I pushed myself off the overpriced meditation mat. My hands were vibrating out of control, so I forced them down against my thighs and locked my fingers into tight fists, desperately trying to project some semblance of stability. The cold from that mental encounter was still clinging to my bones and making the warm Alderaanian breeze feel like a freezer draft.
"A-are you... are you absolutely sure?" I asked, swallowing hard. My voice came out way thinner than I liked. "Like, you're entirely sure it's Vader?"
Bail's expression was grim. His usual relaxed Senatorial mask was completely gone. "He has visited Alderaan before, Ezra. We know his flagship. I just received the secure transmission from the capital. He arrived with a small Imperial task force."
He paused, glancing out toward the courtyard before looking back at me with sharp eyes. "The official reason provided is an investigation into a spice smuggling ring operating out of the Mid Rim."
I let out a short, cynical laugh. "A spice... smuggling ring. Right. Because the Emperor's personal enforcer crosses the galaxy to do space-narcotics enforcement. That is just extremely foolish to believe."
"There is no doubt they have other purposes here," Bail agreed smoothly. "I am afraid it might be related to the Daiyu incident. An Inquisitor going missing is no small matter, especially if she ended up dying. Daiyu has been on complete lockdown since you left. We cannot be certain they didn't find a lead pointing toward Alderaan."
I bit my thumb nail. My mind started racing at a million miles an hour. Why the hell was Vader actually here? Daiyu was a massive mess, sure. But would they really send Vader for Reva? Usually they just sent other Inquisitors to clean up that kind of mess. Unless he suspected Kenobi was involved.
Or... maybe he was here because of the massive Force disturbance I caused when I killed her. How far had that shockwave reached? Kenobi said it felt like Order 66. Did Palpatine feel it? Did Vader?
Bail must have noticed my rigid posture and the sheer panic radiating off me despite my best efforts to hide it. He took a deep, slightly ragged breath of his own—clearly still working off the adrenaline of rushing over here—and stepped directly into my space. He placed a heavy, grounding hand on my shoulder and forced me to meet his eyes.
"There is no need to panic, Ezra," Bail said, his voice dropping into a steady and reassuring register. "We can salvage this situation. The Empire hasn't brought whatever suspicions they have out into the open. Even the Emperor doesn't dare accuse one of the wealthiest Core Worlds of treason based on mere suspicion."
He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We have a cover story prepared for your presence and Leia's return. But I need to return to the capital immediately to receive him, lest my absence arouses suspicion."
My brain was running a dozen threat-assessment models. Every single one ended with a red lightsaber straight through my chest. Hiding sounded great in theory. In practice, hiding from a psychic cyborg who could potentially smell your soul from orbit was a terrible idea.
"Senator," I said suddenly, squeezing my hidden hands tighter to stop the shaking. "I need to get off Alderaan. Right now."
Bail immediately pulled his hand back, staring at me with wide eyes. "Wait—what? Why would you even consider that?" He gestured vaguely toward the villa in pure shock. "There is absolutely no need for that right now, Ezra. In fact, you should lie low. Let me handle the political situation at the capital first."
He shook his head, clearly flabbergasted. "Alderaan is a massive planet, and they have absolutely no idea you are here. You are completely safe at this estate. The quickest way to turn that fact upside down would be attempting to flee through a monitored atmosphere."
He made a very logical point. A normal fugitive would probably just stay put.
But I wasn't dealing with space-cops. I had no interest in turning my life into a horror thriller where I hid in a closet while Vader stalked through the halls. I wasn't ready to face the endgame boss. Hell, I had barely finished the tutorial.
I shook my head firmly. "Senator, trust me when I say Vader might already know I'm here. Maybe not by name, but... he knows someone is here. May that be a Force sensitive or a Jedi, both of which warrant enough attention." I swallowed hard. "I don't want to take the risk of him getting anywhere near this estate or me."
"How is that... how is that even possible?" Bail frowned, his previous diplomatic calm fracturing into sheer disbelief. "Your presence here is an absolute secret. Do you suspect a spy in the villa?"
I looked bitterly over at the kyber crystal still floating above the mat. It was slightly less bleeding-red than before, but right now I just wanted to chuck the stupid thing into a sun.
