother.

It was quiet for a moment. Sybil worried she wasn't trying hard enough, but soon Violet's answer came.

Trust in the Force. It shall guide you and keep you safe.

Sybil smiled as her eyes fluttered open and the connection disappeared like smoke in the air. Outside the viewport, the blue swirl of hyperspace still surrounded the ship. Suddenly, she didn't need to use it to keep her thoughts from wandering. She had everything she needed in the Force.


Of all the ships Tom Branson had flown in his life, the Verdant was easily the best. It was certainly better than those dingy old cargo freighters from the Ring of Kafrene, anyway.

It still amazed him knowing how clean a spacecraft could look. The ships he flew a lifetime ago hadn't known the definition of the word "clean", and he could still smell the rust and mildew caked up their walls.

The Verdant had no such issues. Its walls were so shiny Tom could see his reflection in them wherever he went. The crews were much more talkative as well, and the droids friendlier. The Crawleys might not employ a staff of droids, but they sure had the best pick of the lot when it came to astro droids.

As if reading his thoughts, R3-A2 let out a series of confident-sounding beeps.

Tom smiled at the little droid. "Sounds good, Aytoo. Why don't you handle the autopilot for a little while? Let me know if an asteroid gets in our path."

This time a series of nervous whistles came from the droid.

"I'm kidding," Tom laughed as he left the ship's bridge and straightened his uniform. That was perhaps the only thing that bothered him about working for the Crawleys. He would much rather pilot in his well-worn flight jacket with his favourite blaster strapped to his leg, but Grantham customs required him to wear the forest-green flight uniform with a small standard-issue blaster pistol. The uniform reminded him too much of the olive-green uniforms of the Imperial Navy, which made him almost laugh because he was almost sure the Crawleys hated the Empire – at least, he was sure Lady Sybil did.

He didn't spend enough time with the family to be privy to their political affiliations like Thomas or William. In fact, he didn't even sleep in the main estate with the rest of the staff – instead he had his own set of small rooms above the estate's hangar bay. There he had the only vestiges left from his previous life – his brother's set of mechanic's tools, his flight jacket and blaster, and a set of sabaac cards. He had left almost everything behind on Kafrene, but as he walked the quiet halls of the Verdant, he reminded himself to not regret leaving that life.

Tom had steady employment – good employment, and after years of solitude had welcome company.

He knocked on Lady's Sybil's door, suddenly finding himself nervous. His stomach always managed to become riddled with butterflies every time she was near, despite the fact that they had conducted over fifty relief missions together, most of the time with only a skeleton crew of other pilots and technicians. Something about her determination and spirit was like nothing he'd ever seen on Kafrene, which was so bogged down by Imperial rule it crushed the spirits of anyone who lived there. Even the rest of the Crawley sisters were like that – Lady Mary with her politics and Lady Edith with her flying. She was naturally talented in a way that made him want to become a better pilot.

"Come in," came Sybil's soft voice from the behind the door.

With the press of a button, Sybil's door opened with a hydraulic hiss and she turned from the viewport towards him.

Strands of her hair escaped her braid, and she had changed from her light day dress into clothing more suited to a desert – light linen trousers, weatherproof boots, a muslin top, and a scarf looped around her neck.

"We should be at Jakku momentarily, my lady," he said, leaning against the door's opening. Not very captain-like, but he knew Lady Sybil didn't mind.

"Thank you, Tom," she said before gazing back out the viewport. "I imagine this might be the last relief mission we conduct in a while."

Tom grimaced. "The Empire's new restrictions, right?"

Sybil turned back to him, blinking in semi-astonishment.

The captain laughed. "We get the holonews down in the servants' hall, too, my lady."

"Right, of course," she said, blushing. "That was silly."

Tom stood from the doorway and entered her room fully. Something was bothering her, he could tell. Usually she was much more resolute on missions like this, and usually she didn't let the Empire get her down.

"Hey, it might take a little longer for your missions to get approved, but they can't stop them altogether," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

"It's not just that," Sybil started. "It's… when Mary came back from her Senate meeting, she said the new restrictions came about because of Cousin James and Cousin Patrick."

