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Rating:
General Audiences

Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:
Gen
Fandoms:
Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original
Trilogy

Relationships:
Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Darth
Vader, Sheev Palpatine & Darth Vader, Firmus Piett
& Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala/Darth Vader

Characters:
Firmus Piett, Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Luke
Skywalker, Leia Organa, Sheev Palpatine | Darth
Sidious, Aphra (Star Wars)
Additional Tags:
Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Marvel Star
Wars, Don't copy to another site

Language:
English
Series:
← Previous Work ● Part 2 of In Loco Pirates-Verse
Stats:
Published: 2015-09-17 Updated: 2016-12-22
Words: 31,379 Chapters: 5/? Comments: 306
Kudos: 2,008 Bookmarks: 365 Hits: 37,843

Palpatine Ad Portas
izzythehutt

Chapter 3: Best Laid Plans

Summary:
Vader realizes what should have
been obvious. Admiral Piett learns
far more than he bargained on.

Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

The Naboo Royal Hall of Portraiture was a vast,

cavernous and airy room. Piett felt dwarfed by it, in
spite of his military inclination not to be over-awed by
the splendor of civilian power. Beauty was the
watchword in this place, not strength—the arched
ceiling beams were meant, he could see, to evoke the
cascading waterfalls that surrounded the city. It gave
the person craning their neck upward the impression
of being underwater.

Which was appropriate, really, because everyone on

this trip was drowning.

It quickly became clear to Piett that Governor Tychum

had been assigned the lofty position of managing the
Emperor's mid-rim home sector by dint of his father's
industrial interests, not because he had any natural
talent for the job. Tychum was intelligent enough to
recognize how out of his depth he was, but not
enough to realize the Emperor knew—and, moreover,
enjoyed making sport of the man with malicious
precision. Moff Bratton seemed to think he was in on
this joke, and though Palpatine egged on his
sycophantic displays, his contempt for the upstart
was obvious—even if Bratton was choosing not to see
it.

it was plain to anyone with an iota of sense that both

men had been selected for their Emperor's use, not
that their charms.

The only thing Palpatine really seemed to care about

was Lord Vader.

They—Tychum, Bratton, himself, the whole planet, it

felt at times—were props in a show being put on by
the Emperor for his loyal second's benefit. Every
laconic reply from Vader, every brush-off, every
refusal to rise to Palpatine's bait—be it the pointed
comments insinuating Tychum had mismanaged the
sector's military assets, or the sly questions about the
rumors of Bratton's lovers—only seemed to make the
old man more charming.

And more persistent.

The Emperor probably hadn't needed to woo anyone

since before his reign began. He was out of practice,
but he hadn't forgotten.

Piett leaned over the ornate statue of a king of some

forty years before. He studied the face— lined, older
than most in this lineup. The Naboo apparently
favored the bloom of youth over wisdom in their
rulers—though...

"King Veruna cuts quite the impressive figure, does

he not?"

Piett jumped. The Admiral pulled his eyes away from

the statue he had barely seen, for all his staring—and
turned them towards the small figure who stood at
the doorway.

"I cannot tell if it's the king himself, or the artist's

interpretation at work."

"The artist, I assure you." Emperor Palpatine slowly

approached him, languidly scanning the empty hall.
He stopped at the foot of the gigantic, imposing
statue—nearly thirty meters high, it towered over the
man. Piett was struck by an odd stray thought—that
the effect was not unlike when he stood by Vader.

Somehow, the Emperor had the ability to make him

look smaller.

"He was weak," Palpatine murmured, looking up at

Veruna with grim satisfaction. "But like many weak
men, he served his purpose. We all of us have our
parts to pay, admiral."

Piett cleared his throat. After a minute the old man

looked back at him.

"It would appear that—in your enthusiasm for the

gallery—you've fallen behind, Admiral Piett."

"I was struck by a few pieces, my lord." He put his

hands behind his back. "And, I confess, I
was...preoccupied."

"So lost in your thoughts you managed to lose

Bratton and Tychum as well." Piett smiled and
glanced over the Emperor's shoulder.

"Just as you—forgive me, your majesty—seem to

have lost Lord Vader."

The Emperor's placid expression did not change, but

when they locked eyes, a wave of icy cold seeped
slowly through Piett, like blood in a glass of water,
and he wondered if he'd just made a very grave
miscalculation.

"Do you think I've lost Lord Vader, admiral?" the

Emperor asked, softly.

The old man's liver-spotted, sickly yellow hand curved

around his cane.

"Is 'misplaced' a better word?"

The cold displeasure Piett had felt flickered and died.

Palpatine smiled.

"When we finished our audience with the queen, he

expressed—rather emphatically—his concern about
rebel sympathizers disrupting the parade and festival
celebration. I allowed him to confer with the Naboo
Royal Chief of Security on the matter." He studied
King Veruna with thinly-disguised contempt. "To do
otherwise seemed like more of an exertion of energy
than was worth it."

The Emperor's face turned from the carved, serene

countenance of the King to the curiously empty space
—a gap in the royal line statues that Piett had
noticed, too.

