Ahsoka's nerves frayed further with every passing week after the nightmare. She took time to research when she could, but her spare moments were few. Perhaps it was dread that made her prioritize spending time with her niece and nephew above hunting for evidence on a connection or lack thereof between Anakin and Vader.
Now that she was looking for anything to prove Vader was not Anakin, evidence to the contrary seemed to abound, where it had hitherto gone unnoticed. Anakin Skywalker was held by the Empire to be deceased, and yet she could find no record of death—only brief mentions in the HoloNews of how he had fallen in combat against a rogue Jedi. And the first mention of Vader had arisen not long after the fall of the Republic.
The holos that showed Vader using his odd, hybrid lightsaber form had been recent within the past year, but digging around in some of the more interesting corners of the holonet yielded a few old holos from shortly after the founding of the Empire. They showed Vader and the Imperial Army going up against a few fragmented CIS holdouts against Imperial rule. The Sith Lord's lightsaber form was not the same as in the later clips. Although there were a few stances and motions borrowed from other classical forms, Vader's early style was predominantly Djem So.
Ahsoka finished the third clip and rested her forehead on her arms with a groan.
It's not proof! she thought furiously. It's not proof. Coincidences happen.
It made perfect sense that Vader would use Djem So, given his height advantage and aggression. Even if Padmé was right, and he had once been a Jedi—well, plenty of Jedi had used Djem So. Anakin certainly hadn't been the only one. But if the similarities and the old news clips weren't proof, then why did these coincidences keep showing up, and why could she find nothing to prove that her master and the present Sith apprentice were separate entities?
She turned off the holoprojector with a growl.
What would she do, what would any of them do, if it turned out that it was true? Would she tell Obi-Wan? Would she tell Padmé? She couldn't imagine what would happen if she did, didn't even know what she would do with the knowledge, let alone what the others would do with it. She had assumed… oh… she had assumed that Anakin was somewhere in the shadows—dark, yes, but not like Vader, not serving as Palpatine's bloody Fist. If it was true—kriff, it would make everything so much more difficult. The idea of bringing Vader back from the dark was laughable. But if…
Enough. Much more of this sort of thinking, and she would become too distracted to focus on her work for the Alliance. Closing the file where she was amassing information on Vader, she joined the twins on the floor in the common room, sprawled in the midst of a sea of flimsi and colorful drawing sticks. Leia looked up.
"The Force is all shivery around you," she observed. "Are you scared of something?"
"A bit," Ahsoka admitted.
"Why're you scared? Are you doing a dangerous mission?" Luke's eyes were wide. "Do the Imps know we're here?"
"Does someone know Mama's alive?" Leia put in, anxiously.
"No, little ones. We're all safe." For now.
"Then why're you scared?"
"I'm scared of something that might not be true. I'm scared because I don't know if it's true."
"What thing?"
"I'll tell you when you're older," she said, chuckling as Luke pouted and Leia rolled her eyes. "It's just a stupid, grown-up thing."
I hope.
"Now, why don't you two show me what you're drawing?"
Standing on Devastator's bridge, Vader tried in vain to block out the distress which seeped through the Apprentice's training bond. She had barricaded her end of the bond shortly after sending that cry for help, however many weeks or months ago. Time was rather a nebulous thing for Vader. It held little significance for him, its passage being marked only by the turnover of officers and the movements of troops. All that mattered at present was that the bond with Ahsoka Tano was sluggishly alive, and in every quiet moment, Vader felt faint unease whisper along it, like air currents through a canyon. Sometimes there were stronger gusts that felt like dread, and the bond almost felt bruised. During these intervals, Vader had to suppress an urge to seek out and destroy whatever was causing such distress that it could leak through her impressive mental barricade. He ought to have broken the bond upon first realizing it was still intact. He ought to break it now. Doing so would, however, be strategically unwise, for the bond might prove useful in locating Tano. So, for now, he stared fixedly out across the stars, striving to focus on the dark side and blot out the aching bond.
