FicWad

A/N: Just a short chapter, in which we catch up with the Skywalkers and a little of the overall plot ;)

Thanks to Randal for reading and constructive criticism.

All belongs to George, as I'm sure you're aware ;)


Chapter 3: Complications.


"Pirates!" the protocol droid shrieked, falling over backwards with a hollow crash. The Dark Lord of the Sith passed his hand in front of his eyes and sighed in resignation. Despite the droid's pure irritation factor, he had to admit that V-3PO's assessment was probably correct. The battered hull of the Hushed Voice had a distinctly piratical look about it, and as far as Sidious could recall, no Banking Clan frigate worth its salt travelled with a wing of ARC 170's in attendance, let alone a bootlegged Republic corvette.

R2-M4 chose that moment to whistle urgently, his domed head swivelling to regard his master.

"What did he say?" Lord Sidious demanded of V-3PO as the droid clambered to his feet.

"Oh dear... My Lord, it appears that they have cut our communications." V-3PO's immobile face actually appeared to register panic.

"No matter. I have no intention of communicating with them," Sidious said, matter of factly. His voice betrayed not the slightest hint of the agitation he felt. What in the blessed name of the Force was he doing out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by opportunistic scavengers and no doubt pursued by Jedi? His place was the Core, was on Coruscant. Darth Sidious knew that he was not suited to life on the fringe. As an apprentice he had travelled the Galaxy on his master's orders, and had long ago come to the conclusion that space was no place for a man with refined tastes and a liking for creature comforts. You have gone soft, his mind informed him, clinically.

Again, the churning emptiness of the Dark Side beckoned to him, whispering promises of mind-shattering power. Rend, crush, and destroy... To tear apart those who stood between him and his desires, to hear their screams echoing from the very stars. He could almost taste the frantic fire of their pain. Regretfully, reluctantly, he turned away. The fury faded and Sidious slumped in his chair, looking very much his age. Not since his apprenticeship had he been so consistently close to the edge of his control. He had almost forgotten the poisonous sweetness of pure, undiluted anger, and it drained him. Then, dimly, the Dark Lord perceived that R2-M4 was trying to tell him something.

"Master Sidious, we are being flanked on the left and the right by Vulture droids, and the ARC ships are coming around for a pass," V-3PO translated. "R2-M4 wishes to know your instructions, Lord."

"My instructions?" Sidious snapped, angry with himself for almost letting go again. "My instructions are that he use the common sense he was programmed with, and get us out of here." He released the control column he had previously held in a death grip, and folded his arms across his chest. He also chose to ignore the faintly derogatory beep the astro droid emitted. Force, but he was looking forward to getting his feet onto solid ground again.

Almost immediately, the Night Hunter performed a quite astonishing variety of evasive manoeuvres, echoed almost exactly by the ARC 17O's. The Vulture droids fell behind, and Sidious smiled grimly. Advanced as they were, they were no match for the superior programming and innate independence of an R2 unit. Central control computers just couldn't react fast enough. It had been commented by others that the Federation and its allies ought to have learnt after the debacle of Naboo, and Sidious smirked. He'd taken steps to ensure that they hadn't.

However, the ARC fighters were proving a problem, as R2-M4 put the scout ship through a series of barrel rolls. Laser fire streaked across the Night Hunter's prow, and V-3PO wailed in distress as some came close enough to singe the hull. The astro droid beeped almost constantly, and Sidious had the distinct feeling that whatever he was saying really wouldn't translate.

"Oh, shut up," he told the protocol droid as the Night Hunter came around with astonishing speed. "They don't want to kill us, they want to shut us down. Pirates earn their bread preying on the weak, and I... am not weak."

He reached within himself, seeking that darkness that lurked beneath the surface. He closed his eyes, hunting his victims through the Force. A Trandoshan, a Twi-lek, four humans and three species he was less than familiar with. He found the Trandoshan, the gunner in the nearest fighter. With simple, savage precision, he sought the reptilian sentient's mind and squeezed. He watched from afar, maintaining the pressure as thick, black blood oozed from the alien's nostrils and ear holes, and pooled in his eyes. The fighter's rear gun spewed bolts of energy in a wild display as the gunner, in his death throes, clamped his clawed hands around the controls of his weapon. The blasts tore through the canopy of his wingmate behind, and the fighter spun instantly out of control.

