Harry and Arden, freshly decked out in some of Captain Mody's uniforms the wizard had transfigured to fit both their bodies, as well as Yularen's colour scheme, walked briskly along the corridors. The personnel they passed would, without exception, throw them looks of either fear, disgust or both. However, just as planned and expected, it also kept anyone from interfering in what the crew assumed was very important, extremely secretive business. In fact, their uniforms invoked enough terror in everyone they passed that nobody questioned their… unusual gear.
They were both wearing duplicates of Mody's rang insignia and even his code cylinders (as Harry had learned they were called from the guard whose mind he had invaded), even though these were purely cosmetic and had been transfigured from two pairs of spare socks.
However, despite the confident pose they adopted, there was one major problem with an otherwise excellent plan; neither of them knew where to find detention block AA-23, let alone the man they were hoping to rescue from inside the block. Despite his general reluctance to do so, Harry had been prepared to take the information out of some unlucky security guard's mind. However, the fear and disdain people seemed to have for the men and women in white extended to a reluctance to look them in the eyes. Unfortunately, looking into the target's eyes was vital to a successful legilimency attack.
This conundrum had led to Arden and Harry wandering around rather aimlessly, until they stumbled upon a small mess-hall, filled to the brim with benches and tables. It looked like the kind of place one would find the lower ranks, but the young wizard's grumbling stomach cared little for that distinction. Having no other viable plan, the two of them placed themselves in front of the counter, prompting some very nervous looks from the woman behind it. Nevertheless, they were served two slabs of rather colourless meat and some vegetables that had obviously been deemed unworthy of being served to the officers.
With some trepidation, the servicewoman handed over the two meals. Harry really wanted to smile at her, set her at ease a bit, but he pushed that instinct down. Sure, she was a bit uncomfortable, but if he and Arden were found out, the consequences for them would probably be more than just a bit uncomfortable, and definitely longer lasting than the momentary discomfort the crewwoman was currently feeling.
Still, intent on not prolonging her suffering, he quickly slid onto one of the benches, opposite of Arden, and began eating. The food tasted just as bland as it looked, but Harry was hungry enough to mow it down like a wolf, anyway. His female companion was a bit more restrained, but her appetite too was rather obviously quite large.
"What now?" she whispered, after throwing the woman behind the counter a surreptitious glance. "We can't walk around aimlessly forever."
Harry nodded annoyedly. "A few more minutes, then we'll get on one of the lifts with someone and I'll get the information we need," he whispered back.
They finished their meal in silence, having hashed out their next step and worried as they were about being overheard. With how hungry they were, it actually did not take all long for them to clean away everything. Harry had just stepped outside the mess when, and he could hardly believe his luck, the young officer they had hoped to prevent from making a most likely fatal mistake, was striding by. Unfortunately, he had the aura of a man on a mission, all of his bearing screaming to anyone with even the least bit of knowledge of the human nature that something was going on.
He shot his companion a short look, which she returned, nodding almost imperceptibly. Agreed on their course of action, they set to follow the cagey officer to prevent him from doing the exact same kind of reckless thing Harry was usually prone to do.
As it turned out, their rapidly altered plan did not differ all that much from the one they had made in the mess, as they followed the man in the grey uniform into one of the lifts. It was a rather tight fit, and their clothes clearly set him on edge, but he would survive.
"What do you think you're doing?" Harry opened, harsher than he had intended to be. Obviously, the time he had spent in isolation had taken its toll on his people skills.
The young officer was clearly terrified. "I… I… I don't know what you mean…" he stammered, rather unconvincingly.
"Oh please," Arden scoffed in reply. "You're going to try and reach Mody's cell, heroically free him. Then what? Defect?"
By that point, their unwitting guest had taken on a colour scheme that roughly matched Harry's transfigured uniform. "Relax, were not with the secret police, we want to help you," he said. "First part is a warning; do you really think Yularen is stupid enough to announce, for everyone and their cousin to hear, where he would bring his prisoner? I doubt you become a colonel in the secret police of an evil empire by being stupid. It's bait."