At the other end of the bridge, Lieutenant Piett entered, squared his shoulders, and proceeded across to the hulking shadow at the foremost viewport. It had been something of a tossup as to whether it would prove more deleterious to his health to deliver his message to Vader immediately or to withhold it until a more fortuitous moment arose. In the end, immediate action had won. Though Piett was reluctant to disturb Lord Vader, who had been even more than usually irritable of late, previous orders dictated that he was to deliver the ISB report on Kessel and Ryloth at the earliest possible opportunity. Not that pleading pre-standing orders would be any protection, but if he died, at least it would be a comfort to know that he had been in the right. It was often the most a man could ask for aboard Devastator.
Coming to a halt a respectful distance from his commander, Piett cleared his throat.
"My lord, the report on Kessel and Ryloth is in."
Vader took the datapad which the lieutenant offered and scanned the report.
No rebel activity observed on Kessel, but a young Twi'lek named Numa Sivron had failed to arrive at her stated destination after passing through the Ryloth blockade, although her cargo of Ryl foodstuffs was gone upon her return. Sivron had passed the blockade again several weeks later, at which time a tracking device had been placed on her ship. She had been traced first to Lan Barell, and then to the Ring of Kafrene. No matching individuals sighted on Lan Barell, although one witness recalled seeing crates transferred between a ship similar to Sivron's and another transport. On Kafrene, several individuals mentioned a Twi'lek fitting Sivron's description, who had been seen in company with a nondescript human or near-human woman. Could the woman be Revenant?
It was possible. Vader had no reason to suppose Revenant was not human or near-human. But would Revenant be in the field? The vague references on the holonet had suggested some sort of administrative role. Well, regardless of her specific identity, he was certain that the anonymous woman was a rebel. The entire Lan Barell-Kafrene matter fairly reeked of rebel plotting. Sivron appeared to be providing the insurgents with supplies, while also exchanging intelligence. No mean feat for a fourteen-year-old—but then, one should never underestimate the abilities of a fourteen-year-old.
"My lord," asked Piett, "shall I convey orders to the ISB on Ryloth to arrest Sivron on suspicion of rebel activity?"
"No. Sivron is but a link in a greater chain. Direct the ISB to intercept both Sivron and her contact on Kafrene."
Arriving at Fondor Shipyards, Vader conducted a review of construction progress on the Star Dreadnought Executor, under orders from His Majesty. Sidious having little interest in the finer details of ship construction, he left oversight of the Dreadnought project to Vader—and, in so doing, provided him with a location where he might stash his young apprentice, and which he had legitimate reason to visit from time to time.
After touring relevant areas of the Dreadnought, Vader met with his apprentice in a training room attached to what would become his personal quarters, upon Executor's completion. Starkiller's progress was unsatisfactory. He had failed to corrupt the Apprentice's kyber crystal, which still shone blue in a lightsaber and sang brightly in the Force, nor had he managed any better with his own saber hilt. The wiring was a disaster—had he never even taken apart a mouse droid in all the time Vader had kept him here?—and the construction itself was flimsy. He would be fortunate beyond belief if it did not fall apart during his first duel. To complete the disappointment, the young apprentice was positively bouncing with excitement.
"Master! Master, come look—PROXY made this new training module from old HoloNews clips, and it's so amazing, can I show it to…."
Starkiller trailed off as waves of Vader's disapproval smacked him through the Force. Abashed, he put away his enthusiasm and bowed.
"Will you watch what I have learned, my master?"
Vader inclined his head and moved away from the center of the room, where he was replaced by PROXY. A holoprojection flickered to life around the droid. Vader saw only its dark-robed back. Starkiller ignited his blade and raised it with a look of concentration. He still utilized the reverse grip, Vader noted with irritation. He briefly wondered whether, should he ever acquire another apprentice, they too would eschew the correct form. However, he was quickly distracted by a yet more reprehensible sight, as lightsabers clashed and PROXY spun. Starkiller's opponent was a phantom, culled from old news clips, yes, an image he had not seen in more years than he cared to remember—young, blue-eyed, nimble, with the liveliness of the early days of the war, when she was still waiting back on Coruscant—
Imperial Center.
