It's been a while since this was mentioned in the story, so just wanted to drop a reminder that Luke and Leia don't know that Vader is their father. They know their father is alive (from Luke's dreams and what Padmé told them in III-II), and they know he's working for the Empire, but as far as they know, Vader is a completely different individual.

Morning, alas, brought no solace, and a rested mind only allowed Piett to see all the more clearly. Last night's theory made sense. Almost, he rued his continued correspondence with Starkiller. If not for that, he would not have had the knowledge to reach this terrible conclusion. If not for that, he would not have been directly involved in treason in the first place.

Treason.

The word rang endlessly in his mind as he performed his morning ablutions. He was committing treason, every second that he kept Lord Vader's secrets. That left him with only two options. He could seek an audience with the Emperor and inform him of Vader's treachery, or he could follow whither his commander led. In either event, he must cross a Sith. It was not at all a desirable position.

In the end, however, it was astonishing how easily the decision was made. Piett knew Lord Vader—as well as anyone could who served on his flagship. He did not like him; no one did. But he respected him, as did a great many others, particularly those from outside the Core, even as they feared him. Though Vader was irascible and violently intolerant of incompetence, he did not care from whence his officers hailed. He led from the front, and he made no demand of his men which he would not make of himself. (Granted, that did not mean these were sane demands—but it still counted for something.) And so, while Piett as a person found Vader wanting in many regards, as a soldier he held him to be a commander worthy of his esteem.

As much could not be said for His Imperial Majesty, whom Piett realised he esteemed from the standpoint of neither man nor soldier. So far from esteeming, he found he rather begrudged his monarch. There he was, a being as powerful as Lord Vader, or more so, and yet he idled upon his throne on Imperial Center, never deploying an ounce of his power in support of his own Empire, as far as Piett could tell. No true leader, the Emperor.

His conviction only grew as he thought again of the near-debacle that had been the Sevret campaign. If he had possessed an iota less experience than he did…. It had been such an idiotic strategy! Either the Emperor was a tactical ignoramus, which hardly seemed likely as he had led the Republic through the Clone Wars, or the campaign must have been a calculated bid to humiliate Death Squadron.

Piett was not quick to anger. This, however, was enough to awaken his ire. Death Squadron—Lord Vader's squadron, yes, but also Piett's squadron, now—was the pride of the Navy, and for the Emperor to seek to tear it down for the sake of some petty, wizardly power struggle—that was a rank infuriation. For the entire Imperial military to be cast as nothing more than dejarik pieces—well, he could not feel too badly about the pompous and the sycophantic being used as pawns, but there were good soldiers in the ranks, like Veers, Teshlen, and himself, who did not deserve to be used thus.

Though Lord Vader was brutal, he was direct. Though he took his men's lives with alarming ease, at least he did not play with them, as it seemed the Emperor did. In the end, it was as simple as that. If Piett must throw in his lot with a Sith Lord, better that it should be the Sith who cared, in his way, than the Sith who did not.

And, had that been insufficient reason to make up his mind, there was Starkiller to consider. The Emperor was Lord Vader's master, and Starkiller had said the master would kill him if he knew of his existence. A mere child, who had not asked to be dragged into this mess any more than Piett had—and a child to whom Piett had grown rather attached, truth be told. And so, while he was not choosing to commit treason for the sake of one small child, that child made his choice all the easier.

Treason before breakfast. Whatever would Veers say?

Well. Veers would not know, for Piett would not tell him. Let him maintain the shield of plausible deniability. There was no need to embroil him in the situation—assuming, of course, that he had come through his interview with their commander unscathed.

With a pang of worry, Piett hastened from his quarters toward the officers' mess. While typically he took his meals in his own stateroom, where he might catch up on communications or study, today he craved the bustle and commotion of the mess, and too he hoped he might there encounter Veers. And encounter him he did, heading toward a table with a plate of food in one hand and a cup of caf in the other.

"Veers!" Piett exclaimed. "You're—"

"Alive and intact," Veers said, dryly. "Which is more than was expected, considering. Admiral." More quietly, he added, "You look as though you've had a terrible night. Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, just the usual. How was… you know."

"Not here. If you have a few moments before your shift, though?"

Piett nodded.

Both admiral and colonel ate hastily and adjourned to a small conference room near the mess. As the door hissed shut behind them, Veers sank heavily into a chair, arms crossed.