Tom breathed, feeling a pang in his heart. He hadn't known the Crawley heirs well – they had mainly kept to themselves whenever they had been staying at the estate and they had never once required his piloting services. James and Patrick Crawley had been a mystery to Tom, only spoken about from the lips of the footmen coming back to the servants' hall with upstairs gossip, or the occasional word from Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes. Still, the Empire using their deaths as an excuse to further their own tyrannical agenda – as if they hadn't already clamped down on Grantham enough already. Tom felt his expression darken in anger but forced himself to relax.

He sat down across from Sybil at the small table by the view port and tentatively reached across to hold her hand. It was a small gesture of comfort and solace, but something they could only do in the privacy of a place like this. "This work you're doing is important, Sybil," he said, almost whispering. "More important than the Empire could ever understand."

Sybil smiled. "The work we're doing, you mean. If I could pilot a ship like you or Edith I'd be doing these almost every day."

"I don't doubt it," Tom said, smiling.

Sybil's confidence seemed to return so after, and all too quickly a slew of beeps and whistles came over his comm.

"Aytoo says we're coming up on Jakku," Tom said.

Sybil followed him to the bridge as the ship dropped out of lightspeed and the sandy orb that was Jakku rushed up to meet them.

Along with two Imperial Star Destroyers.


Sybil's heart froze.

She couldn't move.

Cousin Matthew had said the Empire rarely patrolled the Western Reaches. So why was there a blockade right in front of them?

"Dammit," Tom hissed beside her, scrambling over the ship's console. R3-A2 let out a series of nervous beeps.

"Yeah, Yeah, I know!" He shouted at the droid as he maneuvered the ship away from the nose of the closest Star Destroyer.

"What are they doing here?" Sybil asked, her voice pitching. What could Jakku have that the Empire could possibly want? Besides sand.

"It's the Empire," Tom said through his teeth, hands clutching the ship's controls. "They don't need a reason to be here." The disgust in his voice was palpable as they ship swerved sharply to the right. Without thinking, Sybil reached out with the Force to steady herself and then grabbed the back of Tom's seat. After regaining her balance, she reminded herself not to do that again. Not with the Empire so close.

"You can't possibly outrun them," Sybil said as more of the Verdant's crew filled into the bridge.

"I'm not trying to, my lady. I just want to get out of range of their guns, otherwise this whole trip would have been for nothing."

Sybil swallowed nervously. She couldn't let it be for nothing, she couldn't. She gazed down at the planet's surface. People down there were depending on them, and she couldn't let them down. She couldn't let the Empire get in her way.

"Aytoo, put the ship's shields up," Captain Branson called to the droid.

"They surely won't let us descend when they notice our shields are up," Sybil said.

"Yes, but it might get them to ask questions first and shoot later," he replied.

"Captain, there's an incoming transmission," one of the petty officers said from her station. Sybil's heart skipped a beat, but at least Tom had been right.

As if reading her mind, the captain gave her a knowing smirk. "Let it through," he said.

"This is the Imperial Star Destroyer Devastator," the voice over the commlink said.

If it were possible, Sybil's heart dropped all the way down to her feat. The air seemed have been sucked out of the bridge, leaving her feeling lightheaded. Her knuckles were white against the back of the captain's seat, and her legs felt as if they were about to go out from under her.

I'm going to faint, she thought.

No, you can't faint, you can't.

Sybil forced herself to gaze at the Star Destroyer facing them, its massive shadow engulfing the Verdant in darkness. The Devastator was the flagship of Darth Vader – the Emperor's right hand. The galaxy was flooded with rumours about him – that he could kill someone with only a look, that his body was made from the parts of old Republic cruisers, that he had a collection of hundreds of lightsabers, one from each Jedi he had killed.

"Your cruiser has not been granted permission to enter this quadrant. Identify yourselves and state your business," the voice continued.

Sybil gazed at Tom, who shared her nervous look.

