II-XIII. "Of All the Commlinks and All the People in All the Worlds..."

Here we go!

The meeting with High Command had already been going for over an hour, and showed signs of dragging on for another. They had discussed supply lines until everyone present would almost have preferred starvation to saying another word on the subject, and then discussion had turned to planning humanitarian missions, which had been a surprisingly contentious topic. Everyone had their own ideas on which world needed aid most desperately, no one could agree on whether they ought to direct their efforts toward Allied worlds or worlds that might yet be won over the Alliance, and in the end, nothing was settled during that session.

"Speaking of humanitarian endeavours, however," said Padmé, "I believe Bail has some progress to report on the solution for the clones' aging?"

The memory storage stolen from Kamino had contained a folder with detailed chemical synthesis protocols and testing data for a drug cocktail to inhibit accelerated aging. [Rex and Kix had been torn between relief and seething when the information was discovered. Kamino had definitely possessed the ability to give the vod'e normal human lifespans, and instead had kept them short-lived—fast-wearing products made to be used and discarded.] The information had been given to Bail, who had in turn passed it to a coalition of likeminded researchers at Aldera's university, who would produce the drug and evaluate its safety.

"Quite a bit of progress, actually," Bail said. "One of the labs has successfully synthesized all components of the drug cocktail, and several others said that they are 'currently testing it in rapid-aging cell and animal models.' Kamino's data suggested it to be safe and effective, but, of course, independent testing is preferable. They hope to have it ready for trial in a group of volunteers by the end of the year. Some volunteers will not be given the drug, of course, according to standard trial protocol."

"So some of us will just continue getting older, even though this drug probably works?" Rex asked, with a rather hard look toward Bail.

"That's the way science works, vod," said Kix. "You need some untreated people for the sake of comparison. But, Senator Organa, will you ask your scientists if they can arrange for those placebo recipients to come from later batches? We're all clones, genetically identical, so theoretically it's a valid setup. And that way, at least, the oldest of us could receive the actual treatment as soon as possible."

Rex relaxed slightly, and Bail nodded. "I'll ask."

"That's as fair as it's going to get; thanks, Senator. We should be able to have a list of all the known vod'e and their batch numbers together by the time the scientists are ready for trials."

"Thank you. And Kix, I can send you the overview reports on current testing data, if you like."

Kix nodded his thanks, and the conversation moved on.

"We've been receiving reports of calls to Alliance commlinks over the past couple of days, purporting to be the third coming of Darth Maul," announced Madine.

"Impossible, I assure you," Obi-Wan said. "Maul, for all his many talents, has at last learned that there are some wounds which even his impressive spite cannot render survivable."

Amusement rippled around the room.

"Indeed," said Mon. "Our technicians have traced the calls to a couple of teenage slicers on base. It seems they grew bored, and, in the way of youths…." She trailed off with an elegant shrug. "The question, of course, is what to do with them."

Madine's Imperial background surfaced in the advocation for some sort of severe penalty. The suggestion was not without supporters. The young slicers were both a nuisance and a potential security threat, and making an example of them might help to prevent this sort of thing in the future.

"It won't," Rex said. "When you've got an army, a teenager, or both, pranks are bound to happen."

Madine grunted. "We've all heard of the exploits of the 501st, but I hardly think that's a good standard for an army. General Kenobi, were your men ever this undisciplined?"

"We never rivaled the 501st, but we had our share of incidents. Before this becomes a comparison of military philosophies, however, might I suggest that we return to the matter at hand?"

"Is this the slicers' first offense?" Padmé asked.

"As far as we know."

"Then perhaps we ought to be lenient. They're dedicated, talented slicers, and they've helped to infiltrate Imperial communications several times, haven't they? But they're still just kids. Besides," she added wryly, "they've done us a favor, in a way. Now we know that our directory was sliceable, and the techs can fix it."

"Or, better yet, have the culprits fix it, under supervision," Bail said. "They know its flaws better than anyone else, and it will be a more constructive experience than punishment."

This was grudgingly agreed to, and the conference trudged on.

"With an eye to our long-term goals, how is recruitment progressing?"