"It's not your security, Senator. It's... um, it's my fault." I ran a hand through my hair. "I was doing a Force ritual. I didn't expect him to be on the same planet, and I think I got noticed."
Bail looked at the crystal, then back at me. "A ritual? Ezra, you... you are telling me he can sense you from orbit?"
He rubbed his forehead and gritted his teeth, visibly struggling to process the space-magic mechanics. He began pacing a tight circle on the grass. "This... this changes things. But leaving is still incredibly dangerous. Surely we can move you to a deeper bunker? The lower levels of the estate are heavily shielded..."
"It won't work," I interrupted, keeping my voice as level as possible. "If he wants to find me, a bunker won't stop him. Leaving is the only viable option."
Bail stopped pacing. He let out a long, sharp exhale, finally relenting to the bizarre reality of the Force. "If what you are saying is true... then we must act fast." His tone shifted rapidly from denial into pure logistics. "Even the best ships would take at least an hour to reach this estate. There is a private spaceport thirty minutes from here. I can arrange a clean shuttle for you—"
"No," I cut in again. I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. "This ship is better. The Scythe. It's ugly on the outside with the modifications, but its speed and stealth systems are unmatched by civilian shuttles. I can be out of the atmosphere in minutes."
Bail looked at the disguised Inquisitor transport and his jaw set hard. "Ezra, think about this. It is far too risky. It hasn't even been a few days since I promised your Master I would take care of you."
"Staying is worse," I argued.
Bail stopped entirely. He stared at me, his chest rising and falling as he processed my stubbornness. He looked at the ship, then back to my face, clearly fighting a massive internal battle between his promise to Obi-Wan and the terrifying reality of a Sith Lord hunting me down.
"...Perhaps," Bail finally murmured, his voice heavy. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "But... if you do this, you are absolutely not going alone. I will arrange personnel for your security."
I opened my mouth to protest out of pure habit.
"Do not argue with me on this, Ezra," Bail said, raising a hand to cut me off. "Obi-Wan trusted me with your safety. No matter how capable you are, it would be wildly irresponsible of me to let a twelve-year-old boy launch himself into a space alone."
He stepped closer, giving me a pointed look. "Furthermore, let us be practical. You have flown a ship perhaps... what, two or three times? This is an Inquisitor transport, not a racing speeder. If you encounter an Imperial patrol, you will need to take evasive action. Can you fly and operate the deflector arrays and the weapon systems simultaneously?"
I shut my mouth immediately.
Damn it, he really had me there. My actual experience flying the Scythe consisted of stealing it on Tatooine, pressing the hyperdrive button, and letting the nav-computer do the rest of the heavy lifting. Even with Psychometry letting me absorb basic piloting instincts, engaging in an actual dogfight with my current skills was basically suicide.
"Fine, you make a fair point," I muttered reluctantly.
"Good," Bail said with a relieved sigh. "Earlier you mentioned stripping parts from the ship. Is it still operable?"
"Yeah, I only pulled the Imperial starpath navigational unit so they couldn't track it," I said, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. "Everything else is functional. Good thing I didn't start tearing into the shielding array yet, or it would have been an absolute nightmare to reassemble."
Bail nodded briskly. "Get your things prepared. I need to make a call."
***
As soon as Bail disappeared around the corner of the garden path, the rigid tension holding my spine together completely evaporated. I let out a long, shaky exhale and slumped down onto the meditation mat. I rubbed my trembling hands together, finally allowing the sheer, unfiltered terror of the situation to wash over me for a few seconds before I shoved it back down into a mental box.
I couldn't afford a panic attack right now. Vader was on the planet. I needed to move.
***
Half an hour later, I marched down the Scythe's boarding ramp.
I was fully geared up in my heavy, scavenged exo-suit armor. It was battered and covered in Tatooine sand-scoring, completely hiding the scrawny and barely-teenage kid underneath the metal plates. Arachnae, my custom spider-droid, was perched heavily on my shoulder plate while her photoreceptors whirred to scan the courtyard.
Bail was waiting near the garden path. He blinked and clearly looked a bit startled. He hadn't seen me in the armor yet, since I had only been wearing standard tunics since arriving. He had heard about it from Leia though, so he recovered his composure quickly.