Skywalker.
Fury filled Vader to the brim and overflowed in a boiling torrent as he stared into the face of Anakin Skywalker. He hurled Starkiller aside, seized the effigy, and crushed with all his might. Metal protested and gave way—it was only PROXY, after all, but that knowledge failed to abate Vader's rage. The droid had dared to take the guise of Skywalker, and it was a trespass of the highest degree. Wires bent, tangled, and broke—circuit boards snapped—broken pieces rained like ash from Mustafar's skies.
"Stop it!" Starkiller shrieked. He scrambled forward, tripping over a piece of crumpled plating. "You stop that! Don't hurt PROXY!"
He was attached to the droid, was he? Despite PROXY's numerous attempts to kill him…. Attachments only made one weak, and so Vader continued his demolition as Starkiller looked on in horror, until PROXY was no more than a scattering of broken parts around the room.
"If I ever witness you using a module with that individual again," Vader snarled, "your existence will cease immediately you are discovered."
The distraught Starkiller scarcely heeded his master's threat, preoccupied with sweeping up the debris as he glared balefully up at Vader through his tears.
"I hate you!"
"Good," Vader replied, coldly. "Use your hatred, and perhaps you will finally succeed in bleeding your crystal, as a worthy apprentice should."
He turned to leave, cloak billowing. Almost at the door, however, he felt a shift in the Force. Starkiller's fury broke, leaving only a great hollowness of misery and alone-alone-alone. It was disgusting, an appalling weakness in a Sith apprentice.
"You killed him," the boy whimpered, more for the floor's benefit than Vader's.
Vader looked back, considering. The boy's attachment to the droid would serve as an incentive to improve his abysmal engineering skills. Perhaps he would remain interested in the project long enough to learn skills he could put to use in constructing his saber hilt.
"Regard this as a test of your abilities," Vader said, harshly. "If the droid is reassembled, it may remain so, provided that its sole purpose is to continue your training. This is your task; do not seek assistance in it."
He refused to be lenient. Allowing the child to rebuild his droid was purely a matter of practicality.
The boy picked up a handful of broken metal and wiring and hurled it at him.
"You're a monster! Go away!"
Starkiller's growl turned into a sob at the end, and he hunched over his knees as Vader exited the training room and returned to the shuttle which would carry him back to Devastator.
Several days later, Vader's usual meditation took a disturbing turn. The chill of the dark side melted into a mere coolness, and he watched as Ahsoka stood tall and proud against the glow of day's edge—whether sunrise or set, impossible to discern—as if scanning the horizon for an awaited visitor. Then she turned, breaking into a broad smile, and closed the distance between them. When she extended her hand, a strand of beads lay draped across her palm, one end burnt and blackened, the other decorated with yellow, red, blue, and black.
"I'm asking you to come back, Anakin. We're all asking you to come back."
He reached out to take the beads, but they crumbled into black dust as soon as they touched the blood that streamed from his glove, and his fingers met Ahsoka's, instead. She gripped his hand as she knelt on the edge of a cliff—the only thing preventing him from plummeting into unknown depths.
"Just hold on—I'm here—"
Still the blood fell from his hand, now to spatter on the lenses of his mask.
"Hold on—hold on—"
But her hand was blackening as the beads had, shriveling before his eyes. The rot crept up her arm, and her eyes widened in horror.
"No—you're not—my master could never be as vile as you!"
She dropped him—or perhaps her own hand had merely decayed into oblivion—
He fell and fell, until at last he landed on sandy ground, surrounded on all sides by rough cloth walls and a ceiling of the same. Torchlight flickered and sent up grotesque shadows that loomed and crawled forth from the corners of the tent.
No—not this place again!
He tried not to turn, knowing what he would see, but his legs moved in spite of him, and he faced Shmi Skywalker. Without permission, his mouth formed a word.
