A loud, sharp trill ringing mere inches from his ear roused Vader from a light sleep. Grimacing at the noise, he pulled himself creakily to a sitting position in his military-issue cot and routed the call from his helmet comm to his external system. This was just one of the reasons he really hated sleeping in his suit, but he didn't have rooms specifically outfitted to serve his needs aboard the station – and he couldn't commission them without exposing the extent of his injuries. When the alternative was to risk a flareup in the middle of the night, what else was he to do?

It was just another one of his Master's – depur's, a voice hissed from that nearly forgotten corner of his mind that had been active so often of late – little cruelties, softened a touch by the marvelous defensive capabilities of the suit. But tonight even that was a sorry consolation prize; Vader had scarcely slept two hours after working with Agent Kallus for the better part of twenty.

The caller ID was a better one. "Finally," Vader muttered as he answered the call, though his suit projected the word at full volume. The Elite storm troopers from his honor guard he'd left on Onderon hadn't relayed anything out of the ordinary, and Rehin had had nothing to contribute but a slight change in troop deployment, but perhaps this call would give him something else. "Report, informant."

A hologram of Lady Noronessa Taevarion's heart-shaped face framed in its usual scarf sprang to life above his wrist, full lips quirked in a smile and one eyebrow delicately arched. "Not even a pleasant hello for me, Lord Vader?"

"What was it you called me during our first meeting?" Vader shot back. "A dull brute too slow-minded to grasp the complexities of polite society, wasn't it?"

"So I did. In that case, maybe I do deserve your contempt. I'd hate to expect more from you than your base nature permits."

Noronessa was a pain, but Vader couldn't help but admire her tenacity. She was no simpleton who thought her family's power made her untouchable. She knew exactly what she was capable of and who she was dealing with, and her fearlessness reminded Vader a little of another clever young woman he'd once fought beside.

The difference between the two was that Noronessa wasn't fighting for lofty ideals; she had something very personal and very precious to lose. Vader just hadn't figured out what yet. Until he did, he had to play a role that set her at ease, make her feel like the wires of the bomb she was toying with in antagonizing him were all securely cut. This was a long game, and it stung that a teenager could probably play it better than him. But that certainly wasn't going to stop Vader from trying.

"You're fortunate I didn't cut you down where you stood right then," he said. "I'd advise against irritating me before you've proven it's still worth it to make use of you. Now, you couldn't possibly be stupid enough to comm someone who can kill you with a thought just because you were bored, so tell me what you've found."

Noronessa grinned coldly even as he threatened her, as though pleased he'd called her bluff. "Oh, I could tell you of over a dozen intrigues that have sprung up at court since I last commed you, but I doubt you'd be interested. But Mother trained me to be meticulous, and the other day I noticed an interesting pattern."

"Get on with it," Vader snapped.

"As you know, my ongoing assignment on behalf of my family is to monitor and facilitate the expansion of Project Archetype in the mining and logging towns," she said, all business – thank the stars. "My mother dressed it up as administrative detail – a punishment for a capricious teenager. But even that made for a perfect excuse to get someone young enough to eke details out of merchants' children and the scions of Lesser House scions craving a taste of city life into the right circles.

"With the exception of a few points of interest, the Imperial presence outside of Onderon's major urban areas – the walled cities – is scant. The Elite class of storm troopers are a deterrent more than a precaution; the means to spin wild tales and quash rebellious tendencies with fear before they can even crop up. The garrison relies mostly on House Noreino troops and soldiers of the Crown to keep the peace, barely assigning more than a squad or three to a village." She hummed thoughtfully. "Each Imperial unit is designed to work independently or with only minimal contact with others like it to cope with the distance between villages, so I suspect this will be the first you hear of what I'm about to tell you."

Her face dissolved into spare photons, and a two-dimensional topographical map of a mountainous region appeared in its place. "While the Noreino Heir-Designate was on that tour of the border villages promoting his House–"

Vader frowned. "What tour?"

"Really, Lord Vader," Noronessa crooned, "you're starting to make me wish I approached you sooner. I was confident someone with full knowledge of Project Archetype would eclipse all other contenders, but to think you didn't try to get eyes and ears on House Noreino before me...!"

"Kyzeron was my only concern," Vader retorted, but even to his own ears it sounded suspiciously like he was fishing for excuses. "Tell me about the tour."

"Lord Noreino was to visit the key villages in our economic forecasts as a sort of publicity campaign. He sent his son in his stead once he learned you were coming. The boy is charming enough–" Vader's ears pricked at the wistfulness in her voice, as inherently out of place in a steely girl like Noronessa as a tropical flower in an ice floe, "–but he has a history Emperor Serenno's cohorts might find... unappealing."