"Well," Bail said with a faint and dry smile touching his lips. "I suppose that is one way to avoid questions at spaceport customs."
Behind him stood the estate butler and two imposing men in rugged civilian clothes. Resting on the grav-cart between them was a massive, heavy-duty fuel canister. The men had an certain discipline about them. Maybe pulled from military or guard forces?
"These men are part of my private security detail," Bail said, gesturing to them. "They have absolutely no official ties to my office or the Alderaanian government. If you are stopped, they are your mercenary escorts. Their mission is to ensure you get out of this system safely."
He then tapped the large tank on the cart. "I suppose between your sudden travels, you haven't had a chance to refill the ship, right? Your vessel doesn't have much cargo space, or I would have had you carry a couple more of these."
I nodded gratefully, then turned to the two mercenaries. "Uh, hi. I guess... I'll be in your care for this run."
The taller of the two gave a respectful, professional nod. "Just tell us what you need, Sir."
"Right, well..." I pointed a thumb back toward the open ramp. "One of you can head up to the cockpit to prep the pre-flight checks. It's up the ramp and to the left. Controls are standard Imperial, but there are ship has some mods. The other can handle the refueling."
I tapped my shoulder plate, and Arachnae immediately scurried down my arm to the ground with a metallic clatter.
"The fuel port is external, tucked under the starboard wing," I explained to the second mercenary. "My droid here will show you exactly where the bypass valve is so you don't trip the Imperial safety lock."
Arachnae let out a low, affirmative trill and began scuttling toward the side of the ship. The second mercenary grabbed the grav-cart and followed her without a word, while the first jogged up the boarding ramp.
Once they were busy, Bail turned back to me. He took a sleek, metallic lockbox from the butler and held it out.
"For your journey, Ezra. And... my thanks, again, for my daughter."
I took the box. It was surprisingly heavy. I popped the biometric latch and my jaw practically unhinged at the sight inside.
Neatly arranged rows of credit sticks lined the top. But beneath them lay a solid layer of physical golden credit chips. They were untraceable, universally accepted, and absurdly valuable. I did a quick mental calculation based on the stack density.
It was no less than two hundred thousand credits.
My brain completely short-circuited. For reference, Vasha and I had spent two grueling years hustling in Capital City. We dealt with wealthy clients, repaired hopeless junk, and put up with absolute misery. After all that effort, our entire life savings had barely scraped thirty thousand credits.
I stared at the gold and then looked up at the Senator of Alderaan.
"S-Senator," I stammered, my casual persona completely shattering. "This... this is way too much. I mean, I can't take this."
I instinctively pushed the box back toward him slightly.
Bail gently pushed it right back into my hands. "Do not refuse it, Ezra. I am not giving you this on a mere whim."
He tapped the rim of the box. "This is simply the compensation I had originally promised to the mercenaries for rescuing Leia. You completed that mission. Furthermore... I promised to provide you with a new ship. We simply do not have the time to procure one before you leave."
Bail sighed and looked faintly apologetic. "Frankly, this amount is much less than the value of a decent vessel. I apologize I could not provide more. I simply hadn't brought much liquid funds with me right now."
My left eye twitched under my helmet. Much less? Liquid funds? He casually called this absurd fortune 'much less' than a ship?
I mentally slapped myself. Maybe I really shouldn't feel so incredibly guilty about taking money from one of the wealthiest people in the entire galaxy. Their loose pocket change could probably buy a small moon.
"There are more funds on those credit sticks," Bail explained, pointing to the top layer. "They have been source-anonymized through shell corporations. However, to withdraw them, you will need someone with a valid chaincode."
He leaned in a bit closer, his tone serious. "You must also withdraw the digital credits in multiple small increments. A large withdrawal would automatically flag the system for managerial review, and we cannot risk Imperial banking algorithms noticing your activity."
I looked down at the literal treasure chest resting in my hands. Honestly, you just shouldn't say no too much when a billionaire stubbornly insists on paying you.
"Alright... um, I understand," I finally relented, snapping the box shut and tucking it under my arm. "Thank you, Senator. Really. I will make sure it goes to good use."
"See that you do, Ezra," Bail said, offering a final, firm nod. "May the Force be with you."