"Mom?"
She lifted her head, squinting upward. "Ani?"
He watched her hope battle its way out of a sandy grave, only to die again as she took in the menacing figure before her. Her voice went low with dread. "Anakin, what have you become?"
"That is no longer my name."
"You gave up your name. You gave up your soul." Mourning shifted to angry chastisement. "You had everything! You had everything, and you threw it all away. And now you have nothing left. Anakin—"
"Do not address me thus. I killed Anakin Skywalker."
"Did you?" she asked, sadly. "I loved him. He was my sun, my light. I did not give him into freedom so he would squander it and sell himself into a yet more ghastly servitude."
"Mom—"
Her expression hardened. "You are no son of mine."
The words were heavy with disgust.
It had seemed nothing could cut as deep as Kenobi's rejection—not even Kenobi's saber—but when Shmi Skywalker disowned him, the world shook. She was wrong! She couldn't just cast him away like so much detritus—she was his mother, he was her son—
Torches toppled, spilling a tide of oil and flame across the ground to lap at Shmi's tattered dress, embrace her—
"Ani, help me!"
As flames ravaged the camp, Padmé's anguished cries writhed in his ears, melding with Tuskens' screams and his own, and Ahsoka's like he had heard in their bond months ago, and rising above it all, a child's voice. "Father!"
When the flames subsided, there was a tug on his cloak. The boy he had dreamed of for years stood at his side, looking up, fine eyebrows knit with concern.
"The Force's really sad this time," he observed. "Does that mean you're sad?"
"That would be an impermissible weakness."
"Oh," said the boy. Then he sidled closer, until he was nearly pressed up against his father's leg. "Well, I won't tell anybody. I'm getting good at secrets!"
"Which is far from the point, child."
But despite stern words, he found himself reaching to stroke the boy's messy hair—
His hand passed through the little figure, and it faded away like a scant cloud on a Nubian summer's day.
He emerged from meditation with one hand still outstretched, fingers spread over empty air.
Vader immediately clenched the perfidious appendage into a fist.
You had everything, and you threw it all away.
Now you have nothing.
You have nothing.
Nothing.
He was a gaping chasm, as empty and alone as Starkiller in the wake of his droid's obliteration.
You're a monster!
He was a p—
No, he was a Sith.
You have nothing.
Incorrect, for he had the power of the dark side at his command. Yet, somehow, that was insufficient to silence the myriad accusations.
You're a monster!
You are no son of mine.
My master could never be as vile as you.
The words should have had no effect, yet they whipped around him, as coarse and stinging as a sandstorm scouring away at the surface, threatening to reveal what lay beneath the façade. No! There was no façade; all was truly as it appeared. There was no soft, bruised, living thing under the surface. Vader was darkness and durasteel to the icy-boiling core.
Father!
Does that mean you're sad?
You are no son of mine.
You have nothing.
The storm beat on, returning no matter how often Vader shoved it away. Focus gone, there was no point in further attempts to meditate, so he replaced his helmet and vacated the meditation pod. Annihilating droids in a furious bout of lightsaber training provided little relief, and a brief comm call with his master only increased the storm's ferocity.
Padmé was just checking over her ship—a nondescript Alliance craft—before heading out to Kafrene, when she heard a pattering on the ramp, and Luke and Leia dashed up, hand in hand. What were they doing in the hangar at this hour? They were supposed to be in bed!
"Mama? Mama, wait! Don't go yet!" Leia called.
"What's going on? Why are you up now? Are you sick?" Padmé asked. Leia looked worried, while Luke's pale cheeks were damp with half-dried tears. "Luke? What's wrong?"
"He had a bad dream," Leia said, as both children crowded up to her.
Padmé knelt on the floor of the ship and pulled Luke down into her lap, tucking him close against her. Leia, who had yet to release his hand, stood close by.
"Do you want to tell me about your dream, Luke?"