The captain reached to the transmission button and spoke evenly. "This is Captain Tom Branson of the cruiser Verdant. I am accompanied by a small crew and Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham. We come representing Grantham on a relief mission to the people of Jakku."

Sybil hoped that was enough.

Trust in the Force, her grandmother's words floated through her head. Trust in the Force… the Force… the Force…

"Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded," the voice replied. "Failure to comply will result in your destruction."

Sybil's heart sank even lower. The Force surely wasn't helping her at the moment.

Suddenly, she thought of Cousin James and Patrick, and how they must have felt during their voyage. She didn't know where they had gone or what their mission was, but she couldn't help but imagine their cruiser being pulled onto a Star Destroyer – perhaps this very one – and awaiting their fate. Did the same fate await her and Tom and the rest of the crew?

She shook her head with a jolt. She couldn't allow herself to think like that.

Trust in the Force it will guide you and keep you safe.

Beside her, Tom was practically fuming in his seat. She reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Drop the shields," she said. "What choice do we have?"

"The choice to fight back, to resist," he replied, unable to meet her gaze.

"Look out in front of you, Tom," she replied, her voice even. Trust in the Force. "Our cruiser doesn't stand a chance against two Imperial Star Destroyers. We're not abandoning the people who need us." She looked up now at the rest of the small crew surrounding them. They all looked how she felt, worried and unsure. "We must everything we can to get our cargo to the villagers."

After dropping the Verdant's shields, it didn't take long for the Devastator to pull it in to its belly. A series of rumbles startled Sybil, and she and Tom exited the bridge and entered the hallway that led to the entrance of the ship.

She could feel sweat starting to form on her forehead, and then a hand squeezing hers. Tom's hand. She looked over at the captain, and he gave her a reassuring smile. For a moment, Sybil closed her eyes, remembering her grandmother. She had said that the Force flows through all beings, even those that aren't Force-sensitive. Sybil reached out with a few tendrils of the Force, letting it surround Tom. Though he didn't know it, she felt his presence in the force – comforting like her grandmother, yet with him she could smell ship fuel, oil, and coffee.

With a jolt, the Verdant's doors opened and a squadron of Stormtroopers flooded the hall, guns raised. A few uniformed officers followed them.

Tom squeezed her hand a little tighter and with his free one removed his blaster from its holster, set it on the ship's floor and kicked it towards the Stormtroopers. None of them spoke, and instead moved aside to line the hallway.

A dark figure then entered the from the steam into the ship's hall.

Darth Vader.

Blast, if she made it out of this, she would never hear the end of it from her parents. Or Mary.

He stopped right before her and Tom, and from her height she had to crane her neck to fully look him up and down. Every single inch of him was black – from his helmet to his boots. As she peered into his dark eyes, she couldn't help but wonder if there was any human part of him at all.

Sybil's heart was nearly pounding out of her chest and she pushed all thoughts of the Force deep down. She could see the glint of the dark lord's lightsaber from underneath his cape and her heart's pace quickened.

The ominous figure before her fought with the weapon of the Jedi, and yet he was not.

"Captain Tom Branson and Lady Sybil Crawley?" The voice rumbled from beneath the mask, shaking the entire ship.

Sybil nodded stiffly.

"Where is your cargo and flight manifest?"

She could see her own reflection in Vader's eyes. She knew how scared she looked. "Our cargo hold is at the stern of the ship, and the manifest is on the bridge. Captain Branson can show them to you."

Vader's gaze shifted to his officers and with a single small gesture he motioned for them to step forward. He turned back to her and Tom. "Show them, Captain," he said.

Sybil felt Tom hesitate. He was still holding her hand. She gave him a reassuring nod, and he was down the ship's hall, flanked by two Imperial officers.

Vader stayed before her, continuing to look her up and down. "I'm sure you know, Lady Sybil, that all relief missions are to be strictly monitored by the Empire."

"Yes–"

"Then why is your mission not on any Imperial ledger?"

