Chapter Text
“You’re not serious.”
“It. Well. It’s not like we were under orders at the time, and—”
“You thought a Senator would just be fine without a security escort? Without any sort of confirmation of her location, or a routine check of her cargo?”
“Senators have that privilege! You know, diplomatic immunity, protected data.”
“I know what Senators enjoy, captain, I’ve had to deal with them for years already.” Wilhuff turns away from the table, reaching up to press a finger against his brow. This is not a convenient way to extract information, and it is not enjoyable. But on Naboo, it seems, nothing is done easily, or conveniently, or well.
“The people loved her. Still love her. I couldn’t just order a search—”
“The woman was clearly pregnant, was that not a factor?”
“Her condition—the pregnancy wasn’t important.”
“Wasn’t important. A high-risk agent, a known insurrectionist, and her pregnancy wasn’t important.”
“You can’t—” The man at the table stands, anger suddenly etching lines of intense fury across his features, but the trooper beside him places a hand on his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. “She wasn’t an insurrectionist. She made her complaints calmly, clearly, and with proper diplomatic procedure.”
“That may be.” And in truth, the art of diplomacy does require some of Wilhuff’s admiration. But her refusal to see the way of things is more irritating in the moment. “You realize that your incompetency makes you complicit in her treason.”
“It was not treason.”
“All the more reason to include you in the sweep. If you support her in her aims—”
“Then you will have to include all of Naboo in your work, and not everyone will be as cooperative as I am. Padme Amidala was a good queen and a great senator, and we will not let her name be tarnished.” The man does not stand, but he faces Wilhuff now with the ferocity of a jungle beast, contained only by the necessity of polite conversation. Wilhuff realizes this in him only slowly, and is forced to confront the reality of the situation.
He may not be afraid of Naboo, but that does not mean it can be conquered so easily.
“Moff Panaka doesn’t seem to share your feelings.”
“Moff Panaka is a boot-licking toady who is more concerned about the honorifics in front of his name than the concerns of his planet.” The captain sneers, leaning back again in his chair, and Wilhuff accepts the evaluation with a short nod. The man isn’t wrong about Panaka, but he hasn’t learned to keep those opinions to himself. Thus it will be up to Panaka to handle him, if the situation ever arises.
“Don’t leave the planet.” Wilhuff orders as he leaves the room, his stormtroopers following close behind as he moves with quick, long strides through the outer corridor. He takes his responsibilities very seriously, and though he could be called old-fashioned, he prefers to do this in person.
Despite Palpatine’s assurances, Wilhuff had chosen not to attend whatever ceremony the man had designed, and the entire affair has been rather muted. The new security access is a boon, of course, and Cass is certainly aware of the updates. If the staff of the Intercessor haven’t realized it, then Wilhuff would be gravely disappointed in them. But their work is still the same as always, even if their detour to Naboo is longer than might be expected.
Fortunately, Panaka has not been involved, and Wilhuff is confident now that if he were questioned, his new credentials would smooth over any irritations. The dimensions of his role are, if anything, even more nebulous than his last: the moffs are related to sector governance, yes, but men like Brennan have different roles in security, not tied to a specific sector. The thing uniting them is possession of a Star Destroyer—but they are not naval staff, and the crews of their ships are military men. And now a ‘High Moff’? For a man who involves himself so intensely in other matters, Palpatine has left this matter vague and unclear.
All the more reason for Wilhuff to forge a strong system of his own, at least. Though he may not know the details of the troopers beside him, they respond quickly and proficiently, and he is pleased to have them nearby. It is a long walk from the garrison offices to his shuttle, but this gives him time to review the results of his work, and bemoan the lack of progress.
Vader’s inability to find the former Senator Amidala is no reflection of the man’s deficiencies. The woman made her escape perfectly, cleanly slipping through the security nets of two separate sectors and disappearing into the areas of space less tightly patrolled. Certainly, the chaos of the war and the death throes of the Republic were trying times indeed: but the records are sloppy, memories have faded, and old loyalties still linger. The process is slow, and the citizenry are uncooperative.