Somewhat mollified, if still definitely terrified, the officer looked at them. "Who are you?" he finally managed to ask.
"This is Arden Tla, I'm Harry Potter," Harry introduced the two of them. "You?"
Before the young man could answer, there was a deep thrumming that went through the entire station, and the lights flickered ominously. Even the motion of the lift, if the small feeling of deceleration Harry felt in his stomach was any indicator, was affected.
"Oh, no…" the young officer muttered, his pale complexion from when he had thought he had been found out returning with a vengeance. "They really did it… they fired it."
Both the sudden technical anomalies and the man's reaction to them deeply troubled Harry. "They fired what?" he asked urgently.
"The… the superlaser," the young man muttered. "My goodness, they really fired it."
When he finally caught his footing again, he returned his attention to Harry and Arden. "Lieutenant Mercer Fenwick," he introduced himself, although it sounded rather lacklustre. "I think they fired the station's main weapon. It's a superlaser, capable of destroying a planet. But they always said it was only meant to break up dead planets and asteroids…"
"Be calm, Mercer Fenwick," Arden soothed. "Then why do you think the laser being fired is such a bad thing?"
Not appearing calm, or even calmer, at all, the lieutenant replied, "Because last I checked, we were in the Alderaan system. There are no unmined planets here, and the asteroid belts are not large enough to mine profitably with this much effort. The only thing that might be considered a target would be Alderaan itself." Seeing their blank expression, he continued, "How can you not know this?"
"We're not from around here," Harry replied evasively. "Please go on. Also, what were you planning?"
"Alderaan is a nest of anti-Imperial sentiment. There must have been at least two billion people down there," he answered heatedly. "Alright, concentrate now!"
Harry watched as the distraught man closed his eyes, breathed in and out a few times, and visibly calmed down.
"Mercer… is it okay if I call you Mercer?" the wizard asked, receiving a nod in return. "Alright, Mercer, Arden and I plan to leave this station by stealing a ship. I have some… unique talents that are going to help with that. Can you fly?"
Mercer nodded eagerly.
"Are you sure about this? You'll be defecting," Harry replied, wanting to make sure that everyone was on the same page.
"Yes," their new ally replied. "I can't work for people who would just slaughter billions of people. Even Alderaan did not have only dissidents."
"Alright then," Arden commented with a smile. "What was your plan, then?"
The young future defector wrinkled his nose at the question. "Seemed like a good idea at the time… I used a code cylinder I got from a drunken Admiral in the bar to access the secure logs to find out where the Captain was being held." He winced. "Think Yularen falsified the records?"
Both of the stowaways nodded. "Well, I…"
He did not get to finish his sentence, because Harry had noticed they were still moving, and quite rapidly again, at that, toward the button Mercer had originally pressed. In fact, there were only two possible stops left before their target, and they had sufficient cause to believe that the only thing waiting on the other end of the opening door would be a firing squad. Out of options, he pressed the one remaining stop between them and certain doom.
Sublevel 5.
OOOOOOOO
Lieutenant Childsen was having a rather mediocre day. Usually, the opportunity to see enemies of the New Order get their just desserts was something he relished, and the pain of the Princess of Alderaan, traitorous scum that she was, certainly deserved nothing less than pure elation for those in service of the Empire. However, any interaction of a fleet officer with Lord Vader bore significant risk for any of the officers involved.
Vader was, after all, known to be rather volatile.
"Enfield," he called across his station in front the corridor that made up level five of his detention block. "Prepare the Princess' cell. Another mistake and you'll get the one next to her."
A dour expression affixed to his face, the sergeant major trotted down the corridor, his dejected movements eliciting a small, cruel smile on the lips of his superior. Before he had expected it to happen… No, before Enfield had finished, lazy slob, a turbolift arrived. He had just about enough time to make out one navy lieutenant and two ISB captains, the male of which was carrying around a crude stick, before a lovely warmth settled in his head. Childsen could not remember exactly what happened afterward, but he knew he was happy to do everything he was asked to.