Breathe. Just breathe. "This mission was planned weeks ago. There was simply no time–"

"if I recall correctly," Vader interrupted. "Your cousins suffered the consequences of such an action."

Heat rose in her cheeks, and Sybil's fists curled into balls.

"Perhaps you should learn from their mistakes."

Sybil pushed her feelings way down, so far down to hide herself from Vader, but…

She could feel something, some faint tendrils in the Force. But they weren't warm and comforting like those from her grandmother or Tom. They were cold, dark.

Alone. Sybil had never felt so alone.

Those tendrils were coming from Vader, she realized. He was reaching out with the Force.

No, no, no…

Sybil forced her thoughts down as much as she could, but Vader's stare would not relent. The dark, the cold, it was surrounding her, suffocating her, but also pulling her, enticing her. She resisted, new beads of sweat forming on her brow.

Footsteps approaching, and those feelings were gone. Tom and the officers came back, one of them handing Vader the datapad containing the flight manifest.

"The cargo is clean, sir," he said. "It only contained rations, drinking water, and water purifiers."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Vader rumbled, practically shoving the datapad into Tom's hands. "Allow the Verdant to continue its descent. However, I want an Imperial escort for this ship to the planet's surface and back to Grantham."

That was hardly necessary, but Sybil didn't raise her voice to argue.

"And the Devastator shall be confiscating a quarter of your cargo."

"Whatever for?" Sybil cried.

At the same time, Tom said "that is not acceptable."

Vader didn't move. "Compensation for the Empire. Do not let this happen again, or Grantham will no longer be conducting relief missions."

Sybil held her glare but knew better than to challenge him. Her heart resumed its pounding.

After a few more agonizing seconds, Vader and his officers left the Verdant, with instructions for his Stormtroopers to move the cargo onto the Devastator.

Sybil let out a soft breath when Darth Vader finally disappeared out of the ship's door and back onto his own, the darkness and cold she had been feeling escaping with him. She must have still looked distressed, because she felt Tom's hand on her shoulder, and he bent down to meet her eye.

"Are you alright, my lady?" He asked. His voice trembled a little.

Tearing her gaze away from the retreating figures, she faced her captain. Ship fuel. Oil. Coffee. She felt his presence again, replacing what had been the suffocating presence belonging to Vader.

Still, her heart trembled at his power. His darkness had called to her – what did that mean? Had sensed her own Force-sensitivity?

Keeping her secret safe with Gwen wouldn't matter if the Dark Lord himself now knew it. The thought made her nauseous.

"I'm alright," she lied.

Whatever had happened didn't matter. All that mattered was getting what was left of their cargo to the villagers on Jakku.

She could deal with matters of the Force later.


As promised, an Imperial escort of three TIE fighters led the Verdant back through hyperspace to Grantham.

Sybil had spent the whole time trying in vain to calm herself by reaching out to the Force, but her mind was occupied by terrified thoughts of the TIEs suddenly turning their guns on them and shooting the cruiser into space dust.

She stayed on the ship's bridge, surrounded by those she knew and when Grantham's surface rushed into view she finally regained her composure.

"See, Aytoo?" Tom said with a relieve smile down at the atromech. "I told you they were just following us. Their guns weren't even in attack position."

"Don't start that until we reach the hangar bay," Sybil said. "We haven't landed on Grantham yet."

As much as she worried, the Verdant's landing was smooth and uneventful. Their escort broke off soon after the cruiser passed Grantham's atmosphere, and she prayed that no one had seen the TIEs breakaway and return back up through the sky.

Those hopes were quickly dashed, however, as when she descended the ramp down from the ship and Mary was there waiting for her.

"What happened?" She asked, arms firmly crossed on her chest. Mary's expression was unreadable, a mix between worry, furiousness, and relief.

Sybil gazed at the rest of the crew descending the ship. She knew she could count on their discretion to not say anything about what had transpired, and Tom who would be fiddling with the ship with Aytoo for hours would surely not breathe a word of their Imperial encounter, but it was clear Mary had seen the TIEs. She couldn't lie to her sister about this, she would see right through her.