"But he needn't have feared coming here, you see,"

he continued, quietly. "She's been moved."

Piett's eyes flicked down from the king to the polished

plaque in front of the empty space. It was written in
Naboo, the human population's traditional tongue, so
he could not make it out. Slowly, his eyes traveled
back up to the Emperor's face.

"Tell me, admiral...have you ever heard of Queen

Padmé Amidala?"

"The..." He furrowed his brow, reaching back in his

memories to his youth and the Clone Wars. "The
name is familiar. There was a senator named
Amidala, wasn't there?"

"One and the same. I would have been surprised if

you'd never come across her, Admiral Piett." He
glided over to the empty spot next to Veruna and
stopped. "She should be here. Her statue has been
moved—I would guess to a place of greater honor,
given the...occasion."

"The—occasion...?"

"Today is the anniversary of the day she died." The

Emperor's heavy robes brushed against the plaque.
"Twenty-three years to the day."

Piett's eyes widened.

"This was why the queen wore mourning garb—

because of her predecessor's death?"

This former queen had died as the Empire was born.

"In all likelihood. Amidala was universally beloved of

her people. If you'd only known her—" He closed his
eyes, savoring the memories of a bygone age. "There
are individuals so magnetic that around them galactic
events can and must turn as a matter of course. She
was such a one, admiral. More than once a two
minute speech from her in the Senate of the Old
Republic changed the tide of a galactic vote. It was
quite remarkable to watch. No one in the Imperial
Senate could hold a candle to her, I assure you."

Piett was not listening. He was thinking back to the

Emperor's words when he had entered the room...he
needn't have feared.

"You wish to know what Lord Vader's interest in the

late queen and senator is." Piett opened his mouth,
alarmed and defensive. Palpatine silenced him with a
look. "Do not be alarmed. You have a very open face,
admiral. Can you guess?"

"I—" Another game that he had been drawn into

without even realizing it. He had no choice but to
play. "I find it difficult to imagine Lord Vader getting
wrapped up in the cult of personality surrounding a
politician."

Palpatine's chuckle was as brittle as his cane.

"Very astute. His loyalty is hard-won and always

personal. And the senator's politics are unlikely to
have held any allure for him—she was a staunch
democratist."

Not a political match, then.

Which left one obvious but supremely unlikely

alternative.

"His lover, then?" he said, boldly. He had never heard

even the vaguest rumor of an assignation connected
to Vader. For all his recent prominence on Imperial
Center, he was still less a man in most sentients' eyes
than a machine or tool. And even if they thought he
was capable of sneaking off for a clandestine affair,
no one on Imperial Center would have the nerve to
voice the thought.

"A lover," the Emperor repeated, sneer creeping into

his voice. "I wonder at you, Piett. If Lord Vader were
here, would you have the gall to suggest something
so repugnant to his sense of honor as a kept
mistress? Not even his esteem for you could survive
that insult."

Piett shook his head.

"In truth, my lord, I feel I disgraced myself by even

suggesting it."

"A man of personal as well as martial honor."

Palpatine slowly walked towards the door. Piett
followed. "You are a rare one, a paragon of virtue."

"That is very flattering—"

"Or perhaps—" The hooded figured whirled on him.

"You are merely better at hiding your vices than most
of my officers."

The admiral flinched, but held the Emperor's piercing

gaze with a steadiness far greater than what he felt.

"I find it difficult to imagine concealment from you

would be possible, your majesty," Piett replied,
evenly.

"That is usually true, yes. There have been a

few...notable exceptions." He paused and considered
the man, thoughtfully. "Do you know, admiral, of the
very curious attachment customs of the Jedi Order?"

"I know next to nothing about the Jedi, my lord,"

Piett answered him, calmly. Something about this
abrupt turn in subject rang out a warning call. "To me
their religion and practices are completely opaque."

"Allow me, then, to elucidate you," Palpatine said,

voice heavy with irony. "The Jedi did not allow their
practitioners to form attachments, Admiral Piett.
They, as a general rule, took the infants who
displayed—certain facilities—from their parents soon
after birth and raised them in common. They were
not permitted contact with their biological family,
romantic ties, marriage... or children. Jedi were
expected to always put the interests of the collective
over their own: that tenet was the cornerstone on
which their order was built, prospered...and
eventually crumbled. What do you make of it?"

"It seems completely untenable," he said, after a

moment. He was honest.

Palpatine broke into a wide smile.

"It was. But the Jedi did not realize the price they
would pay for this particular dogma." Malice oozed
from every word. "There was a boy, you see—not
taken from his mother at infancy, but discovered
when he was nine, nearly ten years old. He had been
born in the Outer Rim, and so as a consequence this
boy and his incredible natural Force-abilities had
managed to go unnoticed—until, by chance, he
crossed the path of a party that included a Jedi knight
and the young Queen Amidala. The boy was so
instantly enamored of her that when they met again,
a decade later—he, now the most promising young
Jedi in the history of the Order, and she an influential
senator at the height of her beauty—they committed
the greatest of all Jedi taboos and secretly wed, right
here on her home planet of Naboo."