"What in the nine Corellian hells is going on around here? First I hear rumors of a mutiny, then I'm called for a private meeting with Lord Vader himself—me, a mere colonel—, and he says the clones have picked up some contagion that makes them a liability—and proceeds to give me an assignment. The details of which, Firmus, he forbade me to speak of to anyone save yourself."

"What?" was Piett's rather bewildered response.

"What, indeed. It seems, friend Admiral, you've become something of a favorite."

That was perhaps a strong way to phrase it, Piett reflected, even as memory whispered commendable—but it did begin to appear, at least, that Lord Vader regarded him with a certain level of trust, sufficient to induce him to consider Piett's own trusted friend for a confidential assignment. That was a strange thought, indeed. Trust was not a word frequently associated with Vader. It was a heavy thought, as well, for because of that trust, Veers had been tapped for a confidential assignment which Piett could only assume must somehow be connected to the treason he himself had become entangled in.

I'm sorry, Max. I didn't mean to get you dragged into this mess, too.

"And what is the assignment?" he asked, trying not to let guilt seep through his carefully casual façade.

"Something to do with the clones. I'm to chaperone a handful of them to some Rim backwater, and leave them with an agent of His Lordship. He told me to take a half squad of my most trusted soldiers, and to shoot any of them who discovers even what sector our destination is in. It has to be related to this illness among the clones, but—why the secrecy?"

"Perhaps because of the potential damage that detailed information on the illness could do to morale," Piett mused. "We're becalmed, Max."

"Becalmed? How? The rumored mutiny?"

"It was a very real, if very small, mutiny—and a very effective one. Four clones somehow managed to take out the main hyperdrive, and destabilized the backup so it wasn't safe to use. I'm told the backup should be restored by midday, but the engineers still haven't gotten the main drive back online."

Veers whistled. "The clones are good, I'll say that much. No wonder Lord Vader didn't phase them out before this. I suppose this explains his foul temper yesterday."

"Was it worse than usual?" Piett asked, in mild surprise. "He was remarkably controlled when he came to see about the sabotage."

"Well, he must have used it all up with you and the clones. He wanted to see me run my unit through a drill, in person, so we went to the AT-AT hangar after the meeting. On the way, we passed a gaggle of lieutenants who apparently had nothing better to do than play Kriff, Marry, Kill with the Jedi survivor list. I swear the temperature dropped about ten degrees as soon as we were in earshot, and Lord Vader executed two of the young fools on the spot."

"I'm not surprised," Piett murmured. "The idea that anyone else might kill Kenobi…."

Veers let out a bark of laughter. "Fair point. Although I think it was Khero and Varant's lekku fetish that really got to him," he added, sobering. "They were the ones who ended up dead, at any rate. In my years with Death Squadron, never before have I seen a pair of necks snap so fast."

After a moment's uneasy rumination on the unfortunate lieutenants, Veers looked up again.

"Firmus, really, is something the matter? More than usual, I mean. You look like death warmed… well, not warmed over so much as fished from the conservator and left out to thaw."

"Thank you for that, Max. It's fortunate for you that I've not much in the way of vanity."

"I'm serious—you look even worse than you did right after Lord Vader gave you command of the squadron. What's happened now?"

"I can't tell you," Piett said. "It's not something I'm supposed to know." He could have kicked himself for adding the last part, because Veers was on it like a Corellian hound after a scent.

"So there is something, then."

Piett didn't reply.

"Tell me," Veers pressed. "Whatever it is, it's clearly eating you from the inside out."

"I can't tell you," Piett repeated.

"Very well. Then I'll simply have to guess. Let me see… Captain Montferrat has lost Stalker in a game of sabacc."

Piett's lips twitched. "I appreciate your efforts, Max, but surely you realise that's something which, if true, I should very much be informed of?"

"Ah, yes—admiral, and all." Veers leaned back in his chair with a contemplative air. "I have it. You've discovered that Moff Tarkin is embroiled in a secret affair with His Imperial Majesty."

Several minutes of coughing and spluttering ensued. When Piett could again manage to breathe normally, and Veers had ascertained that he was not currently in the process of further caf consumption, he put forth one final, outlandish suggestion, a humorous twinkle in his eye.

"Well, if it isn't corruption, and it isn't scandal, I can only conclude that you've overheard Lord Vader plotting treason."

Piett's levity died away in an instant. "Max, that's enough."