The longer Wilhuff works here, the more he realizes the need for the proposed battle station.
The imagery alone is powerful. He can testify to this himself. And though the Emperor has made his move, the Senate remains an influential piece of his administration, one which needs to be tightly corralled into cooperation. Once the station is complete, it will not merely present a resource for the Imperial administration—it will be a corrective, a guiding hand, keeping groups in line while the Empire organizes control. It is not perfect, and it will take time. But the vision is growing clearer, as Wilhuff works.
And yet Amidala had resisted this. Her few publications are interesting, even though much of her data is off-planet or inaccessible by him. (No testament to his security access this time: even with the years intervening, the encryptions have proved impossible to break.) It comes as a surprise for Wilhuff to learn that her voting bloc tended to include Mon Mothma, and his memories of his kidnapping mingle with the information. Their lives have not been so different: young people involved in politics, fighting for a cause, championing their goals. And yet Amidala has disappeared, Mothma has fallen on the losing side, and Wilhuff has been catapulted to success.
What device orchestrates these twists of fate? What playwright is organizing their lives? Certainly Palpatine is devious and powerful, but even he could not coordinate all this.
Could he?
Wilhuff shakes his head, tutting to himself as the shuttle arrives back at the Intercessor. Her calming bulk is solid and steady, his new home over these past months, and he smiles to see the clean elegance of her corridors. However, his smile lasts only a moment, for those corridors are not empty.
No, there is Cass running down the hallway toward him. Running. Immediately Wilhuff is alert, and Cass comes up to him breathing heavily and nodding quickly.
“Sir, we were trying to reach the shuttle—there’s requests coming through, communiques from Lord Vader, and he—”
“Lord Vader? But he’s—” He’s busy, is Wilhuff’s first response, on the other side of the galaxy. “And he wants to reach me?”
“He’s—” Cass winces, folding his arms across his chest. “I explained your role. Your duties on the planet. Since he made no formal request, I had no authority to communicate it to you, and you were rather expressive about your intentions for your work.”
“Yes. Yes, there is that.” Wilhuff exhales slowly, nodding. “And you informed him of my position?”
“I sent him the documents.”
“And his response?”
“He…wasn’t very clear.” Cass glances to his feet, backing away. “I’m sorry, sir. He wanted to speak directly to you.”
“You did fine, Cass. Vader has been…decent to us, for a very long time, without any need for him to do so. But we forget that he works outside of the Imperial hierarchy. Even my position is more familiar than his—he has no analogue, no equal.”
“You might consider yourself that equal, sir.”
Wilhuff allows himself a genuine smile, facing Cass with new fondness. “I appreciate all your efforts, Cass. But I am here now. Let me take the call on the bridge, and we will sort this out once and for all.”
“Thank you, sir.” Cass says with evident relief, prompting Wilhuff to shake his head as he follows Cass to the nearest lift and begins the long ride up the central column. He’s seen Vader’s moods before, and flatters himself to think he was sensitive to their origins, but the rest of the Imperial army has no expectation of such familiarity. Cass has tolerated much on Wilhuff’s behalf, but even he has a breaking point.
Which does beg the question: what could have inspired Vader’s temper to such a point that he had terrified Cass like this?
As Wilhuff strides out onto the bridge (oh that familiar, well-worn haven!), his staff turn almost as one to face him, and he is impressed by the attention in their eyes. Had Vader’s wrath been visible to all of them? Good for them to see the power of the Empire’s hidden blade, but there are limits to this sort of thing. Fear is good, but in moderation.
“Cass?”
“He closed the channel.” Cass reports quietly, remaining near the tactical table as he scrolls the channels. “Would you like me to initiate a call?”