The Trandoshan's ship veered off, and another came in, raking the Night Hunter with fire. Somewhere in the bridge, an alarm began to wail, but the Dark Lord ignored it. He stopped the heart of the human pilot of that ship, and then, feeling suddenly playful, seized the vessel itself and threw it at its closest companion. The two ARC fighters collided in a blinding explosion, and the remaining three veered off like startled mynocks. The Night Hunter broke free and fled.

Feeling rather smug, Lord Sidious came back to himself. However, his crocodilian smile only lasted as long as it took V-3PO to report that one of the sublight engines had been hit in the battle, and was on the verge of shutting down entirely.

"Is the hyperdrive still working?" he demanded.

R2-M4 replied with an affirmative beep.

"Then find us a safe port where we can get the engine fixed, and quickly. My enemies are relentless, and I cannot afford further complications..." He trailed off, keeping a weather eye on the two capital ships on the scanners. They appeared to be retreating. Perhaps they had concluded that they faced a Jedi. "And make it somewhere /quiet/," he added wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing. He could feel a headache coming on.

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Hours later on the other side of the Core, far from the flight of the Night Hunter/, Senator Padme Amidala Naberrie-Skywalker drew her rich velvet cloak tighter about her shoulders as she watched the sun rise over the great metropolis of Coruscant. The morning air was chill. The events of the previous day boiled in her mind, and she shuddered. Palpatine, a Sith Lord? /The Sith Lord, in fact. The man behind it all, the puppet master, the cause of so much suffering and death. It begged the questions of how, and why. How could one man revel in such destruction, and why? Did he truly only care for power? His grip on the government had given her much cause for concern over the last three years, but she had entertained the hope that he held the interests of the Republic close to his heart. Now, she learned that he had no heart or shred of humanity within him. Chilled to the very bone, she turned to re-enter her apartment and found her husband standing there, his hair still mussed from sleep. Anakin smiled sleepily at her, and folded his arms across his chest.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, softly.

"Everything, Anakin. And I find that it does not bear thinking about." Stifling a small sob, she rushed to the comfort of her husband's arms. "Oh, Anakin..."

He enfolded her in his warm embrace and pressed his cheek into her silky hair. "Don't worry, my love," he murmured soothingly. "We will catch him."

Padme pulled away slightly and tilted her head up to look at him. "Do you really think that they will take him alive?"

Anakin hesitated before answering, recalling Mace Windu's desperate attempt to kill the former Chancellor. "We will," he said, finally, putting all the conviction he could muster into the words.

Padme was silent for a long moment. "Do you think that... we should/?" She voiced the question softly, ashamed of asking it, but she knew it was one the Jedi must already have considered. The man was dangerous. Who knew what damage he had already done, and who in the Galaxy knew what he was /capable of doing?

"Padme!" Anakin's exclamation was shocked. Then he lowered his voice. "I don't care what the Council's plan for him is, or that the courts and the Senate are bound to his will. I need him taken alive."

Padme frowned. "Why, Anakin? I know you were close, but..."

Anakin's arms tightened around his wife. "Because," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "he is the key, Padme. He has knowledge that can save you."

Padme froze there in her husband's arms. It was as though a lump of ice had coalesced in her stomach, and it was a moment before she found her voice. "Anakin!" she whispered, trembling. "His knowledge is of the Dark Side! He's a Sith Lord!"

"So?" Anakin demanded, upset. "If it saves your life, who cares?"

Padme pulled away from him, and drew her cloak about her shoulders again, icy to the core. "I care," she said quietly.

"I will not lose you," he began, heatedly, but she cut him off.

"Anakin, listen to me. If it is my time to die, then so be it. I have lived, and I have loved. But I do not think my death will occur in the manner you describe."