A moment's silence followed as Veers registered the sudden change in his friend's demeanor.

"Firmus…?"

"I said stop, Max."

"Pardon the insubordination, but I don't think I shall. Do you seriously mean to tell me—" Veers glanced about the room, as if the walls might be listening, "that Lord Vader—our Lord Vader, the Emperor's own Fist, is trying to stage a coup?"

Piett raised his chin. "I don't mean to tell you anything, and that's final."

Veers as good as knew the secret, of course, but at least he had deniability as long as Piett didn't confirm it. But he was already shaking his head. "I don't need you to tell me anything, though, do I? It tracks… my assignment, the secrecy…. It all makes a degree of sense, now." He shook his head again. "Who would have guessed him for a traitor?"

"What are you going to do?" Piett asked.

Veers studied him, his gaze inscrutable.

"It's our sworn duty to take this to the ISB," he said.

"Yes," said Piett. Unquestionably, it was.

"You haven't." It was merely an observation; he detected no judgement in Veers' voice.

"No."

"And won't, if I read that stubborn chin rightly."

"And yourself?" Piett asked.

He thought he knew what Veers would say and where his allegiance would lie—he was a soldier through and through, with little patience for those who politicked their way through the ranks—but he also had his family to consider, and Piett could little blame him if he chose not to endanger them.

Somewhere in the room, a vent came to life with a quiet rush of air.

"I follow where my commander leads," Veers said, at last. "At the end of the day, it's him and us out here, making the Empire what it is. His Majesty rules it, but he doesn't fight for it, and he doesn't seem to care whether the army is made of good soldiers or bootlickers."

"What about your family?"

"Myra will understand. We'll talk about it, arrange for her and Zev to get off Denon if things take a bad turn."

Curled up on the couch in her suite's common room, Ahsoka was enjoying a companionable afternoon with Rex. They had just returned to Yavin yesterday, so he was catching up on training reports for new recruits, while she read over the details for her next assignment—another retrieval mission, ferrying a Force-sensitive Core child to a safer haven in the Outer Rim–until the comfortable quiet was interrupted by a ping from her comm.

Funny—that sounded like the indicator for the Fulcrum channel. She hadn't used that since the truth about Anakin had come to light, at which point all Rebel communications had been shunted to other frequencies, lest Vader should remember the old channel and realise he could access a wealth of Alliance intel. Apparently, someone hadn't gotten the memo. Crossly, Ahsoka tapped to play the message, and a digitized voice proceeded to rattle off a string of gibberish.

"Five starboard—cargo transfer—origin—code company—one hundred fifty degrees eight minutes south—eight degrees five minutes five seconds east."

Rex looked up from his datapad. "What's all that supposed to mean?"

"Kark if I know." Ahsoka shrugged. "That last bit sounded like intraplanetary coordinates, but the rest of it? It's not an Alliance code, that's for sure."

She was no longer surprised that it had come through the Fulcrum channel, though. The sender clearly wasn't very good at following protocol.

With a sigh, she grabbed her stylus and copied down the message, on the off chance that she could parse out some useful scrap of information. It had to be some kind of cypher, but Force, where was she even supposed to begin?

Researching cyphers common, obscure, and antiquated yielded nothing that could wring more than half a degree of sense from the message. It almost read like it required some kind of personal inside knowledge to crack, what with the cryptic "origin" and "code company." Either that, or it was some overinflated rookie agent thinking incomprehensibility was the height of covert cleverness. Frustrated, Ahsoka resorted to writing out every word in alphabetical order, then every number.

5, 5, 5, 8, 8, 150

Something itched at the back of her mind. She broke down the numbers into their digits.

0, 1, 5, 5, 5, 5, 8, 8

She blinked. The fives… four of them, 5555… Fives? Had to be a coincidence. Didn't it? But if she took out all the fives, that left 0, 1, 8, 8, and those numbers looked achingly familiar, because…

"Master, here's my report for you to check over and submit."

"What? Why do you need me to check over it? Ahsoka, your past three have been more thorough than mine. If anything, you're the one who should be checking over reports for me. Go on, just submit it."

"I can't! Padawans are supposed to have their masters go through their reports and submit them. It has to be done with your access code."

And then Anakin had scribbled something on a bit of flimsi and tucked it into her hand. "I won't tell if you won't, Snips. Memorise that and get rid of it before Obi-Wan sees it, okay?"

So she had memorised his code, and more than a decade later, she still remembered it.