"I sensed there was more to the boy's absence than Lord Noreino let on," Vader mused aloud. "I was on Onderon nearly a month, and I never once saw him." He shelved that line of questioning for the time being. He had more pressing concerns than a missing Heir-Designate, even the one of Project Archetype's Prime himself. "Your clarification was enlightening. Now continue."

"While Lord Aluxsidrian was moving from village to village to give speeches and the like, many of the squadrons reported robberies or strange mix-ups along their supply lines," Noronessa said. "In several cases, dozens of the sick or badly injured in local makeshift medcenters got up and started walking just hours after the theft of some very potent medical supplies."

About twenty deep blue markers blinked to life on the hologram, denotating what Vader assumed were villages. A green line materialized next, snaking between them until each isolated point was just one stop in a larger path.

"This is the route Lord Aluxsidrian took for his tour. And this," Noronessa said as a second line, this one red, stretched from the fifth village on the green one, "shows the villages that were hit, in roughly sequential order. The dates aren't an exact match, but I suspect some of the thefts were only discovered several days after the fact. The locations, however, are."

Vader gawked beneath his helmet. "You're saying that Imperial forces in every place Zakhan's Heir-Designate visited were robbed or hindered in some way?"

"As of the fifth village he visited, yes – every single one."

"It would appear you've uncovered an enterprising gang of thieves, Lady Noronessa; the fanfare of a visiting nobleman would certainly offer a promising smokescreen. Send me all the records you consulted, and I'll see them forwarded to Major General Acesto of the Kyzeron garrison for a proper investigation. You have done a great service to the Empire."

"My pleasure is to serve, Lord Vader," she said, and her face reappeared just in time for him to catch her sly smirk. "But I wasn't finished giving my report."

"Go on."

"Thefts that seemed like administrative errors until the truth was uncovered. Troops deployed to the wrong places in direct defiance of their orders collectively citing memory loss as the cause. Raids on supply depots with no casualties. Strange happenings at medcenters with repercussions across entire villages. Forgive me, Lord Vader, if I'm encroaching on the territory of trained Jedi-killers, but I'm sure this is starting to sound familiar to you."

It was. With bated breath, Vader waited for her to speak the words aloud.

"I know you came to Kyzeron looking for a rogue Jedi Knight – an individual you've not yet been able to find, even with the lockdown to keep things contained and every Elite in the system on alert." Noronessa fiddled with a corner of her scarf. "If this Jedi has contacts in the border villages, they might've fled there to wait out the Imperial response where the risk of discovery was lowest. Lord Noreino has already petitioned the Emperor to lift the lockdown. I understand it was approved."

That snake, Vader thought, gritting his teeth. I should've known he'd go behind my back as soon as I was no longer there to hold him accountable. "He gambled that furthering Project Archetype would take priority over the presence of a lone Jedi, and if you speak truly, he gambled well."

But even if Zakhan Noreino was pulling at his leash, it was well within the Emperor's means to reel him back in before he strained too far. Vader had no such luxury with his mystery Jedi, especially not now that they were falling back on the established Temple morality for waging war. He'd been so sure the body count at the auction house and the flash of wild, questing darkness he'd sensed upon his arrival were signs of a Jedi about to turn away from the light – something he could factor into his own plans. And yet, provided this was the Jedi Vader was seeking, the old patterns appeared to have resurfaced once again.

What could have caused the sudden shift back? Guilt? Years spent under the tutelage of a maverick Master who could navigate the twilight in the Force between light and dark? The stars only knew the Jedi Order had had its share of those in the golden age of the Old Republic, and more than a few had passed their teachings down through the generations: Anakin Skywalker had briefly learned from one.

Vader had to bite his lip sharply to keep the growl rising in his throat from making it off his tongue. There was still so much about the situation on Onderon he hadn't discovered, and he could do so little cooped up on a half-operational battle station in a star system parsecs and parsecs away without giving Noronessa full disclosure about his goals. And he certainly didn't trust her enough to let that lie.

Noronessa tossed her head, drawing Vader back to the conversation at hand. "That doesn't surprise me. Lord Noreino has allies within my family to guide him through the political games with higher stakes. A few of them are even ambitious enough to circumvent your mandates and appeal to the Emperor directly. But you needn't worry; I'm keeping tabs on them, and if they grow too bold, I'll alert you."