"What—" Piett swallowed, hard. He found himself

completely transfixed by the story. The story that no
one but the Emperor knew, that none of them, least
of all him, could've guessed. "What ...price did the
Jedi pay for this union?"

"Quite simply, admiral...they divided his loyalties,"

Palpatine said, mildly. "Divided loyalty— between a
wife and an order—is not true loyalty to either. And
so...it was very simple for another to step in and gain
the boy's allegiance."

The implication festered for a long moment.

"Are there others who know that Lord Vader was once
a Jedi?" Piett asked, quietly.

Palpatine didn't pretend to be surprised.

"A few, perhaps. Tarkin knew—but then, he had

served with him during the Clone Wars. I find myself
surprised more people don't assume it. I suppose
they think they would have heard of him."

And they have. Just under a different name, as I

thought.

He would not satisfy the Emperor any more than he

already had by asking for it.

"His dedication to their extermination should have

made it obvious," the Emperor continued, running
one withered hand over the plaque. "Only someone
who had been among their ranks could've hated the
Jedi with his passion."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Palpatine paused for a fraction of a moment—no

longer than the dead silence between heartbeats.

"It has been a long time since I have had a

confidante. I see you understand Lord Vader better
than most...I wished for you to understand the
extreme delicacy and importance of the favor I am
going to ask of you, admiral."

"Favor?"

"An errand. Simple enough—but also of personal

significance. Will you oblige me?"

"You ask as if I had a choice."

The Emperor's eyes glittered with amusement.

"I assure you, you will not find it taxing," he

chuckled, coldly. "Even Tychum could do this."

Piett no longer hid how little he enjoyed being alone

in his Emperor's company; he barely moderated the
pace of his steps to account for the elderly ruler's
more tempered gait. They found Bratton and Tychum
again quickly enough. The moff and governor were
studying a collection of ancient Nubian pottery in the
next room.

It did not take much to persuade the two men to

leave the hall altogether, and Piett took great
pleasure in allowing the eager and ambitious moff to
take his place at the Emperor's side.

"Your majesty," Bratton smiled, as they walked down

the long corridor and towards the room of sumptuous
day refreshments that had been set out for them. "I
trust your audience with the queen was fruitful."

"As fruitful as such things ever are, moff." He turned

an amused smile to his companion, then back at
Bratton. "My countrymen on Naboo have a particular
habit of saying much, but very little of what they are
really thinking."

Bratton quirked an eyebrow

"Surely the queen of Naboo wouldn't dare defy you."

He looked over at Tychum, who was patting his
forehead with a kerchief, nervously. "Or aren't you
keeping the system in line?"

"There are rumors of unrest—and that's all they are,"

the governor said, defensively. "Rumors."

"On the subject of rumors...I have it on good

authority, my friend, that you have heard a few
interesting ones about the apparent gains of the
rebellion against my Empire." Bratton jerked his head
back in the direction of Palpatine, momentarily caught
out. "I hope you aren't taking idle gossip to heart,
Bratton."

Bratton didn't bat an eyelash—though Piett did notice

a reflexive twitch in his cheek.

"I'm sure the reports of Lord Vader's success on Hoth

and elsewhere are not exaggerated," he said, stonily.

Everything about his answer suggested he wished it

wasn't true. Palpatine laughed.

"True, he has been quite dogged in his pursuit of the

rebels. There is a certain thrill in the chase that
contributes to his tenacity, I believe. Admiral—" He
set his sights on Piett. "You have been on the
Executor these past few months. Would you say Lord
Vader's passion for his work lives up to the, ah—
legend?"

"I have never seen him fail in his pursuit of an

object."

"Really." Palpatine smiled absent-mindedly. "Never?"

Piett's chest tightened in anticipation of something—

thought he could not be sure from what quarter it
would come. The air around him had thickened.

"What an endorsement," Tychum added, timidly.

Palpatine seemed less impressed.

"That reminds me, admiral—I've been meaning to ask

you for some time, but it never seems to come up
naturally, " His eyes gleamed. "How goes the hunt for
young Skywalker?

Piett's heartbeat sped up.

"Skywalker...?" Bratton repeated, baffled. "That

would be..."

"The pilot who fired the shot that destroyed the Death
Star," Piett finished for him, faintly.

"You're hunting him?" Bratton repeated, incredulous.

Piett gave a weak nod. "A Super Star Destroyer going
after one pilot? Surely there are ISB agents who have
been tasked with finding the rebel and making an
example of him."

"Skywalker has managed to allude bounty hunters,

private agents and the entire Imperial fleet for nearly
three years," Piett pointed out, coolly. "He is no
ordinary rebel."

"The boy seems to have a talent for slipping through

Lord Vader's fingers," Palpatine remarked, blandly.
"But then again, it has been so long since he had to
take a prisoner alive. Perhaps he's simply out of
practice."

Bratton chortled appropriately. Palpatine narrowed his

eyes in Piett's direction.