0, 1, 8, 8. 8108.

Her heart quickened. Scarcely daring to breathe, she pulled up a database on her datapad and feverishly tapped in first a planetary system, and then the coordinates from the message. A few minutes later, she bumped Rex's shoulder.

"Tell me if I'm going crazy. Look at this."

He glanced at her datapad. "Why are you looking up an abandoned spaceport?"

"I'm not. This is at the coordinates from the message. On Christophsis."

"Which you decided to look at, why?"

"Because of this." She pulled up her scribbled notes on the datapad. "That's Anakin's old code."

"'Soka…." Rex spoke softly, as if he thought she really might be crazy, or at least a little fragile. "I know you want to believe Skywalker'll come back, but coincidences happen. It's probably just—"

"Christophsis, Rex. The planet where we met. Our—"

"Origin." Rex rubbed a hand down his face. "In the Fulcrum channel."

"Yes."

It had to be real, didn't it? How else could a message carrying Anakin's old code come through Anakin's old channel, and mention the place where Anakin and his padawan had met? The tips of Ahsoka's lekku flicked. Five starboard—cargo transfer—origin—code company—one hundred fifty degrees eight minutes south—eight degrees five minutes five seconds east… Fulcrum, Christophsis, Anakin's old access code, and… Fives…

Five starboard. Fives starboard. Fives right. A fluttery feeling rose in her chest, and the tips of her lekku flicked in excitement.

"The chips. He knows."

"I thought you said he didn't believe you, back on Wrea," said Rex.

"He didn't… but maybe what I said finally got to him. Or maybe he realised if you, out of all the 501st, were fighting against his side, then there must be something wrong with everyone who was still with him. The message mentions a cargo transfer. What if it's clones?"

"What if it's a trap?" Rex countered. "Soka, even supposing Vader really did send vod'e to Christophsis, what if he just wants you to think the chips are gone, and then you get shot?"

"I can defend myself. He knows that." He was, after all, the one who had trained her to do it. Her body ached just thinking about the long, grueling hours she had clocked, practicing against challenges she was certain no other padawan had faced.

"That's true. And if Vader himself shows up on Christophsis?"

It was a possibility, of course, but at the same time… Anakin knew her too well, and he knew she had survived this long. He wouldn't make the mistake of believing she'd go running headlong into a trap like a padawan just out of the crèche.

"Do you really think my master would believe I would fall for an obvious trap?"

Rex considered, and at last shook his head. "There's any number of stupid things I can see him thinking at this point… but that's not one of them."

"We should check it out."

"Commander…"

"I know. Whatever this is, it doesn't mean my master is on our side. I'm not saying that." There was a difference between hoping Anakin had begun to see a glimmer of reason, and believing he was no longer a threat. "But this might mean some kind of change, no matter how small, and if it does, we should find out. And maybe there will be clones, or maybe there won't, but…."

She didn't need to continue. The 501st was just as much Rex's legion as it was hers.

"We owe it to the vod'e to at least try," he finished.

Not long after, the two of them burst into Padmé's suite, where she and Asajj were going over their stories for an upcoming mission.

Asajj glared at them. "People are trying to work, here, you know."

Padmé tapped her gently on the arm. "It's okay. I was starting to need a break, anyway. These economic details are all turning into a blur. Sit down, won't you?" (This last to Ahsoka and Rex, who were still hovering like a couple of gnats.)

Ahsoka perched on the arm of her chair. "Look at this."

She held out her datapad, which Padmé studied, a trace of a frown between her brows.

"I don't understand. Did this come through an Alliance channel?"

"Fulcrum."

"I thought you stopped using that one."

"I did."

"Then why…?"

"These numbers, Padmé. That? That's Anakin's old code, from during the war."

Padmé looked up sharply. "You think he sent this?"

"I think there are too many pertinent references for him not to have sent it... those coordinates map to an abandoned spaceport on Christophsis."

"Why would he want you to go to Christophsis?" Padmé asked. "It can't be real."

She sounded calm, but Ahsoka could sense the roiling feelings below, and knew that calmness to be no more than her politician's mask.

"If I'm right," Ahsoka said, "he knows about the clone inhibitor chips. We think the cargo transfer in the message could mean clones."

"And why would Vader be sending clones to Rebels?" Asajj asked. "It's a trap, obviously. Even if he does know about the chips, and care about them, why send the clones to us? Giving soldiers with intel to the enemy? Is that really the kind of strategy you'd expect from the head of the Imperial military, and Sidious' right hand?"