"Not too great," Rex said. "It's hard to pull in large numbers when we can't exactly be open about it. And we can't be open about it until we have large enough numbers to hold our own when the Empire decides to crack down. It's slow going. It would help if planetary leaders would openly declare their allegiance and give their people an example to follow—not meaning any affront to you or Queen Breha, Senator Organa—"

"I understand. We are all too fragmented, however. Unless we all stand up together, the first to rise will surely be crushed beneath the Imperial heel as an example to others."

Padmé nodded. "Frustrating as it is, we need to accept that things will move slowly for the foreseeable future. We need to build trust among allied worlds and build up our fleet."

"In the meantime, though," Ackbar added, "we won't let the galaxy forget that we exist. Small sabotage missions like we've been employing help to keep up moral and make those fighting with us feel that they're making contributions to the cause. They also keep the Rebellion in the public eye. Outside the Core, in particular, this is likely to be an advantage. If the Mid and Outer Rims know we're here, and we're not giving up, they'll be more likely to consider joining us at some point."

"What about Palpatine?" asked Mon. "Ventress has demonstrated that he and his attack dog are more or less impervious to assassination. How are we supposed to rid the galaxy of two unkillable adversaries? Kenobi, can you, Ventress, and Tano combined take care of them?"

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. "Four Jedi Masters together failed to kill Sidious, as did Master Yoda. Three Jedi-and-company against that Sith Master and his apprentice would not be an even match."

"Then what are we supposed to do? Will Amidala's children be strong enough to fight them?" asked Madine.

"My children will not become weapons in this fight," Padmé replied, coldly. "When they are of age, they may choose whether they will face the Sith or not, if the point is still relevant at that time. It will be their choice. Not mine. Not yours."

They would not grow up under the burden of such expectations. She looked to Obi-Wan, who reached over to clasp her hand beneath the table in a gesture of solidarity.

Padmé let out a long, slow sigh as she climbed into bed. Peace and quiet, at last. There were some communications she should go through, but they could wait until morning. Tonight, she was going to read a bit of fiction for the first time in weeks, and then she would enjoy hours upon hours of blissful sleep. She thought she was entitled to that much, after an exhausting day of meetings, worrying about Ahsoka, wrangling a child who didn't want to do his homework, and trying to track down spare parts for Threepio, who had blown a fuse in a spat with Artoo. Of course, protocol droids Force-only-knew how many years out of date were hard to find parts for, and especially so on the Rebel base, where protocol droids of any variety were scarce. Of course it couldn't have been Artoo who had blown a fuse, since astromech spares were easy to come by. And while there were several alternatives available, nobody was quite sure which might work, because Threepio was so very… customized. Stars, she wished Ana—no, she didn't. Anyway, she would figure it out. Perhaps Owen and Beru would know which alternative fuses might work. She would have to call them as soon as she had time—at any rate, it wasn't going to be fixed tonight, so she might as well stop fretting and read the light novel that had been taking up space on her personal datapad for half an age.

No sooner had Padmé gotten a couple paragraphs into the first chapter, than her commlink chimed. Grumbling, she hauled herself out of bed to retrieve it from across the room, where she had put it in a pitiful effort to procure a restful evening and a decent night's sleep. She turned on the comm and almost jumped out of her skin when a menacing holo sprang up in her hand—a dark-garbed figure, heavily armored and cloaked, summited by a helmet she had seen all too often in briefings and the holonews. Her brain stalled as it struggled to compute. Something didn't make sense. Why is that a holo of Darth Vader. On my commlink. The two items refused to add up. Padmé could only stare in disbelief as the sound of mechanized respiration issued from the comm. One cycle, then two, as if awaiting a salutation. (That couldn't really be the Sith Apprentice. Could it?)

A low, synthesized voice demanded, "Governor Tarkin, have you managed yet to discover the location of the kyber shipment which you misplaced?"

"What?" Padmé asked. Wait…. The earlier Command meeting came back to her. Oh, she should not have pushed for leniency toward those teenager slicers. It seemed they had tired of pranking people with Maul and moved on to Vader. (But, all the same, she muted the comm and summoned Artoo to trace the call. Just in case.)

"Governor," Vader's voice went on, none too cordially, "I should not be required to inform you that several site directors are issuing complaints to His Imperial Majesty regarding a missing shipment now known to have been stolen through the use of your codes."

Padmé sighed and unmuted the comm again.