"You are aware, admiral, that it was I who ordered

Vader dedicate his personal attention to capturing
Skywalker, weren't you?"

The admiral, to his credit, didn't blink. Even if one

didn't have the benefit of a mask, prolonged time
spent in Lord Vader's presence encouraged the
cultivation of a Sabaac face.

"Of course," Piett said, infusing the two syllables with

just a tinge of offense. "Your directive was relayed to
the command crew, and Lord Vader's insistence that
Skywalker be immediately taken to Imperial Center
was evidence enough of his importance."

"I am sure." He glanced over at Tychum. "Governor,

you have been mumbling to yourself upwards of three
minutes."

Tychum started.

"I apologize, my lord, I was—"

"Distracted, clearly," the Emperor completed the

thought for him, as though he was a child. "I wonder
what is so interesting to you about the name of the
pilot, that you keep repeating it."

Tychum's face turned an ashen color.

"It's nothing, only—" The Emperor leaned forward.

The governor was clearly unnerved by this genuine
interest, so rarely bestowed on him. "I thought the
name 'Skywalker' sounded familiar, and your
conversation with Admiral Piett reminded me of
where I'd—eh, heard it before."

Piett saw the Emperor's yellow eyes under the hood

flash for split second. "Don't keep us in suspense."

Tychum glanced over at the moff, than at Piett, his

growing trepidation obvious.

"Forgive me, my Emperor, I don't wish to offend—"

"Nothing you could say would be capable of offending

me, Governor Tychum, I assure you."

He was too relieved by the reassurance to be insulted

by the implication.

"Well, I believe—that is to say...was there not a very

prominent..." He pursed his lips anxiously. "—erm,
Jedi by the name of 'Skywalker'?"

All eyes turned to the Emperor. His face was frozen in

its usual imperturbable mask, but Piett could have
sworn he sensed the wheels behind those eyes
turning.

"I understand your hesitation, governor," he said,

after a moment. "You wished to spare my feelings on
a—delicate matter."

Even Bratton seemed uncomfortable.

"My lord, I meant no disrespect—"

"And you offered none. It is not a crime to remember

a famous Jedi," He smiled, and when he did the
normally placid face took on a feral quality. "The
Skywalker in question was the subject of a very
public holo campaign during the war. You spent much
of your youth on Coruscant, Tychum. It is only
natural you would...make a connection."

He looked past him—towards Piett.

"If there's a connection to be made between this dead

Jedi and pilot," Bratton interjected. "But I don't
suppose there is."

"It's not a very common name," Tychum reasoned.

"Perhaps...a cousin? Or—"

"A son."

Both men turned in Piett's direction.

"A son," he repeated, in a strangled whisper, and

when he turned his eyes to meet the Emperor's, the
elderly monarch inclined his head just a fraction.

"A very interesting idea," Palpatine said, softly. "A

son."

"Are you alright, Admiral?" Tychum asked, frowning.

"You look ill."

Piett looked down at his hands. They were shaking.

"A son?" Bratton scoffed. "Really, Firmus, you don't

know much about the Jedi if you think that's possible.
They were all eunuchs, weren't they? That's what I
was always told."

"If there's one thing I've learned in my career, Moff

Bratton," The Emperor said, eyes still fixed on the
Admiral. "It's that there are exceptions to every rule."

Piett felt calm—more calm than he had any right to,

in the circumstances. He seemed to have lost most of
his faculties, and he let Tychum steer him to the
couch without resistance. For the second time on this
trip he was grateful for the poor, foolish governor,
whose womanish fussing felt like the only real event
happening in the room.

"You almost seem as though you've suffered a great

shock, Admiral," Palpatine said, clicking his tongue
with concern. "Are you feeling well?"

"Of course, your majesty," he said, looking back

down at his hands. He clenched them,
experimentally, to see if the shaking would stop. It
did. "I've never felt more clear-headed in my life."

"Then you won't mind fetching Lord Vader for me."

Palpatine's voice turned cold, and his face hardened.
"He has spent enough time going over security
protocols. I want him at my side when I am
addressing Naboo. All the planet will see my strong
right arm—that is how I wish it to be."

Gently, the admiral pushed off Tychum hand and

stood up, shakily.

"It will be done as you wish," Piett said.

Piett had never wanted to leave the presence of an

individual—to leave a planet—as much as he did the
Emperor and Naboo now. He wandered up and down
the endless hallway of the palace, scarcely knowing
where he was going. Vader wasn't picking up his
comm, and there were over a hundred rooms where
he might be. The Admiral welcomed these outrageous
odds of finding his commander.

His son.

Luke Skywalker was Darth Vader's son.

It made all the sense in the world and yet—left far

more questions than answers. The elaborate lengths
to which Vader had gone to entrap the boy on
Bespin...the secret order he had given to Piett to let
him go above Florrum...and most significantly, the
Emperor's particular interest.

He must have inherited Lord Vader's abilities.