Wilhuff pauses, considering the options, then looks again to the pit staff. Their hands flicker over their consoles, still running through routines, but there is a charge to the air that had only arrived with him. What is there to gain from hesitation?
“Do it.” Wilhuff confirms, clasping his hands behind his back as he settles into his place. His rightful place. Whatever Vader wants, Wilhuff is still a commander here, and that comes with all the authority the Empire can confer.
The faintest buzz of static reveals that the channel has been reopened, and Wilhuff adopts a faint smile as he speaks. “Darth Vader!”
There is no hologram at first, but a voice rings out from the darkness, heavy and edged with emotion. “High Moff Tarkin.”
Wilhuff bows shortly, accepting the title. “You’ve been bothering my men.”
Now the hologram appears, Vader’s mask appearing in huge, brilliant blue before the focus resolves and displays Vader in full. “I sought an audience.”
“Consider me flattered. Now, what could possibly be so urgent that you would pull me from my duties?”
Vader is quiet for a moment, taking stock of the situation, and Wilhuff can sense the frustration in him. This is not the Emperor’s guard dog—this is a beast, barely cognizant of its chains. “This is not your place.”
“My place?” Wilhuff actually takes a step back, shocked by the utter gall of the statement. “Lord Vader, my place is wherever I choose to be. The Emperor has requested me here.”
“He seeks to—” Vader turns away, pacing away from the transmitter, and Wilhuff waits for him to return before speaking again.
“Our work is complementary. I am getting closer to real results.”
“While I am given the busy work of tracking down meaningless Jedi.”
Wilhuff raises a hand, brushing aside the concept. “They still pose a threat.”
“They are not a real threat. The power of the Force is mighty indeed, but without coordination or support—”
“My job is not to convince you of your duties. Speak your mind.”
“Let me help you.”
“It is not my decision to make.”
“Are you a commander or not, Governor Tarkin?” There is still that edge, that bite to Vader’s tone, and Wilhuff stops himself from responding in kind. Vader has played right into Wilhuff’s pride, and forced him to confront it. Does the man have the ability to search him from such a great distance? Is the Force somehow guiding them now?
All these rhetoricals, all these questions, and still no satisfactory answer. Wilhuff exhales slowly, fully aware of the attention of his crew, and faces Vader evenly.
“You know that I seek Amidala.”
“And that your search will only end in frustration.”
“For me, Lord Vader, or for yourself? I am aware of the delicacy of the situation, and am flattered to be involved.” Wilhuff tilts his head slightly, chasing the less-desirable path. “Given that I had to chase down the battle station’s plans on my own, I think I have demonstrated my qualifications for this work.”
“The battle station—” Vader turns away, the signal distorting, and Wilhuff straightens again to keep himself steady. Certainly the memory of Amidala cannot be so pressing. This cannot be it.
But if it is…
Vader had spoken of marriage.
Perhaps Wilhuff has made a mistake here.
“Lord Vader, the former Senator Amidala is a valuable prize regardless of your interactions with her. She is a dissident, a known agitator, a brilliant rhetorician and a skilled politician. We cannot allow another Dooku to emerge in our midst. My kidnapping—”
“Amidala was not involved with your kidnapping.”
“But it was inspired by people like her. We still haven’t found ‘Apoidea’, remember. Even that name was disused after only a few months. These people are smart, and they know we are watching.”
“These people? These are not Separatists, Governor, this is—”
“This is a rebellion.” The dirty, disgusting word. Terrorism was one thing. Revolution, small-scale revolts, even protests and voting blocs, all this was tenable within the limitations of the Empire. But rebellion meant a destruction of things, a tearing down of all that Wilhuff had built. His family, his planet—Rina. The battle station.
“You should not be involved in this work.”
“Then come to Naboo and take it from me, Lord Vader.” Now, Wilhuff has found his bite. He responds in kind to Vader’s jabs. And Vader’s ire is rising.