"It has to be a trap," Padmé said, the edge returning to her voice.

"That's what I thought, too, at first," agreed Rex. "But the Commander has a point. Vader knows she wouldn't fall for an easy trap."

"So, you're saying it can't be a trap, because of how it looks just like one?" Asajj asked. "Sometimes, I wonder how the lot of you survived even the first year of the war. How do you know Vader's not just counting on the lineage propensity for springing traps?"

"It's been a couple months since I told him about the chips," Ahsoka said. "Wouldn't he have set a trap sooner if that was what he wanted to do?"

"Ahsoka…" Padmé began, but Asajj beat her to the punch.

"Look, Tano. We all know you want to bring your master back. I'm not saying you're wrong. Just don't let that—attachment, for lack of a better word—get you into trouble. Deception is the way of the Sith."

"I know that," Ahsoka snapped. Taking a breath, she added, "But I also know I'm not the only one who's noticed things that don't add up. He helped me, reflexively, when I reached out through our bond."

"The bond he broke."

"Yes—but Padmé, he's known about you and Luke for months now, and there's no Imperial bounty. No bounty at all, as far as I know." Ahsoka looked to Asajj, who nodded grudging confirmation.

"That only makes it all the more likely that it's a trap," Padmé argued.

"But it means he hasn't told Palpatine about you."

"Because he wants to find me, train Luke as a Sith, overthrow Palpatine, and rule the kriffing Empire together! For all we know, this could be—and probably is—an attempt to catch you and use you to get to Luke and me."

"Then why wouldn't he have done it before? Anakin was never a patient person, and I have a hard time seeing that changing after he turned to the dark side! And what about what you told me, about how Obi-Wan thought Vader didn't quite feel like a Sith?"

Padmé wilted a little, and massaged her temples. "I don't know. I don't know, Ahsoka. I understand your hope, you know I do, but… I just…." She fell silent, unwilling to voice whatever inner battle she was waging.

Ahsoka rested her hand on her shoulder. "I know it might be a trap," she said, softly. "But what if it's not?"

"What if rontos could fly?" Asajj muttered.

"For what it's worth," Rex put in, "I agree that we should check it out. I don't know what Skywalker's thinking, or if he's thinking anything at all. But if he did take out the chips, for any reason, then the Imps' army is the last place our vod'e should be. With the chips gone, odds are high at least one of them will have tried to off himself. Probably more than one. If this might be a chance to get some of them back, and safe, then I say it's worth recon at the very least."

"We could take a fast ship," Ahsoka said. "Just Rex and me. Drop into the Christophsis system, sweep low around the area if the coast is clear. If there's any sign of danger, we leave." She ignored Padmé and Asajj's sounds of disbelief. "We'll have hyperdrive coordinates pre-entered, and keep the ship ready to jump at a moment's notice."

"And if you don't realise it's a trap until you're too far inside the planet's gravity well for a jump? You're a decent pilot, Tano, but you can't beat Vader in a dogfight."

"No, but I should be able to hold my own long enough to get clear to jump."

"There's no way to convince you not to do this, is there?" Padmé asked.

Ahsoka and Rex shared a glance, and she sighed.

"Take my ship. It's fast, the shields are good, and it's well-armed. If this is a trap, then you'll need that, and it won't matter if Anakin recognises it."

Meanwhile, on Tatooine, trouble was brewing.

"I'm bored," said Leia.

"Me too," said Luke.

Beru looked up from the vaporator mushrooms she was slicing for supper.

"Why don't you two play a game of Triga?"

"We did that yesterday," Luke replied.

"And the day before that," Leia added.

"You could work on the mouse droid you've been modifying."

Which suggestion was met with a unanimous, "Meh."

"Well, you had better find something to do, before your uncle comes in and drags you out to help him clean the vaporators," Beru said. "Maybe you should draw pictures."

The twins shuffled off to their room amidst another round of grumbles. Luke dug out the drawing sticks and flimsi and flopped down on the floor between their beds. Joining him, Leia took out the black drawing stick and irritably scribbled two cloaked stick figures lying on the ground. She gave them red lightsabers and great, yellow eyes, crossed out.

"I think Uncle Obi and Aunt 'Soka and Aunt 'Sajj should just go get rid of them both right now," Luke said. He leaned over the paper and added a black helmet to one of his sister's Sith.