Anakin leapt into the pause that followed her words. "But my vision showed you..."

"Forgive me, my husband, if I do not share your faith in visions sent by the Force." Padme paused, and shook her head in sorrow. "I know your mother died, but I remember something Obi-Wan told me once. He told me that the future was always in motion, that it cannot be set in stone. Our actions determine our futures, Anakin. By settling on one possible future shown to you by the Force, you blind yourself to the possibility of others."

Anakin glared at her. "Do not lecture me on the Force," he growled. "You're beginning to sound like Yoda."

"Then perhaps you should listen to him," Padme shot back, suddenly angry.

"I trust this vision," he argued. "Palpatine can help me prevent it from happening."

"But at what cost?" his wife asked, coolly.

"Whatever it takes," Anakin answered firmly.

Padme closed her eyes and turned away from him. "But your very /soul/, Anakin! He wants you to need him, I'm sure of it! And I would rather die than sacrifice the good man that you are."

Stricken, Anakin went to her and wrapped his arms around her once more. It was a moment before she relaxed into his embrace. "Let's not talk about this now," he suggested quietly. "Let's just be together, you and I. That's what matters."

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The sun arced higher over the silver towers of Coruscant, and rays of morning light fell across the floor of a small office high in the Senate building. Sly Moore ignored the sunlight's warmth on the back of her neck and studied the encrypted communication she had received from certain agents hidden deep within the burgeoning mass of the common folk of Coruscant. The communication acknowledged her instructions, and promised immediate action. The judicious use of rumour was an art that she was intimately familiar with, and her ability to put a twist to any tale was one the Master valued most highly. Her services were surely invaluable. Sly smiled thinly and re-read the communication once again.

Although she was high in Palpatine's confidences, Sly was aware that she in fact knew very little of his overall plans. It stung, but the Sith Master was not one who trusted easily, and he played his cards close to his chest. However, his most recent instructions did, she felt, give some hints to his purpose. He was still incredibly popular with the people, indeed, one of the most popular Chancellors in recent history. If the people could be persuaded that he had been deposed by the Jedi, that they had harmed him or kidnapped him, then... Sly smirked. The Jedi were powerful, but even they would not be able to stand firm against a rising tide of carefully directed anger. Their high-handedness in the Senate had already caused outcry. She envisioned riots, mobs run rampant, violence orchestrated and directed by none other than herself. And Lord Sidious would reward her most richly upon his return, place her above all others, including her rival, friend and co-conspirator Mas Amedda.

Lost in an extremely pleasant daydream in which she ruled the Republic beside her Master, Sly did not hear the buzzing of the communicator on her desk, and was only dragged out of her thoughts by the Rodian Senator who had entirely ignored protocol and barged into her sanctum.

The agitated Rodian babbled at her in his native tongue, and then realising that she hadn't understood a word of it, switched to Huttese. Like so many other Senators and senatorial aides, he had come to make urgent enquiries as to the probable whereabouts and health of Chancellor Palpatine. It was interesting, she mused, that the man still referred to him as 'the Chancellor'. Another being who refused to believe the Jedi Council's story, another small victory and another step towards future power and privilege.

"You would do better to direct your questions to the Jedi Council, Senator," she said once he had finished.

The Senator looked at her, startled. "Whatever do you mean?" he enquired.

"I mean," Sly said after a moment's thought, "that the Jedi may not be entirely... honest in the version of events that they have given the Senate. They are more likely to be aware of his health than I," Letting him think on that, she ushered him to the door. There was a disparate crowd of beings outside, who clamoured for information as she appeared at the doorway. Sly hit the 'close' button, and locked the panel. Leaning against it, she sighed in resignation. She was going to be bothered for the rest of the day by persistent politicians and journalists, she just knew it. The state of Palpatine's health indeed... That didn't concern her nearly so much as the probable state of his temper, and she had a report to make. She shuddered, delicious fear coursing through her. He was terrifying, certainly, but somehow his presence made one feel gloriously alive.

A small hologram of Mas Amedda shimmered to life on her desk, and Sly swallowed hard. It was time.