It explained his success over Yavin—Piett had seen

the readout of the statistical odds of a sentient
making that shot, and it had been staggeringly low.
And those numbers hadn't even factored Lord Vader
into the scenario.

Like father, like son.

He pulled his old-fashioned watch out of the breast

pocket of his uniform. Piett had just enough time to
complete the Emperor's errand (at least he could do
that quickly, with what he had learned he didn't relish
being caught in that place by Vader) and rendezvous
with his erstwhile commander, if the aide he'd sent
managed to track him down. He didn't have the time
to seriously consider the implication of what he'd
learned—

Abruptly, his personal comm emitted a loud and

unfamiliar shrieking noise.

What in all the hells is going on now—

"This is Admiral Piett of the SSD Executor," he

answered, fumbling with the switch. "Who is on this
signal transmission? Identify yourself."

"Nice to meet you, Admiral. I've heard good things.

Who I am doesn't matter—I'm looking for Vader. Is
he with you?"

The voice on the other end of the communication

channel was female, young—and the brash familiarity
she spoke with was suggestive of the common
underworld criminals he knew Vader employed and
who he thoroughly disapproved of.

Piett sat down on a settee in the empty hall and let

out a world-weary sigh.

"Whoever you are, you must know that I can't

possibly reveal that information to a contact who
won't even identify themselves."

"I work for him."

"In what capacity?" he asked, in a tight voice.

"Forgive me, I don't think even the most lax Imperial
would have so little respect for basic courtesy or
protocol—"

"I don't have time for this!" the woman snapped,

losing the brightness in her voice. "Frankly, neither
do you. Or Lord Vader. And you can cut the rank-and-
file routine, Admiral Oblivious, because I do know
how a Star Destroyer works, and Luke Skywalker
didn't make it past the Empire's biggest ship off of
Florrum without inside help."

Piett paled.

"Has something—happened to the boy?"

"Nothing—yet." Her crackling pause was one of the

longest moments of Piett's life."He's on Naboo."

Piett groaned and massaged his temples.

"So I'm guessing from that dignified noise that you

get the problem here?"

"What in the devil possessed him?"

"It's a family...matter." She sounded put-out. "Look,

the point is Vader isn't going to be pleased —"

"—When he learns his son is here?" Piett finished for

her, wearily.

"You...know about that?"

He dug through his pocket for a painkiller to combat

the headache that was already brewing.

"Obviously."

"How?"

"I inferred it."

"Based on—?"

"The Emperor all but told me, if you must know,"

Piett admitted, popping back the pill and slumping in
his seat.
"Do you usually discuss Lord Vader's personal history
with the Emperor?"

"Lately I haven't had much of a choice," he replied,

curtly. "I don't intend on making a habit of it, believe
me. I assume you have a plan to rectify this
situation."

"You catch on quick," she said, appreciative. "I do.

I'm sending someone to retrieve him discreetly."

"Trustworthy?"
"

Yes—well, she has the kid's best interest at heart,

anyway." Another pause. "I need you to meet her and
do the hand-off."

"Why me?"

"I may...not have mentioned Vader to her. I don't

think she'd take it well if she knew who my boss
really was."

"Who—"

"It's Leia Organa."

He cursed under his breath and fumbled in his pocket

for another painkiller.

"Any other abominable news you wish to convey to

me?" he asked, acidly. His late mother had often
remarked that sarcasm was beneath him. All due
respect to mama, but right now he didn't give a
damn.

"I need you to tell the happy father the good news."

He was tempted to throw the comm against the wall

like a child.

"Why? What possible benefit could there be to that?"

"He and Luke have some—ability to sense each other.

It's a Force thing. He'll be able to find the kid quicker
than you or I could...and it'll be worse if we try to
hide it and he figures it out."

"If Lord Vader believes either of us knew Skywalker

was in danger and concealed it from him..." He trailed
off.

The crackling silence on the other end of the comm

was telling.

"Have you ever wondered what being shot into the

vacuum of space would feel like, admiral?"

Piett reached for his throat and tugged at his collar.

"I can guess."

As Vader looked out the expansive window of the

palace's throne room and onto the square below—
already filling with crowds, Naboo carefully selected
from the population for their tractability—he
wondered what he'd been thinking. It had been a
flimsy excuse that his master had seen through, and
he had still ended up here.

His efforts up until now to avoid it had been childish

and cowardly—but most of all, pointless.

There was not a place he could go on this planet that

was not suffused with memories of her... and
whatever he told himself, he would not have it any
other way.

Naboo would always be hers.

"Lord Vader," a soft voice called from somewhere

behind him. "Captain Deeko told me you wished to
speak to me.

"I do," he rumbled, still staring down at the mass of

people below.

"He said you questioned whether our security was up

to the task of protecting the Emperor."

He turned his head slightly in the direction of the

young queen.

"Excuse me—I'm in charge of security, milady."

"I have no doubt you are capable of protecting the

Emperor, your majesty," he replied, brushing away
the memory.

"Then you doubt our resolve to."