OOOOOOOO
"Are you some kind of Jedi?" Mercer asked, looking at the spaced-out officer.
"What's a Jedi?" Harry asked, all the while watching their surroundings warily. The cameras might have been fooled the moment he cast the appropriate spell, but it was generally better to be safe than sorry; it was a lesson he had gotten the hard way and was now dedicated to actually learn from.
His new ally looked at him as if he had a screw loose, but answered, nonetheless. "They were this weird religious sect, rumoured to have some kind of supernatural power," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Bogus, if you ask me."
"There's no one else here," Arden called from within the corridor that contained the cells. "Certainly no princess. Ask him again."
Harry returned his attention to the officer in the black uniform. "How many prisoners does this level have at the moment?" he repeated his earlier question, with predictable outcome.
"There is currently one prisoner assigned to detention block AA-23, cell number 2187: Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, former member of the Imperial Senate; traitor; currently awaiting execution. To be subjected to enhanced interrogation until she supplies intelligence or is executed," the black-clad lieutenant repeated the exact same answer, in the exact same monotone.
The wizard was just about to wake up the second guard, the one he had stunned, not the one Arden had shot, when something occurred to him.
"Where is this prisoner right now?" he asked, emphasising the importance of the last two words.
The officer tapped on his screen for some time, emotionlessly looking through what looked like long lists.
"The Princess has been confirmed to be on her way back," he finally said, just as Harry heard a slight whirring sound behind him. The sound he had heard from the lift he had been inside earlier.
"Arden," the wizard called. "We're going to have some unfriendly visitors really soon."
There was nothing more that needed to be said, as the witch, the wizard and the defector lined up next to the exits of the shafts, staff and blaster rifles at the ready.
Seconds crept away feeling like minutes until, finally, the door of the elevator hissed open and a group of three, two of the white-armoured stormtroopers pushing around a young woman garbed in a loose white outfit that somehow managed to both conceal most of her body, while also displaying it. Staff in his right, Harry raised his left hand, pointing first at the left trooper, then at Arden, who had taken up position on the corresponding side of the elevators, then at himself and the right one. He did not have the heart to involve Mercer in fighting against his former comrades this quickly.
3…
2… one of the fingers raised on his left hand went down.
1… another one.
0…
As the third finger went down to completely his fist once again, Harry and Arden, almost simultaneously, fired; his staff let loose a powerful stunner that he was quite certain would fell his opponent, while Arden's Harry-modified E-11 sent a powerful blaster bolt into the left stormtrooper. Within moments, certainly faster than their surprised captive could really comprehend in her shock, the soldiers were out of commission. Just to make sure, both received another strong stunner.
All the while, the lieutenant in charge of the detention block was still staring cluelessly into the distance.
OOOOOOOO
In his meditation room, deep in the bowels of the Death Star, Darth Vader was deeply immersed in his thoughts. No pleasant immersion, mind you; no, the mind of the Emperor's apprentice was filled to the brim with hatred and the memories that inspired that hatred.
Mustafar, Coruscant, Tatooine, Naboo.
Yoda, Obi-Wan, Palpatine.
Mustafar, Coruscant, Tatooine, Naboo.
Yoda, Obi-Wan, Palpatine.
Deep within the swirling hatred bubbling inside his reactor heart, steadily pumping blood through his mangled, pained body, no change to his heart rate whatsoever, despite his rising fury, there was one thing he hated most.
Himself.
That hatred was tinged with something else, though, an almost imperceptible ounce of regret, mourning even, over the life he had lost.
The life he had taken, from his wife and his unborn child.
Never, though, did he allow that ounce of remorse to grow too much, gain too much influence over him because where his hatred made him strong, remorse would make him weak.
Darth Vader needed to be strong, as it was the right of the Sith. Not weak and delusional, like the Jedi.
His ruminations were interrupted by a disturbance in the Force that he could not rightly place…
It was unlike what he usually felt from the Dark Acolytes his Master surrounded himself with, and which he could only assume would be present on the giant battle station, but it was definitely not a Jedi, either. Definitely an intriguing feeling and warranting of further examination; any kind of new application for the Force was, after all, either a danger or a possible asset, probably both. And if he could just kill his Master, his agony might finally end, and he would take his rightful place as the ruler of the galaxy.