It was disconcerting to realize Vader couldn't tell if she was deceiving him or not. All the more reason to get back to Onderon as soon as possible. Noronessa was a valuable tool, but much like Zakhan Noreino, someone had to keep her honest.

Plus, it had been so long since the infiltrator aboard the Death Star had made any moves that Vader had a sinking feeling they'd left those garbled transmissions as a distraction to keep Vader chasing his own tail while they quietly fled the station. Past loyalties notwithstanding, Director Tarkin's actions in the last few weeks had been as exemplary and irreproachable as the rest of his work record. Nothing had come of Vader's background checks on Galen Erso and Agent Kallus, either, despite the odd glances and hushed conversations he'd caught them sharing. Without a time of day those transmissions had been sent, he could find no other suspects.

This assignment was just what it had first appeared to be: a punishment for failing to find the mystery Jedi with his usual ruthless efficiency. A dead end. But if new leads were springing up on Onderon...

"What about the Heir-Designate's past might we find 'unappealing'?" Vader asked. He hadn't thought Aluxsidrian Noreino would be of any real consequence for a few more years, but the coincidence of his tour with a series of hits that matched a Jedi's profile was too great to overlook. Those with the Force learned early on that most of what looked like coincidences weren't actually coincidences at all.

A line of static running jaggedly down the hologram hid most of Noronessa's reaction to his question, but something about the way she crossed her arms to hide her hands reminded Vader of himself. She was nervous.

"He was a wayward child who dabbled in defying Confederate law to feel a measure of control," she said with a nonchalant roll of her eyes. Vader wasn't fooled. "There were billions like him during the Clone Wars; the only difference is that he's high up enough on the social ladder that people took notice. Lord Noreino has been trying to keep him squirreled away in the hopes that the other Great Houses won't levy it against him. But you don't care much for House politics, do you, Lord Vader?"

"I do where they intersect with Imperial rule," Vader snapped. "Watch him. If there's any chance he could be a Jedi sympathizer..."

"There's none," Noronessa said quickly. She took a breath, and suddenly she was all smiles. "But to get what you promised me, your wish is my command, my Lord. Rumor has it he'll be making more regular public appearances as of tomorrow evening's gala. I'll report back when I have more information."

"See that you do. Vader out."

Vader ended the call without waiting for a reply; he didn't care to listen to vows of loyalty to the Empire they both knew she didn't mean. But he didn't make to go back to sleep either, as tempting as it was. The thrill of sudden warmth on a chase gone cold had lit a dark flame in his bones, and Noronessa would be sending him her findings within minutes. Maybe in reading them, he'd find something she'd missed.

He had to find this Jedi. He had to speak to them, had to know. Now that the Death Star had gone quiet, Vader's presence was redundant. It was only a matter of time before the Emperor realized that, and when he did, Vader had to be ready.

It had been two weeks since the distinctive two-toed paw, the claws spread to form a stylized depiction of the letter vev, had last appeared on the screen of Bail Organa's personal transmitter. When at last he caught it out of the corner of his eye, he nearly wept in relief right in front of the other Imperial Senators he was seeing out of his office.

Hasty goodbyes and promises to review their proposals given, he lunged for the earpiece on his desk and fitted it into place. Then, with trembling fingers, he accepted the audio call and murmured, "I am the beginning and I am the end."

The hissing and spitting of static was the only reply for a long moment. Then, so buried in the jumble of sound Bail almost missed it: "I– the– paves the way–"

Bail sighed and settled down to do the only thing he could: wait for the signal to clear. For agents imbedded in facilities where communications were monitored and messages leaving on the EF-4 band would be marked, an Empire-sanctioned – albeit encrypted – alternative was necessary. But even this backup frequency was starting to feel crowded, unscheduled transmissions cutting through vital exchanges without warning and scrambling everything that was said. Then everyone waiting for the static to fade would eat into other operatives' time to speak, and the cycle repeated itself all over again.

Mercifully, this time, the holdup was brief. "Then I am the one who paves the way between," came the multiphonic answer of many computer-generated voices overlapping after a minute or two. Bail smiled broadly.

"Veermok, you have no idea how good it is to hear from you," he said. His own voice synthesizer kicked in a split-second after he spoke, changing the tone and inflection behind every word so that nothing was recognizable. "You're the only person we've ever managed to sneak into Project Stardust, and when you stopped replying to my calls..."

Veermok chuckled. "There are some things I cannot help, Origin. I missed my window to erase the last traces of our messages from the communications database before the techs started scouring the system for outdated messages to purge. If not for my practice of scrambling timestamps, the command staff would've made short work of ferreting me out. The risk of discovery remains, but I'm confident I've thrown them off the scent for now."