"This is enough," she said sternly, in the lower pitch and Outer Rim accent that she used outside her circle of intimates. "I'm not going to report you this time, since High Command is supposed to be speaking to you soon, but please remember that prank calls are an abuse of our directory, which you shouldn't even have access to in the first place. In addition to which, impersonating Maul is irritating, but pretending to be Vader is completely inappropriate!"

"Pretending?" Amazing, how well that synthesized voice could convey indignation. "I pretend nothing. You, however, will now cease this ill-conceived jest and—"

She didn't register the rest of the injunction, for Artoo beeped, [Trace complete.]

"And?"

[Signal is from Atravis sector.]

Atravis—home to Mustafar, that hated world, where intelligence also placed Vader's stronghold.

Padmé stared at the holo. A chill shivered along her spine as the full import of the words sank in. In all likelihood, the voice on the other end did not belong to a mischievous teenager, but to an extremely irritated Sith Lord and right hand of the Emperor. Thank the stars that all Alliance-issue comms defaulted to voice-only outgoing transmissions. Her brain must have been quite thoroughly fried from the long day, because her next inclination was to break down in hysterical laughter. She knew this was a serious matter, but at the same time, it was so purely ridiculous—

Padmé fought to keep a hysterical tremor out of her voice. "I—I think you entered the wrong code."

Vader, evidently dismissing the suggestion as a ludicrous impossibility, merely demanded, "Where is Tarkin?"

"I don't have the faintest clue," she said.

"You are in possession of his commlink. What have you done with him?"

"I don't have his commlink, and I didn't do anything with him! I'm not saying that you made a mistake, but one of us has obviously made a mistake, and it wasn't me; I am one of the last people in the galaxy who would ever have anything to do with a Moff's commlink!"

Without warning, her door began to open, and Luke poked his head in. "Hey Mama—"

Instinct seizing control, she screeched, "Luke, no—!" and blocked his view of the holo with her body.

Shavit!

Muting the comm again and hustling Luke out ("Yes, you can get a snack. Yes, you have to brush your teeth again. Yes, I'm doing Rebel things. Please knock next time my door is shut. Goodnight, dear, I love you too."), she appealed to all the arbiters of fate to let her squawk have been garbled and unintelligible on the Sith apprentice's end.

It was, of course, too great a request.

In his fortress on Mustafar, Vader watched fissures run up the duraglass of a nearby viewport. The woman—a rebel, to judge by that disdainful comment about a Moff's commlink—had clearly been addressing a child, her child. How many times had Shmi Skywalker used that selfsame tone to warn her own son away from imminent danger?

Luke must be this insurgent's son.

A scrap of conversation floated through Vader's memory, accompanied by a hazy image—the twilit Coruscant skyline, an apartment, a quiet hour amidst the chaos of war and the end of all things—

"Luke?" his angel asked.

"Leia."

"Why are you so sure?"

"I just know, that's all."

"Well, so do I, so one of us must be wrong."

"Must be you."

"Really, Ani, I think—"

He crushed the memory away—as he had crushed away the lives of those immortalized within it—and snarled, "You would do well to teach your son that the Empire brings a peace and an order which your precious Republic never could, and your Alliance never will."

"Says someone responsible for the enslavement of numerous worlds, and the oppression of countless more! If that's your idea of peace and order—then you must be the most delusional Sith I've ever met, and that is saying something!"

With that, Padmé clicked off the comm with fingers that were beginning to shake and marveled at her own audacity. She really ought to have known better than to argue with a Sith—she should have turned the commlink off as soon as she realised who was on the other end—but the frustration of years had refused to be held back, and it had felt rather good to give the Empire a piece of her mind, to its face. But why, why had she been stupid enough to say Luke's name? It wasn't as if it was a terribly rare name—it was simple enough, too, that it probably occurred across many cultures. No one would assume that a child named Luke had Nubian heritage. Besides, she hadn't given any indication that she herself was Nubian, or that Luke was Force-sensitive. There was no way, even if word of a rebel with a child named Luke made its way to Palpatine, that he could know the rebel was the supposed-dead Amidala. It was fine. Ish. It was a lesson to be remembered for the future, but there was comparatively little harm done.

Once her wits were mostly corralled—collected being too much to ask for, at this point—Padmé picked up her comm again. Mon Mothma would almost certainly still be awake, and she needed to hear about the incident.

