The Republic has fallen.
In the final days of the Clone Wars, Chancellor Palpatine died under mysterious circumstances. With the Senate struggling to retain a sense of unity, it was the perfect time for the Separatists to strike. And strike they did...
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Though Darth Vader was hardly one to judge on matters of elegance and statecraft, what he'd seen thus far of Noreino House hadn't impressed him. But he supposed not every architect had the aesthetic sense of the builders on Naboo.
Which was a poor choice of comparison, considering his personal history. He clenched his teeth together so tightly he felt a muscle jump in his jaw, shunting the memories away before they could overcome him. He was harried by recent prior experience. When it came to the distant past, the last few days since his arrival on Onderon had not been pleasant.
Vader went wherever his Master deemed he would be of the greatest use. Sometimes that was a dull military function, making an unexpected entrance to frighten the disgruntled fleet commanders attending into submission. Sometimes that was a distant and equally disgruntled planet no one would miss, quelling rebel insurgencies with a blunter touch.
This mission was blend of both, but not an enormous deviation from routine. He couldn't understand why his senses were constantly primed and alert, darting out at the slightest provocation.
Vader was self-aware enough to know that on a level deeper than conscious intuition, he was searching for something. The nameless itch filled his nights with dreams he never remembered by morning, and his waking hours with visions that rose like heat devils off the city around him. The images he saw shadowed what was with what could've been – and, more worrisome still, what could still be – but trying to drag it out into the open for analysis was an exercise in futility. He hated that.
Vader picked up the pace down the long hallway; between his long strides and the added power of his life-support suit, the Noreino guards escorting him were forced to scramble to match him. He had to find that rogue Jedi before he snapped and acted without thinking for the secrecy of Project Archetype. Something important was happening on Onderon that went beyond his Master's machinations, and he was desperate to find out what. His peace of mind depended on it.
Peace, no. I don't want peace. Peace is the Jedi way. I want my control back, he thought, smiling beneath his helmet. The Force resonated with the truth of it.
"... made a grave error in underestimating him. I'm not surprised she was caught in his wiles; a young girl like that can be quite impressionable. That could prove useful for us, when she's a little older."
Vader felt the inflection of the words more than he heard it. He was near enough to Zakhan Noreino's office now that he was picking up on the heated conversation inside, filtering the two voices into his mind without conscious effort.
A woman spoke next, and her outrage exploded in the Force like rounds of live ammunition. "Are you implying my daughter would be so easily ensnared by–"
"Enough," Zakhan interrupted. His disinterest covered a deeper anxiety. "I've instructed Dakharen to recover the stolen information. That will be the end of this."
