Fortress Vader

Twenty - Prevarication

It is hard to imagine a more stupid or dangerous way of making decisions than by putting those decisions in the hands of people already working for the enemy.
Year 5

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Vader

Fourteen hours after I tucked Kitten into bed, my attention turns to AN13's monitor when it finally rustles. I watch Kitten roll over and freeze, a long, low groan escaping. Oh yeah, she is definitely hurting.

Annie beeps, informing her of the medicine I left next to her bed. With careful motions, she rolls to the edge and tosses them back before collapsing onto her face.

I chuckle darkly and lean back in my chair. Her gentle snores become audible less than a minute later.

But, before I turn away, she suddenly launches into a sitting position, her attention on Annie.

"They are home?" Her voice is fully alert, the words coming out in a harsh snap.

When she confirms, Kitten is on her feet immediately. What could possibly have her face contorted into such...fire?

"I need to see Lord Vader." Oh, yes, she has all of my focus now. She sighs, slumping a bit, and then in a whirlwind of motion, she's dressing while simultaneously typing a message.

I glance down when my comm pings.

My lord, welcome home. I request to meet with you at your earliest convenience.

Well. This should be an interesting day, indeed. It must not be an emergency, but clearly, it's something important. I shoot a reply telling her I'm in my office. I already have my suit on, so I simply wait.

She enters less than two minutes later, and I recognize that something is truly wrong. Her face is hard and all business—but is that...anger I feel?

"How unusual it is for you to summon me." And for her to be upset.

To her credit, she doesn't flinch from the taunt. "I did not summon you, my lord. I requested an audience."

"You are not some subject who must keep royal decorum. Speak plainly to me. It is a matter of security." Everything she does is a matter of security, in my opinion.

She straightens, her face going to that deadly serious one that is as rare as it is arousing. Whoever pissed her off should be nervous.

"Two nights ago, stormtrooper squad four entered the security level without prior notification or clearance and conducted a non-sanctioned search and seizure of petty infractions—"

Her words come to a halt when I hold up my hand. So much for speaking plainly. It takes a moment for me to understand what she is telling me.

When I do, I'm on my feet and in front of her in seconds. She looks up at me with wide eyes, nervous energy rolling off her in waves but mixed with a hidden confidence I don't even think she's aware of.

"You are not one to tattle. Tell me why you bring this to me." I would have been a notch less harsh if I wasn't wearing this mask, but as it is, I'm not gentle. I do, however, believe I already know the answer to my question.

"Something isn't right, my lord. We sense foul play."

I do too, but I refrain from giving her any sense of assurance. "We?"

"Martel agrees, sir. We never took our eyes off them," she says, her right thumb and forefinger tugging on her earlobe. I sense the unsaid words: once I finally conceded to the search. I must watch her droid's recording of this because surely she fought back. "They claimed it to be the same routine checks they perform on the barracks, and for all accounts, it might've been."