Mon answered quickly. "Padmé? I thought you were taking the night off."

"I was, but I have some rather alarming news."

"Urgent?"

"Some of it."

"I'm in my office."

That she dared even to exist, this rebel with Padmé's fire, Shmi's accent—a Rim accent that colored her words but didn't saturate them—and a son who bore the name that ought to have belonged to Vader's son.

A rebel.

A mockery.

Vader stalked to a training room, where he proceeded to annihilate training droids one by one.

"You really were supposed to take the night off," Mon observed again, gesturing for Padmé to sit.

Padmé snorted. "Tell that to the Empire."

"The Empire?"

"It turns out that Wilhuff Tarkin had to change his commlink code, for reasons relating to the theft of a 'shipment' of kyber."

"A shipment of kyber? How strange. However did you come by that piece of intel? It sounds like the sort of embarrassing incident that would quickly be hushed up."

There was that irritating urge to laugh, again. Padmé took a moment to steady herself.

"It also turns out that Tarkin's new code must be similar to mine. And—this is the absurd part, Mon, and I'm not sure how to say it without sounding like a bad holodrama—well, it seems that Vader, in trying to reach the Moff, called me instead."

Mon's eyes widened, but she otherwise took the news in stride. "Well, you always were one for getting involved in interesting incidents."

Shifting to a more businesslike demeanor, she added, "I'll make sure your requisition for a new code goes through. Everything should be secure and untraceable, but it never hurts to be sure. We'll monitor all Imperial sources we can access for signs of an imminent strike on Yavin, as well. It's unlikely, but I'd like to avoid a last-minute evacuation, if at all possible." She paused in reflection. "Padmé—if our technicians or your menace of an astromech can strengthen your current comm's encryption, would you be willing to keep it?"

"On the chance that the Sith apprentice will make a second mistake and unwittingly share further intelligence."

"Yes…."

"And?" Padmé asked.

"Thinking back to our discussion about eliminating the Sith, earlier today… what if we didn't have to eliminate both of them? It's the Sith way for the apprentice to turn on the master, correct?"

"That's the general pattern, yes." Padmé wasn't sure she liked where this was heading.

"Yet this apprentice has shown little inclination toward rebellion."

"Well, it's only been seven years. Count Dooku was an apprentice for upwards of ten, we estimate, and never made a decisive move."

"True, but the Alliance would rather not wait that long. Elimination of either Sith will leave us with an advantage. Palpatine wins, and the military is weakened while he brings a new apprentice up to speed. Vader wins, and I think likely the Empire will begin to rip itself apart. He's a military commander; he was rarely seen around the Senate when I was still there, and Bail says that is still the case. He does not know how to manage politics and economics, and as Emperor, he would find that 'peace and order' are difficult to maintain when shortages and wasteful surpluses abound, and the military's pay is deep in arrears."

"So, you think we might be able to drive a wedge between the Sith by manipulating Vader?" Oh, she definitely didn't like where this was going—but she could see the appeal of the idea. "Mon Mothma, you are a dangerous woman."

"I never used to be," Mon replied grimly. "I don't like the idea of provoking a schism—it's too similar to what Palpatine did to grab power. But it may be the best way to minimize losses—"

"Letting the enemies fight and weaken or destroy each other, so we stand a better chance when our turn comes. It's a sensible plan, Mon—but I'm supposed to be staying out of the public eye. I know it doesn't sound too dangerous, with anonymity and a secure comm, but—I don't know about this."

"You need only see if you can glean any further information. Then we can all decide how best to drive a wedge between the Sith. After all, it's very much a shot in the dark. The opportunity for further, ah, reconnaissance may never even arise. But if it should—would you be willing?"

"I don't know. Give me a couple of days to think it over? One day. In the meantime, I'll have the comm secured, regardless."

"Alright. Thank you for at least considering this, Padmé. We'll talk about the kyber in the next command meeting. I think, to avoid spreading alarm, it might be best to cite an anonymous contact. I'll tell Bail about your Sith incident, though, if you'll permit?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"Good. Now, as the head of the Alliance, I'm telling you to go to bed, and don't even think about picking up a datapad until 0900 tomorrow. After tonight's events, you deserve it."

"We'll see," Padmé said. "After tonight's events, it just might take a report on the natural resources of a potential ally world to let me get to sleep."