She waited until the hanger was empty save for the soft beeps and whirs of the atro droids.

"We had a bit of… trouble at Jakku," Sybil confessed.

"Imperial trouble?"

Sybil nodded. "We were boarded and inspected. They took some of our cargo, and they let us go on our way." No need to mention Darth Vader.

"With an Imperial escort," Mary said.

"With an Imperial escort," Sybil confirmed. "But please, you can't tell Mama or Papa or anyone! Please, Mary!"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"They'll never let me go on another mission again," Sybil said. She could only imagine how her parents would react if they found out the ship was boarded by the Empire. Or that Darth Vader himself had led the inspection. They'd never let her leave the planet's surface again. "And the galaxy depends on resources like ours."

Mary grimaced. "Cousin Matthew said it himself the Empire rarely patrols the Western Reaches." She had that look on her face when she was about to get into an argument with someone. "We're going to have words, him and me."

Sybil breathed heavily. "Don't blame Cousin Matthew, he was supporting me. I argued to go despite the danger."

"Yes, but do you realize what this looks like? He practically sent you into danger himself." Mary was seething now.

"He did no such thing," Sybil argued.

"What did I tell you, Sybil? We can't trust strangers. Especially Cousin Matthew," Mary practically spat the words. Then she let out a breath, her expression relaxed. "For the sake of both Mama and Papa's hearts, I shall keep this misadventure between the both of us."

Sybil breathed out of relief.

Mary continued. "But promise me to not act on any advice given by Cousin Matthew, not until we know where his true allegiance lies."

She nodded, unable to get any words out. She wanted to trust Cousin Matthew, of course, but if it meant Mary would not share the details of her relief mission with the rest of the family, she would head her sister's advice.

Mary reached out and took Sybil by the hand, rather unexpectedly, and squeezed. It was one of those sisterly affections she rarely saw in Mary. Senator Mary Crawley, who was so political and straightforward and saw the galaxy in black-and-white. For a small moment, she looked almost vulnerable. Her eyes with shiny with tears, her shoulders were heavy, like she was bearing the weight of Grantham itself on them. "We must not risk the safety of this family or the Alliance again."


There were a lot of things Abram Kel had seen that he wasn't supposed to. Being an aide to the Governor of Grantham wasn't exactly a high-paying job after all, and Abram wanted to leave.

It earned him enough credits to live a comfortable life on Grantham, there was no denying that – but hiring his own ship off this big, beautiful, and entirely frustrating planet would cost him not only an even heftier amount of credits, but also more time than he could spare. And not to mention he needed a way past the Imperial officials who rigorously checked anything and everything that left the surface.

Thomas had said that evening at the gala that he would be foolish to try to escape the clutches of the Empire. He said it as if the Empire owned him, as if he was indentured to them. In a way, Abram supposed the footman was right. He was terribly smart about these sorts of things. But it wasn't as if Abram had chosen this career path himself – he had his father to thank for that. Bastard.

He gazed up through the massive floor-to-ceiling window from his small bureau in the large office room in the governor's mansion. It was dark, the rest of the staff had retired to the officers' quarters and the only light was provided by a small reading lamp and the three moons high up in the sky. Off in the distance, the Crawleys' sprawling estate gleamed. Most of its lights were off, but it still sparkled in the moonlight. It almost reminded him of his own family's home on Coruscant, though the Crawley estate was about three times the size of that of his family's and centuries older.

Where was his father now? Abram wondered as he gazed into space past the three moons. It had been years since he'd talked to him. Probably gambling all of his money at the tables on Canto Bight while his brothers ran the business for him. He suddenly felt an urge to message his brothers on his holopad. Perhaps if he was lucky, they could find a way for him to come home. He would have to convince Thomas to come with him, but with enough persuading the footman might actually agree. Abram shook his head, and the thought vanished. He didn't need this family – they were the ones who had all but sold him to the Empire in hopes of gaining influence with its high command. And where had that got them? He was a minor aide to a governor of minor influence. Not exactly the great statesman they were hoping for.