“The Jedi—”
“The Jedi are nothing! They are an extension of an archaic age, just like this entire planet, and you exist merely as their counterpart to destroy them. You have realized the fullness of your purpose, but it does not give you the right—”
“The Jedi created me, Padme Amidala created me, and I demand the right to complete my training as I see fit.” Vader is moving now, reaching up in one swift motion, and Wilhuff takes a step back as Vader tears the mask from his face and tosses it into the darkness behind him. The face he knows, has known, has seen on such rare occasions, now broadcast in full hologram blue—
Behind him, Cass gasps.
The entire bridge has frozen, and Wilhuff is unsure why.
“If I am to realize anything, Governor Tarkin, I will destroy Amidala myself.”
“Why did you contact me.” Wilhuff says lowly, reining in his temper. Vader inspires it in him, provokes this, and already his heart is racing.
“I will find Amidala.”
“This is not a bounty, this is not a single target for you to find and destroy, this is a network of rebellion—” Blast the word. “—and you will need me to do this.”
“You want to find them all. I have no such concerns.”
“Then maybe you should develop such concerns, and return to me once you realize the scope of your Emperor’s plans.” Wilhuff bites, reaching up to close the channel himself. As he stands, the comm in his hand, he realizes he is breathing heavily, and still the bridge does not move. Lights flicker, an occasional beep sounds, but the human component of the bridge is frozen in silence, focused on Wilhuff as he tries to think.
Cass approaches carefully, his tread silent against the deck plates. “Sir?”
“Refuse further communication. If he seeks to meddle, let him do so in person.”
“Sir, do you…” Cass shrinks back, uncertain of his role, and Wilhuff closes his eyes to breathe slowly before facing Cass again.
“Speak.”
“You know who that is.”
“Darth Vader.” Irritant, provocateur, and Sith Lord. “Commander of the Executor, apprentice to the Emperor—”
“That was Commander Skywalker.” Cass swallows, his shoulders hunched. “In the war—he was a Jedi. The Jedi were made generals, he commanded—”
Wilhuff holds up a hand, stunning Cass back into silence as Wilhuff turns to look again at his pit crew. They face him, unblinking, but the shock of recognition is still clear in their eyes. Of course. All these men and women, they served during the war, or were in training. They would have heard. On Eriadu, the communication was less forthcoming, the details obscured. Even then, the Republic had mistrusted him.
“And?”
“Sir?” Cass blinks in shock.
“I realize it must have been a surprise—the Jedi are meant to be dead—but that…man is no longer a Jedi. He serves the same Empire we do.”
“Yes, but—”
“Lieutenant.”
“Commander Skywalker, he’s—he was a hero, he is a hero, he should be—”
“Lieutenant.” Wilhuff is being harsher than he needs to be. But his tone quiets Cass all the same, and Wilhuff moves past him to return to the tactical table and the comfort of the charts and data.
A network. He’s been focused on Amidala, like Vader, but he’s neglected her network. Any good politician has connections, and he already knows some of Amidala’s. But to escape to cleanly, she would have needed someone. Something. Some kind of connection, some link.
If there is a link, Wilhuff can exploit it. Amidala cannot be perfect every waking moment.
And when she slips, he will find her.
+++
For all the insults Wilhuff has developed about the planet, Naboo truly is a beautiful world. The darkness of space seems brighter, with the delicate blue of Naboo’s oceans beneath the hull of the Intercessor. And instead of seeking refuge on the bridge, as he is wont to do, Wilhuff has found himself a side room, part of the barrack levels with an excellent view of the planet, and he sits.
He thinks.
He has learned not to foster regret, but he regrets snapping at Vader. The man was clearly in distress, and Wilhuff had only intensified it. Then again, Vader should know better than to call when in the throes of some emotional turmoil. Their discussion had accomplished nothing and gone nowhere. The search is still stymied. Wilhuff sighs to himself, rubbing at a temple, and puts the thought from his mind.