He sniffled. "It was scary. Aunt 'Soka was there, and Dad was falling off a cliff, and Aunt 'Soka's hand fell off, and there was blood, lots of blood—and, and there was this woman that looked like Grandmother Shmi in the holos, only she was tied up—and everybody was yelling things, and you were scared, and Leia'n me—I dunno, we died, or something, and there was fire, and—"
He buried his face in Padmé's cloak.
"It's okay. It was just a dream," she told him. She caressed his messy hair, smoothing it back into a semblance of order as she tried to quiet her own alarm.
Ordinarily, it wasn't that difficult to mother two Force-sensitive children—aside from the messes, and the fights, and the mental conversations she couldn't hear—but at times like this, it was downright terrifying. Luke shouldn't have been able to describe Shmi as Anakin had found her in the Tusken village. Padmé herself, and possibly Beru and Owen, were the only ones who could possibly have given him that description, and she knew none of them had. Had he, then, somehow seen the image through the Force? Or had he somehow connected with Anakin through the Force, before he and Leia were even born?
"Luke, have you ever had dreams like this before?"
He shook his head.
"Usually when he dreams about Dad, it's not scary," Leia said.
Luke frowned at her.
"You weren't sup-s'posed to tell," he hiccupped.
"Sorry."
"You've dreamed about Dad before?" Padmé asked, and Luke nodded reluctantly.
"Sometimes."
It was probably just from watching Artoo's holos, but Padmé's unease lingered. The Force could do strange things with dreams, as she knew all too well. She tried to stay calm for the twins' sakes, but a fire was kindling inside. She was going to fight the Force with her own two hands if it started sending her son visions like those which had driven his father over the edge.
"Mama? Is it real? The dream?"
"No, little sun."
"Are you sure? I don't want all that bad stuff to happen!"
"I'm sure," she soothed. "No one's hand is going to fall off, and we're all safe and sound."
"But you're going away!"
"I've gone away before. This is just like last time, and everything will be fine. Aunt 'Soka will take care of you for a while, and I'll be back before you know it. I promise."
A superstitious voice in Padmé's mind muttered that she shouldn't go. What if Luke's dream was foretelling something which would go wrong on her mission?
Oh, stop that, she told herself. A jumbled dream with two people who aren't even alive anymore? You're going to give credence to that?
No, she certainly was not. She hadn't given credence to Anakin's dreams of her death, and she hadn't died. She wasn't about to start taking Luke's dreams seriously, when they made even less sense. She would, however, have to ask Obi-Wan and Ahsoka about it after she got back from meeting with Ad'ika. Perhaps they would have some insight as to why Luke was dreaming things he shouldn't even be aware of.
A couple minutes later, Luke was sufficiently recovered to raise his head and start grilling her about the purposes of various navigational controls, in which he was quickly joined by Leia. Padmé had intended to have left by now, but she indulged her children's curiosity anyway, until her Vader commlink chimed. Curse that Sith. How did he always have such inconvenient timing?
"I have to answer this," she told the twins. "Are you okay now, Luke?"
"I think so," he said, still clutching Leia's hand, and Padmé hugged each child one more time.
"Run along. Ask Aunt 'Soka to tuck you in again. And look after your brother, kraytling," she added, in a murmur meant for her daughter's ears alone.
Leia nodded solemnly. Padmé watched the twins' departure, only turning on her commlink when they had disappeared from view and the ship's ramp was raised.
It was several moments before Revenant's sigh gusted over Vader's commlink.
"Vader. How do you manage, every single time, to call at an inopportune moment?"
"If you had an occupation suitable for a citizen of the Empire, you would not find yourself so frequently interrupted," Vader replied. "As a treasonous insurgent, however—"
"A treasonous insurgent? Are you sure that's an accurate term? I thought perhaps you viewed me as your emotional support rebel."
"The only emotion which you support is antipathy."
Of course, focused antipathy was preferable to the wild tempest that had been raging ever since the vision had ended.
"Mhm. You're certain you're not calling me to distract yourself from whatever has you so agitated?"
He said nothing, merely challenging her voice—she never used a holo—with a defiant stare.