"You seem... oddly calm for a spy who was nearly found out by the Empire."

"My immediate superiors and subordinates are well within my means. It was the arrival of Darth Vader that troubled me."

Bail contained his surprise as best he could. A sharp breath still whistled out from between his teeth. "I was under the impression he was on assignment in the Japrael sector."

"You have someone keeping tabs on Lord Vader?" Another soft laugh. "In that case, color me impressed. Lord Vader is equal parts military commander and secret agent. Even I don't know where he disappears to sometimes, and I've made it my business to stay extremely well-informed."

"I don't have to tell you what a boon eyes and ears on Vader would be, but no, unfortunately. A contact of mine had a run-in with him a few weeks ago. From what Fulcrum told me, I thought he'd be occupied on Onderon for some time still."

"Fulcrum? I don't recognize that name. Was one of our mutual acquaintances found out and forced to rebrand?"

"No. He's... relatively new to the scene," Bail said carefully. As a precaution, Commander Tano had asked Bail to refer to his new informant as a middle-aged Human male. It was a common enough trick among his cannier Rebel agents, but it was still challenging to match the thin slip of a girl – and a Togruta girl, no less – to her alter ego in his mind.

But that was just another layer of protection for the operative who was poised to become one of Bail's most valuable, even if she didn't see it yet.

"Well, once I can get off this blasted station, perhaps I'll meet them."

Bail smiled faintly. This was one of their little jokes – perhaps the only one Veermok permitted himself. He was proud of the place he'd carved out in Project Stardust's command structure, and he wasn't going to let go of it anytime soon. Not when it was such an excellent perch to spy from.

"That's enough chatter. Time is short enough as it is," Veermok said abruptly. "Origin, I wanted to tell you I've nearly gained the foothold I need on this station to complete my mission. In mere weeks, I'll be able to access the plans whenever I please – without drawing attention."

This was news he'd been waiting months to hear, hoping fervently that this harebrained scheme would work. Now that he knew it had, Bail was having trouble processing it. He fell into his desk chair, and the rich fabric roughened with wear beneath his palms grounded him enough for him to croak out, "How long?"

"With Vader breathing down my neck, I couldn't say. I have a stronger mind than most trained with the Force would tangle with on their better days, and I've learned how to keep my thoughts shielded." Veermok hummed thoughtfully. "Still, to one as deep in the Emperor's counsel as he, I know I must look a likely suspect.

"No, I'll have to proceed carefully, but the wait won't be more than a month," he continued. "Put a strike team on standby. As we discussed, I'll need a distraction to keep eyes off the communications grid while I transmit the plans off the station. A Rebel attack on a top-secret military installation will be more than sufficient."

"And then you'll return to us?" Bail tried. Perhaps comedic routine had finally become reality, and Veermok was putting the finishing touches on his escape route back to the Rebellion as they spoke. Bail didn't dare get his hopes up.

"Oh, I'll launch a few escape pods and scramble the scanners to keep the overbridge from deciding for certain if there are any life forms aboard. If something goes wrong, I'm the only one who can smooth things over on the Rebellion's behalf."

"You're taking an awful risk. You should get on one of those decoy escape pods yourself." Bail still hadn't gotten used to sending people to die, even after his role in the Republic war effort. And unless Veermok could miraculously sidestep Vader and the Emperor's wrath, death was the only thing that would await him when he left deep cover.

Everyone's luck ran out eventually. Veermok was critical to the Rebellion's survival, and Bail lived in constant fear that he was about to use the last of his up.

Veermok snorted. "If that's news to you, then I know for certain you're an Imperial plant who tortured the real Origin for his code phrase. I'm too important to the success of Project Stardust for the Empire to do away with quickly, even if they suspect me of treason," he snapped, a hint of the ancient, fierce anger he kept under careful wraps beginning to show through. "Besides, this is personal."

Bail shut his eyes. He knew better than to probe Veermok's stubborn streak for weaknesses, and at times like these, he wished Padmé were here to smooth things over with her clever insight and cheer him with her idealism. But that wasn't possible, now – and wouldn't be possible for a terribly long time. "Very well."

"Relay the news to Foremother, if you would. She'll be pleased to hear it; this mission was her idea, after all. I'd deliver my report personally, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to erase this call from the station's records. One will attract notice, certainly, but two will suggest a pattern."

Though Veermok couldn't see his face, Bail found himself nodding. Ever the pragmatist, that man. He bordered on cynical, sometimes, but if pessimism spurned him to prepare for every possible outcome, Bail certainly wasn't about to complain.