Commander Skywalker. The name was enough to provide all the information Wilhuff could have wanted. Anakin Skywalker, pride of the Jedi Order, an up-and-coming commander with the energy necessary to inspire millions. The images confirm it: the man is the same. And though no one on the crew has said anything to him, Wilhuff knows they still reel from the shock.
The man was a hero. Anakin Skywalker was a hero. But he is Darth Vader now.
With Padme…I felt differently about my place in the galaxy.
Anakin Skywalker is…was…handsome, yes. Just as Vader is handsome. But Vader has a fire in him, something burning deep at his core, that doesn’t appear in the earlier holovids. Skywalker was younger, happier. Less conflicted.
Amidala tore him away from the Jedi. You may tear him away from the Sith.
No. No, Wilhuff is not the source of his conflict. He cannot be the source of his conflict. Can he? Does Wilhuff exert such a hold, is his influence so great—
The comm in his ear beeps, and Wilhuff plucks it out to toss it onto the carpeted floor.
Why not publicly acknowledge that Vader is Skywalker? Is it Vader’s choosing? Palpatine’s? Palpatine retains his name, though Wilhuff knows he also calls himself ‘Darth Sidious’. To have the Sith, whoever or whatever they are, occupying the seat of power…Wilhuff cannot see a problem in it, but where, exactly, is the line between a Sith and a Jedi? One is action, one is inaction? If that was the case, then the Jedi should never have become generals. Perhaps they called themselves Jedi, pretending to themselves, while drifting into the realm of the Sith.
What is he doing? Wilhuff is no Force-user. He is not a mystic, to sit atop a mountain and ponder the nature of the universe. He is a man of action, just like Palpatine. Just like Vader. And no matter what they choose to call themselves, he is loyal to them. The three of them, this rough triumvirate, they have a singular vision for the galaxy. The station will help them accomplish that. Vader will help them accomplish that. Wilhuff himself will help them accomplish that.
And finding Amidala…
Finding Amidala is a preventive measure. His kidnapping was indication enough that the Empire is not as solid as it might be. She will only destabilize it further, if she is allowed to remain free. Vader seeks her for his own reasons.
Perhaps this is why Sidious—Palpatine—the Emperor has given Wilhuff this task.
His neck and shoulders hurt, the tension of several days held in his muscles and spine. He is not tired, but there is a fatigue about him. Having no successes, no measurable progress…it is disheartening.
Another beep sounds, and he glances to where his comm lies on the floor. Is it really that loud? He sits up, watching it carefully, and another beep comes to warn him that the door is opening. Confused, Wilhuff turns, standing partially in preparation, but the shadow in the door makes him stop.
Vader is here.
Vader is on his ship.
Wilhuff inhales quickly, stepping back, and Vader counters by stepping forward into the room to let the door shut behind him. Neither of them say anything, waiting on tenterhooks, but finally Wilhuff releases his held breath to stand straight.
“Vader.”
“Wilhuff, I—” Vader discards his mask even more quickly this time, moving forward in a rush to grab at Wilhuff’s arms. Wilhuff finds himself leaning against Vader, somehow relieved and comforted by this presence, and he closes his eyes to try and think quickly.
“Wilhuff, I did not mean—”
“Shush.” Wilhuff hushes him, stepping fully into Vader’s embrace. “I was unkind. And I am sorry.”
“It was deserved.” Vader nods, still holding tight to Wilhuff’s arms. “I may be the Emperor’s apprentice, but that does not mean I can ignore your considerable power or presence. I should not have…shouted.”
“Mm.” Wilhuff nods, stepping back again to give them both their space, and he looks up to find Vader watching him closely. “You’re here now.”
“I…yes. I am.”
“And the Emperor knows?”
“Evidence suggests our work is closely connected. I have spoken with him about your comments.”
Wilhuff winces, shaking off Vader’s hands. “Comments made in the heat of anger.”