"You keep pacing in and out of range of your holorecorder," she went on, "and if you clench your hands any harder, you're going to break something."
"I am not agitated, and I did not contact you to solicit your opinions!"
"Indeed? Then why did you call?"
Vader grasped for a credible explanation, anything which would show he was not desperately attempting to distract himself from thinking of that dream, or vision, or whatever the hellish thing had been. Ahsoka, looking down at him in horror—
Tano. Yes—that would do.
"What do you know of Ahsoka Tano?" he demanded.
Revenant's voice took on a tone of suspicion. "Why would you be asking me?"
"You are a rebel. Tano is a presumed rebel."
"Do you really believe our Alliance is such a small organization?"
"Perhaps I will ask the traitor Organa," Vader threatened.
Padmé made note to tell Bail and Breha that the Empire was no longer taken in by their show of loyalty, just as soon as her ship was in hyperspace and she could send a message.
"You won't do that," she said. "Or, if you do, it won't change anything, because Palpatine won't allow you to harm Bail. Alderaan is too influential, and he can't afford to alienate the Core. Even the might of the Imperial military wouldn't guarantee success if the entire Core rose up."
Unfortunately, Vader did not take the bait and retort with a detailed lecture on Imperial military capabilities. Instead, he merely said, "Bail."
Kriff.
"You are on familiar terms with Organa."
It ought to be too great a leap to connect first-name acquaintance with Bail Organa to a woman supposed dead for the greater part of a decade, but still Padmé tried to confuse the trail. "I'm not sure why you find it surprising, given that you apparently suppose every Rebel has at least some degree of acquaintance with every other Rebel."
Vader was not taken in by her attempted obfuscation. Revenant was on close enough terms with Organa that she casually referred to him as Bail. Either she held a high rank in the insurgent command structure, or she had known him during the days of the Republic. Not for the first time, Vader wondered whether the woman might be a former Handmaiden. Any of them would have possessed the connections to become a leader in the rebellion, as well as the motivation, for they shared her naïve, idealistic view.
"Did you once serve the Queen of Naboo?" he asked, through gritted teeth.
Padmé's heart jolted as the Sith veered dangerously near the truth. Even if he only supposed her to have been a Handmaiden, she did not want to be associated with Naboo in any way. She gathered her wits, thanking fortune that she could honestly reply, "No."
Vader tilted his head, and she wondered whether he was searching the Force for a lie hidden somewhere in her negative. Though she knew he would find nothing but truth, still her nails dug into her palms. It was unnerving... no, it was frightening to realise just how thin might be the barrier between (relatively) safe anonymity and exposure, not only for herself, but for her children.
"You are on familiar terms with Organa," the Sith repeated, at last.
"Likeminded leaders of political movements generally come to be on familiar terms with each other. I suppose that doesn't happen with Sith?"
"The relationship between master and apprentice is not intended to be amicable."
Was she seeing things, or had Vader's shoulders hunched for just a moment? Well, it wouldn't be surprising, based on what Asajj said of Sith training methods.
"You don't like Palpatine," she observed.
"As you have previously been informed, Sith are not generally disposed to like anyone."
Perhaps she was going at it from the wrong angle.
"You're powerful," she tried. "Why do you enslave yourself to your master?"
Vader had become more or less acclimated to Revenant's secondary Rim accent, but now it called up Shmi Skywalker's voice afresh.
I did not give him into freedom so he would squander it and sell himself into a yet more ghastly servitude.
You are no son of mine.
Vader pointed a menacing finger toward the holorecorder. "Do not speculate on matters of which you have no understanding, rebel."
He expected her to retort that her understanding was more than sufficient, but she did not. Instead, she said, "If you take issue with my understanding, maybe you should improve it. What about Moff Tarkin? I should think it would be a cozy little group, you and Tarkin and good old Sheev. So, why do you dislike him?"
I'm asking you to come back.
As the sentence echoed through Vader's mind, spoken by two voices, words burst forth without permission, to answer Revenant's question.