"In that case, good luck. Be safe."

"As if such a thing as safety still existed for people like us. We can only hope the galaxy will someday share your optimism, Origin."

Bail had to smile at that. "Rebellions are built on hope, are they not?"

"Hm," was the only reply. Noncommittal, definitely, but it was the most Bail was likely to get out of him. "I'll be in touch with the particulars of the attack and information about the station's defenses. Veermok out."

Bail set his earpiece and transmitter down on his desk and gave himself a moment to get his thoughts in order. Calmness returned, the edge of his excitement at being so close to the finish line blunted away by the long weeks of planning that lay ahead. He only had a mind for tactics where they intersected with politics, and he struggled to think of troop deployments as moving pieces on a board instead of hundreds of people he'd just ordered to march or fly to death or dismemberment.

Veermok hadn't asked for a rescue. He'd asked for a distraction. The gain was indisputable, and Bail couldn't ask him to leave the station until the time was right, but how many lives would be lost in the process?

Ideally, there were four hundred starfighter pilots, three hundred crew, and two thousand foot soldiers to a Venator-class cruiser. With Kamino under Imperial rule, the Rebellion's training program for its new recruits and remaining younger clones had slowed to a crawl. (Though it wasn't like they had the blasters and armor to arm them for open combat, either, if Bail was being honest with himself.) They'd had to stretch their experienced soldiers thin, and these days very few capital Rebel ships still carried a full complement. To make up for the loss and mount an attack on a station the size of a small moon, they were likely to need an entire corps' worth of Venators – sixteen ships at least, plus support vessels – and soldiers to crew them.

Upward of sixteen capital ships. An offensive like that would clean out the Rebellion's coaxium stockpile, not to mention the steep losses in cruisers if the station was armed with ion cannons – a likely possibility. Even the great heroes of the GAR had never faced a stellar body whose entire surface bristled with weapons.

Sixteen Venators. Upward of thirty-six thousand lives thrown into battle as a distraction. Even against an untried Imperial Navy staffed with sentients recruits instead of battle-hardened droids, even against a station operated by a skeleton crew and whose primary weapon was not yet online, this bordered on unachievable.

The high of an impending chance for victory guttered, nearly spent. While he still had some fumes to run on, Bail rose to his feet and traded the mantle of a secret Rebel leader for the mask of the Senator for Alderaan, a well-meaning if generally overwhelmed man who loved his people only slightly less than his wife and infant daughter. The change took barely a second, but it brought the reprieve Bail needed. The best façades had an element of truth to them.

There would be time to agonize over the ethics of the situation and the slim odds of success later. For the present, Bail needed to speak with Mon Mothma.

At last we can put a name and a face to Vader's shadowy opponent... at least somewhat. One thing is certain, however: a lot more is going on aboard the Death Star than Vader suspects, and diverting his attention now could cost him. Noronessa is definitely playing with fire in her dealings with Vader, but what is her real goal? And who is Veermok? Director Tarkin, Agent Kallus, Galen Erso, or another unknown? Whoever he is, Veermok is definitely a crafty one, and the odds are good that only time will tell...

Poor Vader – he's getting nowhere fast, is he? He runs at what he thinks are open doors only to realize they're screened over as he gets flung back to square one all over again. With this fic I really wanted to emphasize that this Vader, while not close to the light, has a LOT more in common with Anakin Skywalker than the Vader we see in the Original Trilogy or even in Rebels. (Remember Ahsoka's comment about reusing one-liners? Guess who she got that habit from...) He's got a lot to adjust to, both in terms of who he wants to be and the skills he's expected to acquire. And, as he famously said in AOTC,

Don't worry, though. He'll start finding his ground soon enough... though how that'll turn out for Ahsoka and Lux, I can't say.

This is also our first Bail chapter! I can't say I'll be using his POV often – it's more of a tool for the narrative than an excuse to flesh out his character – but he has an important supporting role, and we'll be hearing more from him in the future. Particularly in terms of his dealings with Veermok.

Also, I have some news: today is my birthday, and as a sort of a party for you guys, I once again tried to get that artwork ready. But then I realized half of what I'd doodled was spoilers for a few chapters from now. As Obi-Wan would say, blast – but perhaps not as strongly as he meant it in AOTC. After all, there's always the option of proofing an extra chapter for posting, so you're welcome in advance!

I won't keep you from that, so I'll sign off on this author's note here. Without further ado, I bid thee, friends... READ ON...