“Valid comments regardless. I had been focused on single entities, single points. But our work on Corulag made it clear that no rebellion is fostered by a single person. Even Amidala’s real threat lies not in her person, but in her connections. This is what Sidious appreciates about you. This is…what you contribute, that I do not.”
Wilhuff smiles faintly, amused by the pseudo-compliment, but nods in acceptance. “Did something happen? You called, apparently in a panic. And your response—tell me.”
“My work is rarely within the bounds of your concerns.”
“As High Moff, I could request the information anyway.” Wilhuff lowers his voice, leaning forward again to run a finger along Vader’s collar. “But as Wilhuff Tarkin, I want to ask politely. What happened?”
Vader reaches up, taking Wilhuff’s hand to study it in contemplation. “You aren’t surprised to see me here.”
“I’m glad to see you. I will not question whatever providence brings you.”
“We tried to contact you. When my ship reverted—”
“I was ignoring my comm.” Wilhuff nods, shifting his hand to clasp Vader’s. “And I am continuing to ignore it.”
“You are rarely so forward, Wilhuff.” Vader hums, bringing his free hand to Wilhuff’s waist. “I like it.”
“Tell me.” Wilhuff changes tack, leaning closer. “What happened? What do you do, when you go off hunting?”
Vader’s face darkens, and he watches their hands for a long moment before speaking. “It was the thought of Amidala. You, finding her. And I entered a confrontation…with these hesitations. I was weak. I weakened. And the thought of my life, my past life, my former self—it was untenable. I could have broken. I could have failed.”
“And you would have recovered.”
“Would Sidious have allowed me that? He is not known for being kind to failure.” Vader’s grip tightens, and Wilhuff’s voice softens in response.
“You are capable of it.”
“Sidious is—”
“The Emperor keeps a tight rein on his subordinates, but we are not mere peons. We are co-conspirators in his goals. He knows this. His harshness is part of his aims.”
“I know.” Yet Vader’s grip does not relax, and Wilhuff watches him carefully.
“What did you find?” Wilhuff continues.
“What?”
“You see a connection between my work and yours. You’ve already searched for Amidala on your own, and you’ve successfully hunted Jedi. My work has hit a wall, likely where you encountered the same limitations. Is there new information?”
Vader does not answer immediately, but he does begin to relax, releasing Wilhuff at last to find a nearby seat and sit down. Wilhuff mimics the motion, retaking his own seat, and watches closely as Vader nods.
“The Jedi—after the order, they fled. They scattered. Like insects under a log, with no order or reason. But they still…there is still a link. There are still connections. They believe that their knowledge, their position as Jedi, grant them a cohesion outside of planetary governments or boundaries.”
“Our Jedi on Corulag—was she this way?”
“You saw her. She was working with others. Not Force-sensitives, granted, but she was maintaining a life. Fostering her ideals among her…group.”
“And now?”
“The other Jedi seem to emulate this pattern. They are seeking community, and in forming communities, they foster rebellion.”
“And if they convert important figures…”
“The Cirulls had money. That was important enough, on Corulag. Money, influence—as long as the Senate remains, these things will continue to be a thorn in our Emperor’s side.”
Wilhuff looks back to the viewport, avoiding the obvious comment. The Emperor is content to accept money and exert influence as long as it is in his favor. The Imperial Council and the assembled moffs are the same as the Senate, very nearly. But removing the Senate still holds value, if only for reducing the potential of the remaining Jedi.
“You fear that Amidala may seek out the Jedi for her own aims.”
“I know she will. My master—” Vader inhales sharply, clenching a fist, and Wilhuff sits up before reaching toward Vader.
“Vader.”
“My former master. He lives, he—before. Before she…disappeared. They conspired against me, to hide her. She would naturally seek him.”