He turned to face the queen, dressed in somber

purple and black and the customary white face paint
which so effectively concealed what she—poor, scared
thing, for in spite of her boldness he could feel the
fear rolling of her—truly was. Vader looked away
again.

Padmé had never feared him. She had only ever

feared for him.

"You have given me no reason to."

Her youthful face softened.

"Then I must ask, Lord Vader—why do you remain

here?"

"I..." He turned his whole frame back towards the

window. "I have a request. It is of a...sensitive
nature."

He felt the girl's eyes staring at his back. She had

more perceptive ability than his master gave her
credit for.

"The grave is not open to the public, Lord Vader—but

you may visit it whenever you wish."

"...Did the Emperor speak to you?" Vader asked,

softly.

"No. Queen Rodanthe, my predecessor—" There was

a hint of sad humor in her voice. "She warned me you
would ask, and that I must choose for myself what
my answer is to be."

"You could not stop me," he said, in a low voice,

putting one hand on the glass. It was not
transparasteel, only flimsy seaglass. If the rebel
sympathizers he pretended to believe were below the
palace had been there, how easy for them to launch a
grenade in his direction, snuff him out, once and for
all.

"She also told me you never go, even after you've

been granted permission." He heard the light,
hesitant step of the young monarch.. "I...am too
young to have met Queen Amidala—but I am told by
they that knew her well...that no one ever had any
cause to fear facing her."

The dark silhouette at the window did not turn.

Only the sharp sound of a door being closed broke

the silence.

"Your majesty—" The imperial captain bowed, curtly.

"Lord Vader—my lord, the Emperor demands you join
him on the viewing platform for the address."

"The address was not scheduled for another two

hours, captain," Vader said, icily, spinning on his
heel.

The captain nervously shifted his weight but did not

waver.

"There was a last minute change. Emperor Palpatine

now wishes to speak to the people immediately."

"Where is Admiral Piett?" he asked, striding from the

window past the queen as though she were nothing.
The captain snapped another salute at his
commander.

"The Admiral—was detained on some urgent business

—"

"What urgent business?" Vader demanded, cooly.

"Why did he not come himself?"

"I—I don't know, my lord. I was told he was with the

Emperor until a short time ago but that he— left,
quickly. He wishes to rendezvous with you at the
shuttle hangar, there was some— information he
wanted to relay to you in person—"

"Why was I not informed of the schedule being

moved up before now?" Vader interrupted. The envoy
looked embarrassed.

"My lord...no one was able to find you, and

you...weren't answering your comm."

There was a long pause.

"Thank you for your time, your majesty." Vader said,

stiffly. "I shall consider all you said with due
reverence."

"Of course, Lord Vader." As the Sith stalked out of the

room, captain scuttling uncertainly behind him, she
realized that never once had he pointed his helmet
squarely towards her. Never once had he looked at
her. "And I will not stop you, whatever you decide."

By the time Piett strode through the door of the

Theed Palace hangar bay, Vader was in the worst of
all possible moods.

"You," he rumbled. "Are late, admiral."

"My lord—" Piett stopped to breathe. "I apologize—"

"Save your excuses for the Emperor," Vader snapped,

stalking over to the two-man speeder waiting for
them. "It is he you answer to now, not me."

He signaled to his personal garrison of stormtroopers

to follow. Piett held up his hand—the men stopped,
confused. They had never seen Piett countermand a
direct order of Vader's.

"Lord Vader—something has happened."

Vader signaled again—his troops separated into four

groups and dispersed among the speeders on the
other end of the hangar, leaving him and Piett in
relative privacy.

"We are already beset with fawning and grasping

politicians." Vader said, irritably. "What else could
there be that needs my attention?"

Vader started the engine the moment Piett climbed,

rather clumsily, into the seat next to him.
Immediately Vader sped off, going from 0 to his
customary 20 kilometers over the speed limit with a
carelessness that spoke to his displeasure.

"It is being...attended to," the Admiral said, slowly,

trying to pull himself up in his seat. "I merely felt it
necessary that you were—informed."

"You are unusually cryptic."

"A matter of security and discretion, my lord." He

swallowed and took a deep breath. "It concerns our
recent activities on...Florrum."

Vader pulled up on the breaks so hard that Piett

nearly flew out of his seat.

"What about Florrum?" he asked, in his lowest, most

dangerous voice.

"The boy—Lord Vader—" Piett gulped in a breath of

air to steady himself. "He's here."

With no warning he swung them into and across three

lanes of incoming traffic, through a busy intersection,
a layer of bushes and into what could be most
generously described as an irrigation ditch on the side
of the ornamental river that hugged the main
promenade of Theed.

Piett sputtered and pulled errant leaves out of his hair

—but the sight of Vader slowly turning in his seat
froze him.

"If you want to live you will speak quickly."

"I received an encrypted communication from a

woman claiming to be your agent a half-hour ago," he
said, stumbling over the words. "She gave me specific
information—the forged ship ID tags, which I cross-
checked with planetary security. It seems he...landed
on the planet four standard hours ago."

"On Naboo." Vader repeated, with a surprising lack of

emotion.