And now Abram was stuck.

He turned back to the bits of information he had gathered from Governor Callen's latest transmissions. A shipment of weapons here, a cruiser full of hyperfuel there. This sort of information sold for more credits than he earned assisting Callen – and Abram would soon have enough to buy his way off of Grantham and establish himself far from both his family and the Empire's reach. He just had to convince Thomas to join him.

But Thomas Barrow was the tricky sort. Stubborn and determined. Determined to become the big butler on that estate, and Abram was afraid even he wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise.

Abram shook his thoughts and cleared his mind. The light from Governor Callen's office was still on, and his shadow moved from behind the door. He knew the governor would soon turn in for the night, so Abram quickly transcribed the last few of the transmissions on his own datapad and shoved it down the inside pocket of his uniform's jacket. He didn't want to be in this office longer than was necessary, especially with Governor Callen in the mood that he was. He was so irritable as of late, perhaps a consequence of Grand Moff Tarkin breathing down his back. It seemed as if every day the office received one of two encrypted transmissions from the man – the sort that we so high above Abram's pay grade he would need someone with talents beyond his own abilities to decode. Whatever it was, it must be important to the Empire.

It was times like this he wished he had spent more time paying attention to his instructors during his time at the Imperial Academy. If he had, he might have been able to decode Tarkin's messages and then he'd be he able to buyhis own ship and escape. He'd be able to buy his own fleet. But those transmissions continued to come in and Abram continued to send them directly to Callen's console without ever knowing what they contained.

As Abram started packing up his belongings and turned off his desk lamp, a bright red light on his console started flashing.

His brow furrowed.

An incoming transmission – this late at night? It was coming from a Star Destroyer, Abram could tell that much just by looking at the transmission's code on the console, and they all operated on Coruscant's standard time which was… still late at night.

Abram peered closer at the transmission's code. His eye widened to the size of Grantham's moons. The code belonged to the Devastator.

Hands flying over the console, Abram pressed the comm that connected to Callen's office.

"What is it, Kel?" Governor Callen's voice came over the comm.

"A transmission for you, sir," Abram said. "From the Devastator."

"Yes, alright," the governor said. All was quiet again.

Abram thought well to leave it at that and exit the office, but the sound of a mechanical breathing caught his ear. He turned toward Callen's office and with quiet steps tentatively approached its door. It was hard given that his boots tended to squeak on the marble floor, but the sound of the mechanical breathing grew loud enough to cover the sound.

"Lord Vader, this is most unexpected," Callen's voice drifted from behind the door.

Abram suddenly shivered. He had never seen the man – thing – before, but he'd heard plenty enough during his time at the Academy.

"Governor, are you aware of a relief mission conducted earlier today from Grantham to Jakku?" Darth Vader's voice rumbled against the door, deep and mechanical.

"Yes, my Lord, it was conducted by Lady–"

"I know who conducted the mission, because I boarded and had their ship searched myself," Vader fumed. A sudden chill filled the office, and Abram could no longer hear the governor. The only sound coming from the room before him was a frightened gagging sound. Was he choking? Should he rush in to help?

No, that would be beyond foolish. This was obviously something of Lord Vader's doing, and Abram would accomplish nothing by rushing in besides giving away that he had be eavesdropping. He knew where that would let lead him – in front of a firing squad, no doubt. Abram swallowed and pressed his ear a little closer to the door.

"I need not remind you, Governor," Vader continued, "that any and all relief missions are now to be restricted. You would do well to remind the Crawleys of this. We don't need another incident like at the Yards."

No sound came from the governor.

"Any travel off-planet by the Crawleys must be reported back to Tarkin," Vader said.

A loud gasp suddenly came from behind the door, making Abram jump out of his skin. His heart pounded so loud he worried those beyond the door would be able to hear it.

The governor was coughing, he realized, gulping in air greedily. "Yes, my Lord," he rasped.

"And keep a watchful eye on Lady Sybil Crawley. She could be of interest to me… personally."