“Your master.” Wilhuff is gratified to find Vader taking his hand at last, nodding for him to continue. “You know his name?”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi. Another scion of the Order.” Vader scoffs, relaxing back in his seat to massage the palm of Wilhuff’s hand. “I feel him moving. He still has direction, and order, in his life. He…”
Wilhuff is quiet, letting Vader think, and finally concludes that this discussion is no longer profitable. Vader lingers on his emotions, and they sometime lend him strength. But they are now only clouding his vision, not clarifying it.
“Is it worth our time to remain near Naboo? The documents can only tell us so much.”
“It would clearly be the place to start. But we have started. Twice over, now. Amidala would be wise to avoid the planet.”
“Which may be why it provides an excellent hiding place.”
“No. No, that is a useless path. The debate, back and forth whether or not she may be here—it gets us nowhere. She will move, and she will keep moving, to avoid detection until she seeks it.” Vader nods, eyes on the planet outside the ‘port. Wilhuff knows the feeling—but Vader’s attention is more focused and intense than mere relaxation would prescribe.
“We do not have the security—or the loyalty—to monitor every single piece of data in the HoloNet. Soon. But not yet.”
Vader sighs softly, nodding again. “So we are left to search.”
“And ‘Apoidea’?”
“The word is oddly translated. It is less a name and more a title. Like any decent shadow master, he or she or it is avoiding their real name.”
“It could be Mon Mothma. Having leverage on Mothma would allow us to press her for news of Amidala—”
“You’ve met the woman. She would never give up any information she never intended to convey.”
“But it is worth investigation.”
“Wilhuff, I know it is valuable information, but a passing reference to a coded figure is not enough for use to develop a pattern. We start from Amidala and work outwards, tying things back to her as they appear.”
Wilhuff bares his teeth, reclaiming his hand to fold both hands in his lap. “Waiting. After so much work—”
Vader nods, then tenses, sitting up in sudden alert. “Prepare.”
“Prepare?” Wilhuff furrows his brow in confusion, standing as Vader does, and they watch as two men stumble through the door before offering sharp salutes. One is Cass, always at the ready—Wilhuff assumes the other is a member of Vader’s staff, in a similar uniform to Cass’s. “What is this?”
“Sirs—”
“We were trying to reach you.” Cass interrupts, facing Wilhuff with a weighty stare. Wilhuff returns the gaze evenly, refusing to budge, and the other officer frowns deeply as he straightens.
“Lord Vader, there’s been a development.”
“There’s a ship that crossed through the Mid-Rim under Naboo codes, a starfighter—”
“Panaka confirms that he isn’t aware of it and didn’t order it, and the Naboo senator is currently here and hasn’t made any calls.”
“We’ve been monitoring all calls from the ship, and they’re changing their scrambling system every six hours—as far as we can tell from the records.”
Vader is tensed, standing solid in the middle of the room, and Wilhuff glances to him before looking again at Cass. For all the confusion about Vader’s earlier identity, Cass is handling himself remarkably well—and his glances to Wilhuff indicate that this ship is something important.
“You believe it to be her.” Vader speaks at last, earning a nervous head-shake from his adjutant.
“No, sir, but they’re contacting ‘Latona’, trying to reach a location deep in the Outer Rim—”
“Latona?” Wilhuff furrows his brow, prompting Cass to step forward.
“Like ‘Apoidea’: another code. ‘Latona’ is actually a reference to a Naboo myth, a goddess who stepped up from the sea to let her children wander on the fields—”
Vader makes a noise, some complicated growl deep in his throat, and Wilhuff reaches out to grasp Vader’s upper arm before facing the two subordinates. There is not time for this, no time for Vader to vent his anger, no time for these two to ramble about their findings.
“What does it mean, Lieutenant—Lieutenants?”
The other man, Cass’s counterpart, looks at Wilhuff for the first time, measuring him silently before looking again to Vader’s unmasked expression. The noise of the ship disappears around them, and the man squares his shoulders before he speaks.
“Lord Vader. We believe we’ve found the child.”