"All intelligence points to him being...in Theed." Piett

plunged forward before Vader could speak again.
"The news of the Imperial Day celebration being
moved here was not released on the holonet until
yesterday. He came here ignorant of our presence."

"Why did he come here at all?"

Piett looked at him with an emotion that Vader had

never seen cross his face—concern? Or was it pity?

"Your—agent seemed to think he was here on...family

business," he replied, delicately.

Vader's grip on the controls tightened. For a moment

Piett thought he was going to snap the metal-plated
rods in two.

His anger—laced, as all he felt was, with fear—caught

up with Piett's words at last. In the Force he reached
out and—there, he could feel it, the true source of his
anxiety these past few days—

Luke.

His son, his absurd, impetuous child, the boy who had
inherited his mother's tendency to put himself in
harm's way with no thought for the consequences.
Luke's presence was faint, nearly obscured—but it
was here. He'd been on the planet for almost the
exact amount of time Vader had, he'd probably only
arrived an hour before—and he'd had no idea.

Right now the fact that Luke had been able to hide
from him was less comforting than infuriating.

He'd been far too wrapped in his own self-loathing to

realize what should have been obvious.

Without warning, the Sith pulled the speeder back

into traffic. With no concern for his hapless admiral,
Vader pushed fully on the throttle.

"Did Aphra give you anything of use, Piett?" he

demanded, turning so sharply around the corner of
the Naboo Opera house that he clipped the wings of
one of its angelic statues. "Or just her pathetic
excuses?"

"She is sending an agent to come retrieve him—"

"Clever. She knows her life would be forfeit—" He

jerked the ship over a service freighter, then plunged
it below the line of speeders in a move that would
have gotten anyone else blown to smithereens. Piett
turned green. "—If she came herself."

He let out a low hiss, which through his vocoder

sounded more like a growl. She might die yet from
this, especially if her agent proved as useless at
containing the boy as she had. The doctor had stuck
her nose into his affairs one too many times.

If Luke had found out about his...connection...to this

planet, it had been her doing, he was sure of it.
Maddeningly, the rage he should have felt at her
interference, the anger that under any other
circumstance lent him clarity, was drowned out by his
fear.

Terror.

His Master must've known. He had foreseen the

importance of bringing Empire Day to Naboo... it was
all for this. The Emperor had tired of Vader's
continual excuses and failure and moved to ensnare
Luke himself. If Vader did not locate his son and
move him off planet soon...

He had avoided considering the consequences of

Sidious taking Luke up until now. The boy was at
least employing shielding, but Vader feared reaching
out to him, lest Palpatine sense it. For once he did not
want to help the wily old Sith catch his prey.

That left him to deduce where Luke was without the

Force. He slammed his fist against the dashboard in
frustration (Piett jumped) leaving a half-meter wide
dent in the metal. He needed to find his son quickly,
and everything in the universe seemed to be set up

Naboo—Luke had come to Naboo—of all the foolish,

headstrong, irrational things to do. Even if he and the
Emperor weren't here, it would've been a dangerous.
What could possibly be worth the dangers and risk in
the middle of the war, after he had explicitly told the
boy to lay low—

Why today?

Then he remembered what Piett had said, and for the

second time in less than three minutes the obvious
smacked him across the face.

Of course today.

"Admiral Piett—" His attention snapped back to the

speeder. "In approximately a minute we will reach a
promenade from which you can walk to the Emperor."

"From which I—?"

"I know where Luke is," Vader angled the ship in for a
tight landing. "You will contact me when you have
safe transport off-world for him. We will rendezvous
from there. Keep your comm open at all times."

"But—Lord Vader—" Piett's green face turned ashen.

"The address...you are expected. What am I to tell
them? What am I tell the Emperor?"

"Remember that he hates weakness," Vader said, and

the door at Piett's left popped open of its own accord
two meters above the concrete landing platform. "You
are resourceful. I am sure a solution will present
itself."

An unseen force promptly shoved Piett onto the hard

cement. He got to his feet, shakily—just in time to
see Vader's speeder race away.

"Damn!"

As Piett jogged down the steps of Victory Square,

each footfall became progressively slower and
heavier. The sight of an incensed Moff marching
towards him nearly had the admiral turning back
around and fleeing, damn the consequences.

"Where have you been?" Bratton hissed at him as he

hit ground level. "Palpatine says he will not begin the
address without him. We've already been waiting
forty minutes—"

"Don't lecture me about the time, Anton—" he

snapped, patience strained at last. "I run a bloody
Super Star Destroyer. I daresay I know more about it
than you do."

Shocked at his bluntness, Bratton did a double-take.

Tychum hurried over to them, relief plastered over
his pasty face, and so the moff was left with no
chance for a rejoinder.

"Firmus—stars, I'm so glad you're here. I seem to

have—erm, run out of ways to amuse his majesty."

"Is that your assessment or his, Tychum?" Piett

sighed, rubbing his temples again.

"Both, I'd imagine," a soft voice interjected. A now

familiar shiver ran up Piett's spine, and he dropped
his hands to his side. "I was relying on your wit to
save us both, admiral."