"He attempted to kill my apprentice."
One day, Tarkin would meet his end at Vader's hand. He could not be eliminated without provocation, lest Sidious take it for a sign of Skywalker's continued existence, but one day, the Moff would have a lapse of judgement. One day, he would commit an error. When he did, Vader would be judge and executioner.
"So, you do care for your apprentice."
"I do not!"
"Clearly."
Revenant sounded mildly sarcastic, but there was something else, too… not smugness, per se, but perhaps a hint of "I told you so." What was it she had told him before? Something about power being a poor substitute for companionship. Necessary social interactions, she had said. But she was wrong.
Why, then, did you allow Starkiller to rebuild his droid?
That had been purely a matter of practicality. He cared nothing for the woes of a foolish child.
And why did you only think of it once his anger gave way to despair? When he felt so alone? Why did you relent when he showed his weakness?
Vader could not control when ideas occurred to him.
That rebel has influenced you. She weakens you.
And there was the truth of it. She treated him like a person. A detested person, but a person, nonetheless. Not a commanding officer to be feared. Not a creature of nightmares. Not an apprentice. [A slave.] Not a monster. But a person. The rebel treated the Sith like a person, and that was dangerous. For when one was treated like a person, one began to feel like a person—and when one felt like a person, one might begin to behave like…
In other words, it was unacceptable.
It was weak.
Perhaps Revenant was part of a rebel plot to cripple the Empire by enfeebling its defenses and disrupting its security. They hoped to discredit Vader to such a degree that Sidious would remove him, or inspire him to kill Sidious. Sidious was nothing, and Vader hated him—but Sidious was all that was left. He was his Master, and Vader must obey. Yet these insignificant rebels thought they could intervene and craft the galaxy as they pleased. Well, they would discover the error of that supposition soon enough.
The roar of ship engines starting up crackled through the commlink and cut out abruptly as the call disconnected, Revenant evidently having tired of waiting for Vader to reply. He had forgotten about the call entirely in the midst of… wait. Ship engines. Was Revenant aboard the ship? And if so... could she be setting out for the Ring of Kafrene?
When Vader emerged from his personal quarters, he found Piett approaching down the hall.
"Lord Vader."
"I trust you have significant reason to accost me, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, my lord. The ISB reports that Numa Sivron recently departed Ryloth, and a unit will be dispatched to intercept her on the Ring of Kafrene, as well as any associates with her."
"No."
Piett's brows twitched just slightly, but he otherwise maintained composure.
"Inform the ISB that the plans have been altered," Vader said. "I will oversee this operation personally."
As her ship made the jump into hyperspace, Padmé silenced the Vader commlink. She needed to talk with Mon before continuing this venture, and carefully weigh the risks and benefits. Luke's dream already had her on edge, and though she had decided against interpreting it as a sign of danger ahead, her resolve had been shaken by Vader questioning whether she had been a Handmaiden. Even without Luke's dream, she would have quit the assignment at that. It was simply too dangerous. If Vader mentioned Revenant to Palpatine, in conjunction with the Handmaiden idea, it might inspire the Sith master to think of the bond that had broken. Palpatine seemed to have been fooled by Obi-Wan's careful severing of that bond, but what if he began to wonder? What if he checked Amidala's tomb on Naboo and found only a decoy?
Don't let Vader tell him. Don't let him wonder. Don't let him find out about my children. Or even just one of them. Take care of your grandchildren! she wanted to yell at the Force. Not that it would do much good. The Force had a poor record with guardianship of its own.
At least she had gotten a little more information before ending the Vader assignment. Vader disliked Tarkin because the Moff had tried to kill his apprentice. Perhaps he did truly care for his apprentice, despite his denial, or perhaps he resented having his investment come under threat. There might be other explanations, but Padmé was too distracted to think on the matter for long. All that mattered was that the apprentice might be a way to increase tensions between Vader and his master. She only hoped the Alliance could form and enact a strategy before Palpatine started asking dangerous questions.