OOOOOOOO
The two stormtroopers had barely been felled, when the figure between them, a rather short and petite woman (Princess Leia Organa, Harry assumed), was already on one knee, the right guard's E-11 pointed firmly at him and Mercer. Luckily, she did not seem to be the 'shoot first, ask questions later' type. Maybe she had just been swayed by their attacking her captors. Nevertheless, his white uniform did make her narrow her eyes warily.
"A little young to be an ISB senior captain, aren't you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Harry's getup.
He just about managed to chuckle, even with the deadly weapon trained on his chest. "Arden Tla, former Lieutenant Mercer Fenwick, Harry Potter," he indicated each person as he said their name. "We intend to leave this station and through a set of interesting circumstances found ourselves in this cell-block. When that guy," he pointed at the blank-faced security officer, "said there was only one prisoner in the entire block, we thought you might want a ride off the station."
"Leia Organa," the woman, maybe girl, Harry decided, introduced herself. "What's wrong with him?"
Harry looked at the officer, a guilty feeling in his stomach; he definitely did not like using the Imperius Curse, despite the new perspective extensive consideration had given him on the supposedly unforgivable curses.
"Harry has some special abilities," Arden explained, seemingly clocking onto Harry's discomfort. "It's like mind control, but he really doesn't like doing it."
Leia's eyes went wide. "You're a Jedi?" she asked hopefully. "I was hoping to find a Jedi named Obi-Wan Kenobi, do you know him? Wait, you're too young to have been a member of the Order."
The wizard, not Jedi, although it became increasingly obvious that some kind of standard explanation for this would make a certain kind of sense, replied, "No, not a Jedi; Something else, sorry. And I don't know this Obi-Wan, either."
Although seeming a bit disappointed, the princess looked at him happily. "I'll take what I can get. What's our next move?"
The group of three that had sprung the ambush on Leia's captors looked at each other with a deer-in-the-headlight expression.
"We never said we had a plan," Harry defended. "I guess we'll just take the fastest ship we can and make a run for it."
Leia looked at the three of them almost with pity; it honestly ruffled Harry's feathers a bit.
"Where are the tractor beam projectors, and how can we knock them out?" she asked the security officer, still standing apathetically at his station. "Come on, answer me."
"Answer her," Harry ordered the officer. The Imperius Curse would only work for him, unless he ordered for someone else to be in command, too.
Emotionlessly, the officer began to talk.
OOOOOOOO
"It's an MRX-BR Pacifier," Leia whispered next to him. "Scout vessel; powerful sensors, decent armament, strong hyperdrive with lots of redundancy. Should be exactly what we need."
They were standing, Harry in his uniform (although he had traded his code cylinders with the security officer and transfigured his rank tag), Leia under a disillusionment charm, in a smaller hangar a good deal away from the internment block she had been held in; at least from a normal, human perspective. In relation to a giant battle station it probably was not all that far. The only vessel currently inside the otherwise empty hangar was grey, perhaps twenty to thirty meters long and about twice as wide.
"It's one of their newer ships," she went on, a bit louder now that it was clear the hangar was indeed completely devoid of any personnel. "They're meant for exploration, so they're suited for long-term living. The Empire always keeps them stocked up, too."
While he admittedly did not know all that much about starships, even Harry knew that what he was hearing sounded exactly like what they needed. If they were to be fugitives, having both enough space and some food to last them a while would be nothing but beneficial. Especially the part about the food appealed to him, able as he still was to easily recall the gnawing hunger the hunt for the horcruxes had entailed all too often.
"How do you know this stuff?" he asked, tearing his attention away from the sleek vessel and turning it to the empty-looking space where he could just barely make out Leia's silhouette beneath his disillusionment charm. "You can't be much older than me, and I'm only nineteen."