"They're not strong enough," Leia said. "Otherwise they'd've done it."

"I bet if Dad helped, they'd be strong enough."

"Yeah, but he's bad."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so? He's bad! He's not gonna help them."

"Aunt 'Sajj was bad."

"Yeah, but she isn't anymore."

"That's what I'm saying, Leia!" Luke jabbed his drawing stick down so emphatically that he snapped the point. "Whoops. But Lei—if Dad wasn't bad anymore, we wouldn't have to stay here, and then he and everyone else could go kill the Sith, and the rebellion could be over and everything!"

Leia regarded him with heavy skepticism. "And what's your plan for making Dad good again, nerfbrain?"

"Don't call me nerfbrain."

"Then don't act like one."

"Aunt Beru! Leia called me—"

"Shhhh!" Leia clapped her hands over his mouth, then immediately removed them again when he licked her. "Ew! Stop that! Aunt Beru-uuu!"

Aunt Beru appeared in the doorway, her usually cheerful face set in a stern frown. The twins' protracted boredom was wearing on everyone. "What's going on in here?"

"Luke licked me!"

"She called me nerfbrain!"

"Do I need to separate you two?" Aunt Beru asked.

"No!"

"You can't do that, then we'll be even more bored."

"Then you're going to have to show me that you can be left together without fighting." Aunt Beru's expression softened a little. "I know it's hard staying here after getting out into the galaxy with your mom and your other family. I know it's boring. But knowing you're safe here makes it easier for everyone else to do their job to bring the Empire to an end. Now, will you try to do your part in the fight, and get along so your mother doesn't fret?"

They nodded reluctantly. Aunt Beru patted their shoulders and returned to her kitchen. After she left, Leia heaved a great sigh. Luke tapped her arm.

"So? Wanna do it? Wanna think of some way to make Dad be good again?"

Leia considered. She'd never thought about their father as much as Luke had. She didn't dream about him like Luke did. He had never been there, and she didn't need him. But, if bringing him back meant they could go home to Mama, and get off this boring old dustball….

"Do you actually have any ideas?" she asked Luke.

"Well…" as he fiddled with a scrap of flimsi, "I guess we could try to make some sort of trap."

"Like what?"

"Uh… I didn't think about that part yet? We don't even know where he is!" he added, when Leia looked supremely unimpressed. "It's not like you've got anything better, anyway."

Leia held up an imperious finger, which she then proceeded to twirl in the hair that was escaping her long braid.

Two minutes later, Luke prompted, "Well?"

Leia shushed him. "I'm still thinking! How'm I supposed to think when you keep bothering me?"

"I don't think you're gonna come up with anything better at all."

After a couple more minutes of twirling her hair between her fingers, Leia once more held up her hand with a dramatic flourish. "I have so come up with something better."

"What?"

"We run away."

"And how's that gonna help anything?" Luke asked.

"If we run away, then someone's got to find us, right? Everyone's always saying the Alliance hasn't got resources, but the Empire's got lots."

Luke let out an "Ohhh…" of admiration and approval as he caught her drift. "And then Mama's got to ask Dad to use the Empire's 'sources to go looking for us… and when he finds us, then we can make him want to stop being in the Empire and using the dark side!"

"Exactly. And if we can make it look like we just got kidnapped, then we won't get in trouble for running away."

"We could find a ship," Luke suggested. A very Skywalkerish gleam came into his eye. "I bet I could fly one, all the way to another planet. And then we'd land, and leave the ship behind so Dad and Mama would think the people that kidnapped us just left us there."

"And then Dad would come and find us."

"And then we'd show him the dark side's not so much, really."

"And then—"

"Leia," Luke cut in.

"Huh?"

"What planet?"

"What d'you mean?"

"What planet are we gonna go to? It's got to be somewhere Mama can't just have some other Rebels find us.

Leia knit her brows. This was a troubling point, she had to admit. Mama and the rest of the grownups hadn't exactly shared a lot of Rebel information with her and Luke. They didn't even know the name of the world where the base was—just that it was a jungle moon. She had no idea which worlds did and didn't have Rebels. And then she realised something else.

"It's gotta be a place that doesn't have 'quisitors, too, or else they might find us instead of Dad."

The question of location only presented a problem for a short time, however. Luke, flipping idly through the pad of drawing flimsi, happened to come upon an old picture he had made of Artoo and Threepio.