***
"Thrusters are sitting at seventy percent capacity. Deflector shields holding steady," Kael's voice crackled slightly over the cockpit comms. "Fuel reserves are locked and showing green across the board. We're on vector."
I shifted in the cramped jump seat just behind the pilot stations, wincing as a sharp piece of metal dug right into my lower ribs. I tried to subtly adjust my chest plate, but the damn thing just pinched harder.
The two Alderaanian operatives—Kael in the pilot's seat and Ryn running the nav-computer—were absolute professionals. They hadn't asked a single question about my identity or why I was wearing scavenged Mandalorian-knockoff armor, but I still felt the absolute need to keep up the imposing mercenary act.
It was just a lot harder to do when your own armor was actively trying to strangle you.
The helmet I had on was a backup I'd forged months ago, so it didn't have any of the slick HUD tech or sensor integrations of the one I'd lost back on Daiyu. It was basically just a heavy bucket of metal. But honestly? The helmet was the least of my problems right now.
The whole suit was tight. Like... really tight.
I mean, did I seriously grow that much in just a few days? I know the medical droid said I was physiologically twelve now, but still. They always say sudden growth spurts happen in your teenage years, but I didn't expect to wake up one morning and suddenly outgrow my own custom-fitted combat gear.
It was honestly a bit surprising, but there wasn't exactly a complaints department for weird Force-induced puberty. I had no control over it.
Unfortunately, I'd designed this armor specifically for high-mobility combat, which meant it was supposed to fit incredibly snug. The sudden body changes meant I'd spent ten frantic minutes in the armory brutally ripping out inner fixtures and shock-padding just to get the clasps to lock over my chest.
It was uncomfortable as hell, but I couldn't exactly march onto the ship in standard tunics. I needed these guys to take orders from me. Being a masked, heavily armed guy with a scary voice modulator was infinitely better than trying to command respect as a twelve-year-old boy.
"Clearing the upper atmospheric drag now," Ryn announced from the co-pilot station, his fingers dancing rapidly across the console. "Gravity tethers releasing. We're officially in the black."
I let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned back in the rigid jump seat. Arachnae was curled up in my lap, her metal legs tucked neatly under her chassis. I scratched the spot right behind her primary photoreceptors, and she let out a low, vibrating hum that felt a lot like a mechanical purr.
Okay. Deep breaths. We were out.
Now all we had to do was punch in some random coordinates, jump to a quiet system, and wait for this whole Vader situation to blow over. Easy.
"Uh... Sir?" Kael's voice suddenly broke the silence. He didn't sound like a trained, stone-cold professional anymore. He sounded like a guy who had just swallowed a very large rock. "We... um... we might have a problem."
I stopped scratching Arachnae's head. "What kind of problem?"
"Visual range, Sir. Coming around the dark side of the moon."
I stood up, ignoring the way the cramped armor pinched my sides, and leaned over the center console to look out the main viewport.
The infinite, star-speckled void of space stretched out in front of us. And right there, sitting dead-center across the primary hyperspace node like a massive, gray dagger aimed straight at the planet's throat, was an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer.
But it wasn't just any Star Destroyer.
It was larger, armed to the teeth, with a distinct, heavily fortified bridge tower and an aura of pure, oppressive menace that made the endless vacuum of space suddenly feel incredibly claustrophobic. My heart dropped straight into my boots.
I knew that ship. I had seen it a dozen times in my past life on a flat screen, hunting down blockade runners and capturing princesses.
The Devastator.
Darth Vader's personal flagship.
"They're... they're completely blocking the primary jump node," Ryn said, his voice tight as his fingers flew across the nav-computer. "Their mass shadow is projecting right over our escape vector. We can't plot a clean jump."
Before I could even formulate a single cohesive thought, the console lit up with a harsh, blinking red light. A microsecond later, the secure comms channel cracked open without our permission.
"Unidentified transport," a crisp, mechanical Imperial officer's voice echoed through the cockpit speakers. "You are entering a restricted Imperial cordon. Power down your engines immediately and prepare to be boarded, or you will be fired upon."
Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.
---
[Bonus Illustrations]
A/N: You guys surprised me a lot by giving the stones 400+ stones by me posting just 1 chapter last week. I had honestly thought that the book has cooled down a lot and would be hard to regain the momentum but readers exceeded my expectations.
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