"Then we're the same age," Leia replied, and he could almost hear her smile. "I'm part of the Rebellion; it was always a question of when, not if, the Empire would find out. It was thought prudent that I would learn everything available about the ships that would one day be shooting on me. I'm actually a senator; well, former senator, now. My father had been planning on me succeeding him since I was very young."
Harry could not help but compare the very different lives they had led; both destined, or at least expected, to do things better left to the adults in their lives. Yet, while Leia seemed to have gotten every bit of training she could possibly need, he himself had been coddled almost to death by a well-meaning, if rather misguided old man.
"Do you think you can do your thing on the flight controller?" Leia's voice cut through his mulling.
He shook his head to distract himself from the flurry of thoughts that had been running wild inside his head. "I'd rather not," the wizard replied. "At least not the exact same thing, because we don't really need to, and I really don't like doing it. Let's just say that I can make him believe that we are supposed to head out with that ship. Should work even better and I won't feel so… icky afterward."
OOOOOOOO
The day was not a good one for Lieutenant Childsen, as much was clear. His detention block was empty, the Princess having been relocated due to security concerns, and Enfield was absent due to some health issue. As a result, he was guarding an empty prison with no company at all.
Now admittedly, Enfield was neither very intelligent nor all that pleasant, but even poor company was better than having to stand guard for eight hours without another soul nearby. Therefore, it came as quite the surprise when, against all odds, the silent whir of the turbolift stopped at his level, indicating he had a visitor (it could not be a transfer, he would have gotten an announcement of that).
However, when he saw who exactly his visitor was, he was much less thrilled than he had been before.
"L-Lord Vader, always a pleasure," he stammered, although both of them knew how much it was not. "How can I serve?"
That empty plasteel mask turned toward him, and he could almost feel the disdain of the person, the monster beneath.
"The Princess. Take me to her cell," the Emperor's enforcer ordered dispassionately.
Childsen blinked at him owlishly. Did he not know the Princess had been relocated?
"Milord, I'm sorry, but the Princess is not here," he explained, trying to sound as non-threatening, non-insulting as possible. Meanwhile, he also turned his attention onto his console, trying to find the entry on her relocation.
What he found instead made his blood freeze, because according to the listings, the traitorous former senator was still very much supposed to be in her cell.
In his cell block.
However, as quickly as his mind started trying to work it out, he did not get all that far, for he soon started to feel his throat constricting from more than just fear. His last sight was that of Darth Vader's expressionless mask, hand raised in front of him, poised like he was choking the air itself.
OOOOOOOO
"That one," Mercer hissed, poking Arden in the back. "He works in the armoury. Name is Ensign Ferris, he likes to watch explicit recordings of various aliens, mostly twilek; guy starts talking about stuff he shouldn't when you get him drunk."
The Dathomirian witch, still in her white uniform, quickly set to follow the broad-shouldered man in the grey jumpsuit with the black cap. She breathed in and out deeply a few times, preparing herself for a bit of acting; they had been hoping to find exactly this particular person because, according to Mercer, he was 'a snivelling, spineless idiot'. Exactly the kind of person her ruse was most likely to succeed on.
"Ensign Ferris," she sneered, doing her best to emulate some of the less reputable of her sisters, some of which had wholeheartedly embraced the forbidden spells of the Nightsisters. Apparently, it had worked, because the man she had named turned around like he had heard the mighty footsteps of a rancor behind him, and immediately paled at seeing her white tunic.
Arden was just about to continue when, for no apparent reason that she could think of, a loud noise started blaring through the corridor. An alarm, if she was not very much mistaken. Maybe it would actually be useful.
"You're responsible for the closest armoury this shift, you will lead me there," she ordered, her tone brooking absolutely no argument. For a moment the man (he had a shifty face, Arden decided) looked like he was about to object; a dangerous look he obviously took to be a promise of incredible pain convinced him otherwise.
Among the now greatly increased foot-traffic on the corridor, the participants of which still managed to keep a healthy distance from the 'ISB agent', they made their way to the close-by weapons storage, which Ferris opened with his code cylinder.