"Lei, I've got it!"

"You two aren't supposed to be calling now," Mama said.

"But we need to talk to Artoo," Luke replied into the commlink Leia had pilfered from Aunt Beru.

Mama sighed, but she called Artoo over, and a cheery chirrup soon came through the commlink.

[Greetings, Duplicates!]

"Now you have to go away, Mama, because we've got to talk to Artoo alone."

"Why?"

"Because it's a surprise!"

"For Life Day," Leia added. "You don't wanna spoil the surprise, do you?"

"I suppose I don't." Mama smiled in the soft, cloudy way she had when she was missing them a lot. "All right. Just don't let Artoo talk you into anything, okay?"

"We won't!" both twins promised. After all, she hadn't said, Don't talk Artoo into anything.

Luke felt a little bad as Mama withdrew. She'd been so easy to trick. Normally, she'd be more suspicious, but she'd seemed distracted, plus she missed them and wanted them to be happy, and so she hadn't asked any more questions.

[What do Duplicates need?] Artoo inquired.

"We need a planet."

[Why.]

"Can you keep a secret, Artooie?"

Artoo made an uh-oh sound. [Not another paint incident.]

"It's not like that!" Leia protested. "We're not getting into trouble, Artoo, we're trying to fix a thing. Only, we need a planet."

[What sort of planet.]

"One without any other people around, where we can hide for a little bit," Luke said. "'Specially no Rebels or 'quisitors."

[Duplicates already hidden on The Dustball.]

"Yeah, but we need another one."

[No one needs two planets.]

"We do."

[What for.]

"Oh, just a thing we want to do. You know."

Artoo produced a long, wheezy blat that sounded remarkably like one of Uncle Obi's exasperated sighs.

[Is this a Skywalker Plan.]

"Well… maybe just a little," Luke allowed, and poked Leia in the ribs before she could snort.

[Duplicates are far too young for Skywalker Plans.]

"You're never too young for Skywalker Plans, Artoo," Leia said. "Look, we just need a place where we can get Dad to come find us, so we can make him want to be good again."

In Padmé's common room on Yavin, Artoo's lights flashed rapidly. [Scheming to debug Pilot?]

A week ago, he might have trundled off to inform his Senator that the Duplicates were scheming mischief and liable to get themselves in trouble, but now, after what he had recently overheard Snips telling the others about her message from his Pilot, he was willing to entertain the idea.

"Yeah, so d'you know of any planets we could hide on?"

Artoo ran a quick search through his databases and the holonet. He realised, of course, that this Skywalker Plan was in need of some embellishment. His Pilot was kriffing stubborn, and it would take more than a simple Duplicate Retrieval Mission to debug him. Extracting the Sith Virus would require time, and that would mean they must be stranded for a considerable period. A world with no other way off than the ship which his Pilot inevitably crashed there would be preferable. And he just so happened to have records of the ideal world….

[Abafar. Supports human life. Rhydonium mining dried up 5.5 standard years ago. Planetary status: abandoned. Asteroid belt and Void make access and communication difficult. Meets criteria?]

"It's perfect, Artoo! And you won't tell Mama, will you? It's got to be a secret."

[Senator will scrap me.]

"No, she won't. You know she loves you too much to do stuff like that, Artooie. 'Sides, if you tell her, then she'll stop us because she's too afraid or sad or something."

"And then maybe Dad will never come back," Luke added, giving Artoo his very best tooka eyes.

Artoo let out another wheezing blat. [Fine.]

"Okay, then we can get started!"

[Wait. Must limit options. Senator will only call Pilot if no other contingencies feasible. Next week: Snips busy, OB1 busy, Senator and Swamp Witch stranded for diplomatic purposes. Enact strategy then.]

"You mean we've got to wait a whole week?" Luke asked in dismay.

"Oh, shush, Luke," Leia chided. "A week's not so bad. And we've got to make sure it works, after all."

[Duplicates must also disable ship to prevent early Pilot escape,] Artoo added. [Debugging takes time.]

Here we GO! This arc has been brewing for almost three years, and I'm so excited to finally start sharing it!

Alternate title for the chapter: "But fear not, for Artoo is a sneaky little conniver, and he has a plan."

As far as I can tell, Veers' wife doesn't actually have a name in canon, but I've seen fics from a couple of different authors calling her Myra, so Myra she shall be called herein.