Piett slowly turned around and faced the Emperor.

"Your majesty, I—" He stopped himself. What the

Emperor hates most all is weakness. "—did not
believe my presence would be missed."

Palpatine's eyes raked over the Sith-sized gaping

absence at Piett's left.

"Didn't you?" he said, and the words came out as a

low, sibilant hiss.

Tychum looked over Piett's shoulder, curious, as

though the slight man would have been able to
physically conceal his superior.

"Where is Lord Vader, Firmus?" Tychum asked, now

turning this other way, thinking he had missed him
somehow.

"Yes, Piett—we don't have all day."

The Admiral looked between his two fellows—who

were both staring at him in expectation—and then at
the Emperor, who watched him with a, not like a
predator studying a rodent too small to be worth
eating.

That look strengthened his resolve.

And in a flash, just as Vader had said—a solution

presented itself.

Reckless and potentially lethal—but if it worked...

"I fail to understand the problem, your majesty." He

fixed his face into an expression of polite puzzlement.
"When Lord Vader is only following your orders."

"My orders, admiral?" the Emperor repeated, with

affected disbelief. "Pray, tell us what you mean."

Now Piett allowed his brow to furrow with annoyance.

"I found Lord Vader after he finished debriefing the

security task force. When I offhandedly mentioned
that I had to leave him to complete an errand for
you, my lord, he said—" He whetted his lips with
appropriate pomp. "That he knew of it and felt better
equipped to handle the task personally."

Palpatine's eyes widened with genuine—the most

genuine Piett had ever seen—surprise. Just as quickly
they narrowed into snakelike slits, and the admiral
had to suppress his natural urge to take a step
backwards.

"And you took Lord Vader at his word," said the

Emperor, in a low voice.

"Frankly, my lord, I thought it a bit absurd, but you

know he can be—insistent about such things," he
continued, casually, throwing in a small tch in the
back of the throat for good measure. "It was the
shuttle all over again, him insisting on going himself,
but as he knew what needed to be done, I naturally
assumed—"

"Assumptions are as dangerous as hesitations to me,

Admiral Piett."

Piett looked the Emperor square in the eye.

"I knew that Lord Vader would never dare

countermand your wishes, Emperor Palpatine," he
replied, calmly. "And so it followed in my mind that
he was where you ordered him. I can think of no one
who understands your wishes better."

"What are you saying, Piett?" Bratton asked, eyebrow

raised. "That the Emperor's orders are a matter of
interpretation for you and Vader?"

"Anton!" Tychum said, face coloring. "That is quite

the accusation."

"You mistake the point, Bratton," the Emperor said,

and the glimmer in his eyes that the admiral
recognized as a sign that Palpatine's mind was at
work returned. "Piett suggests that his commander
can read my designs as no one else can."

He smiled toothily, in dark amusement—truly, Piett

saw genuine delight there.

"And the admiral is quite right," he looked over at

Piett and nodded approvingly. "I can see you've taken
what you learned to heart."

"I hope so, my lord."

Palpatine chuckled and put one hand on Piett's

shoulder—by all appearances a light, familiar gesture.
The admiral instantly felt as though his blood
temperature had dropped about fifteen degrees.

"He is at the palace, then?" the Emperor murmured,

quietly. "Yes."

"...Alone?"

"I—couldn't say."

"No—of course not. He is never alone." He stepped

back and let go of Piett's shoulder. The cold lingered.
"You have made more than one friend today, Piett.
Bratton will not soon forget the honor you have
unwittingly thrust upon him."

"Emperor Palpatine, I don't—"

"Moff Bratton," Palpatine said, only a decibel louder,

but like a loyal pet his courtier was instantly at his
side. "I have need of you."

"Whatever you—"

"You will read the Empire Day remarks in my stead."

The order was so absurd that it rendered even

Bratton temporarily dumbstruck. The Emperor
gestured, and one of his distant aides came to his
side, holding the data pad that presumably contained
his speech—though why he would have it on hand,
when it was common knowledge he never read
remarks—was less obvious. The wild thought that he
might have foreseen these events flashed through
Piett's mind as the aide handed it to the
flabbergasted moff.

"Tychum will assist you in rehearsing the words. You

have a talent for such things, after all."

"Where will you be, your majesty?" Piett asked, his

face pale, as he watched Palpatine ascend the steps
of the square, newfound purpose in every step.

"I, admiral? I must pay a call—it cannot wait. I have

begun to feel sympathy for Lord Vader's position on
the matter."

He turned at the top of the stairs and looked down.

He didn't rely on the cane.

Piett wondered if he ever had.

"One should never leave important tasks to anyone

else."

Notes:
Well, that leaves us speeding to that
inevitable trainwreck of an
encounter. Apologies for what
amounts to a gigantic, probably at
times confusing, tease. I assure you,
there is a method to the madness.
Thanks to everyone for all the
encouragement. This project is a
huge undertaking for me, so I need
all the help I can get.

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