"That will be all," Arden told him, as soon as she was across the threshold. Again, the ensign looked like he wanted to protest, and even the look that had cowed him before was not enough to erase his reluctance this time.
"That will be all," she repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. "Either you leave, or I organise a thorough search of your holonet history."
Wide-eyed, Ferris fled the room, leaving behind a disillusioned Lieutenant Fenwick and a grinning witch, happily taking in all the equipment, now free for the taking.
"Good thing we brought that expanded bag," Mercer observed.
OOOOOOOO
From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Arden step onto the gleaming black floor of the hangar, her presence a clear indicator that their plan had gone off as intended. A small smile on his face, he turned his attention to the junior officer manning flight control for the part of the station their getaway ship was moored in, silently raised his staff and whispered, "Confundo!"
The man shuddered a little, as people who were hit by the confundus charm were wont to do, and then stared blankly into the distance as Harry approached him from behind.
"The Pacifier scout in hangar 1-47 will be taken out for an important, secret mission by ISB Lieutenant Scamander," he told the flight controller in a calm, steady voice, well-suited to the large degree of susceptibility the charm had induced. "You were ordered by Grand Moff Tarkin himself to keep this secret and the orders were deliberately left out of any electronic system. Do you understand?"
"The MRX-BR Pacifier in hangar 1-47 will be taken out for an important, secret mission by ISB Lieutenant Scamander. I was ordered by Grand Moff Tarkin himself to keep this secret and the orders were deliberately left out of any electronic system," the officer replied in a monotone, and with a small tap of Harry's staff, the man has lucid again.
"Lieutenant Scamander," he introduced himself. "You have been briefed on my requirements? Is my ship ready?"
The flight controller snapped to attention.
"Yes, Sir. We always keep the scout ships ready to fly on a moment's notice, sir," he replied automatically.
"Good, good," Harry replied coldly. "Remember, absolute secrecy."
"Yes, sir. Only for the ears of the Grand Moff, sir."
Without another word, Harry, Leia (hopefully) in tow, strode toward the turbolift and pushed the button for the hangar.
"You're not that bad an actor," the disembodied voice of the Alderaanian princess commented. "Do we need to be worried?"
Harry chuckled a little; yes, he had put on quite the show, even if he did say so himself.
"No reason to be," he soothed overly grandiosely. "I had to play a bad guy once before, and it did not end well. I took that lesson to heart." With a full blown grin now gracing his face, the scary agent joked, "And who knows, maybe there's an actor somewhere inside me?"
Her could almost feel the young woman smile at his joke, and despite the dire circumstances, Harry found himself buoyed by the lighter mood as well. Only moments after they had boarded the turbolift, the ride stopped at their target floor, and the doors swished open, revealing their ship already heating up its engines (at least, that was what Harry assumed the glowing lights in the back meant). They were almost at the open ramp when a feeling of darkness, not unlike the one Voldemort's horcruxes had elicited in him made him turn.
In the blast door, right beside the turbolift shaft, stood the imposing figure of a black-armoured warrior. In his right hand, he held a glowing red sword, while the left was raised, almost as if gripping him all across the room. Led more by instinct than anything else, Harry raised his staff and screamed, "Protego!", right before some kind of attack, as potent as any of the spells he had resisted from the Death Eaters, slammed into the shield. The dark lord, for he had no doubt that that was what this black-clad warrior was, seemed to be unprepared for his attack to be rebuffed that way and was thrown bodily into the corridor behind him. In typical Harry manner, he was just about to set off after his foe to use the momentary confusion to his advantage, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"No, that's Darth Vader," Leia said, the urgency in her voice undeniable. "We'll be lucky to escape him alive."
As much as it rankled him, that dark aura more than anything else told Harry she was right. "Colloportus," he cast imperiously, raising his staff toward the blast door, which indeed started to slide shut inexorably slowly. Happy that, at least for the moment, people would be unable to follow them he grabbed Leia's hand and they sprinted for the lowered ramp.
"Launch, now!" the young woman called as soon as the ship was sealed behind them.