The Spider and the Storm

Tarkin returned to the penthouse that afternoon feeling lightheaded and a bit nauseous. A giddy urgency had swept over him as he was descending the palace spire in the lift, the prospect of a cure to his ailments leaving his mind far from restful but in a much better sense than before. He surged into the foyer and toward the stairs, not even bothering to remove his duster, before the sight of a figure on the landing stopped him in his tracks.

"You look terrible." Thalassa's voice was level, unmoved by her husband's wasted face and windblown hair.

"You look the same." Tarkin straightened, raising a self-conscious hand to his chin. "What are you doing here?"

Silence.

A little smirk crossed his face, and he removed his duster, folding it neatly over one arm. "Am I on trial, my dear? Come down to my level, why don't you?"

"Come up to mine." Thalassa rested her elbows on the balcony. "You're certainly in a hurry; you need your suitcase, isn't that right?"

Generally, Tarkin would have enjoyed a verbal sparring match with his lady wife. Today, it rankled him more than he cared to admit. He huffed and started up the stairs, giving her a dark look as he passed her. Their shoulders brushed briefly, and Thalassa turned to follow him into the bedroom.

"Motti Industries has been making some controversial decisions of late," he said curtly as he strode to the closet. "Would you care to explain?"

Sirejj sensed Tarkin's presence well before he entered the doors of the house. He was arranging his things in the servants quarters when he felt footsteps of the governor approaching. Swiftly placing his small bag of things under the bed, he picked up his staff and silently crept to the door.

A brief exchange. Footsteps. The two had ascended the first flight of stairs and were going towards one of the main bedrooms on the floor above him. He silently opened the door and crept out into the narrow hallway. The servant's quarters were still well kept and well furnished and the door hinges were well-oiled. His footsteps made not a sound as he made his way towards the small servant's exit, still listening as best he could to their conversation. His curiosity was piqued, but risking discovery was not worth it to hear what he could learn from Thalassa later.

"Do you sit on the board?" Thalassa shot back. "We've had some losses; funding is tight."

Tarkin paused, studying her with his garment bag in hand. "You touch your thumb to your ring finger when you're lying," he remarked finally. "I'm surprised your mother never trained that out of you."

Thalassa's hands slipped self-consciously into the pockets of her dress, and she held her chin up. "And you finger the hem of your sleeves."

"So I do." Tarkin looked down at his bony wrists. "What business do you have on Coruscant, my dear?"

"I'm visiting our mutual friend," she replied. "Not that you need to know."

"Ahh." Gladys; she went back a long way with everybody who was anybody. Tarkin couldn't quite recall whether he'd introduced her to Thalassa or if Thalassa had introduced her to him, or if they'd all met separately...whatever the case, both were fond of the old business magnate--as was Emperor Palpatine. "Business or pleasure?"

"A little of both." Thalassa's gaze flicked toward the door; she was impatient for him to leave. Why might that be, he wondered? Perhaps it was leftover ire from last year's heated exchange.

"Give her my best, then."

"Hm."

Tarkin drew up the handle of his suitcase, lingering. "...I have some good news," he said at last. "Or news, at any rate; I don't know where you stand anymore."

"Oh?" Thalassa raised an eyebrow.

Her husband's thin lips turned upward in a stiff, ill-fitting smile. "I have orders to return to Atoa. To finish the job."

Thalassa stood still by the door, working her jaw as she processed this information. Tarkin watched her, his pale eyes fixed on a twitching muscle in her cheek. She was displeased, perhaps, or maybe she was just surprised. It was hard to tell--

"This came from the top?"

Displeased, then. Her tone was deadly cool.

"From the top," Tarkin said with a nod.

"The men that killed our son are sending you back to that place to kill more people, to make more useless gestures," she murmured. "And you call that good news." Her eyes met his, and she drew closer to him, studying his features. "Why did they order this?"

A pang of embarrassment ran through Tarkin; how was he to explain that the Emperor and his watchdog had essentially held an intervention for him out of concern that he was going to work himself to death? What words could he put to that explanation that would make any sense?

"They received word that there are still Atoans remaining," he replied. "There are concerns about another insurgence--"

"Who told them this?"

"I did."

"You?" Thalassa stiffened. "You told them what you've done? What I've done?"

Leaving the building and making his way onto the streets, Sirejj picked up a fleeting emotion from Thalassa. Anger, worry, or a mix of both perhaps, but he was sure she was capable of handling her husband. He'd meddled enough in their internal affairs as of late and sticking around to eavesdrop was above his pay grade.

The streets weren't busy as this area was mainly rich housing and not travelled for business. He took in the world around him with curiosity but did his best not to stare for too long lest someone wonder what a lone Dathomiri was doing. His garb indicated a guard or protector of some variation and his staff confirmed it, but someone might wonder what he was doing away from his charge. If the self-focused Coruscanti cared to bother with what was happening outside of their own personal world, they might notice the strange sight that was a lonely Zabrak wandering the streets.

The dense population of this world did provide an advantage. Everyone paid attention to themselves and it was easy to slip into a small crowd and disappear. Even a force wielder would struggle to pinpoint an individual signature in the chaos. There was something strange about the force signature of this world. It was in layers, as if over the millions of years the planet had existed its inner spirit had changed many times. He found it difficult to isolate its force signature. It was almost as if it was hiding from him intentionally. He was unable to cloak himself in its signature as he'd done so easily on other worlds. The force signature of Coruscant was well guarded. This was the Imperial capital. It wouldn't be far fetched to suppose the Sith had something to do with it.

After a short trip around the block he located an overlook that was lined with potted plants that had woven themselves around the white-steel guardrail. He looked out over the flats of the city-planet. Until the horizon there was nothing but steel and stone. The buzz of life and chatter could have occupied Sirejj for hours if his mind hadn't been elsewhere.

Tarkin scoffed. "Please. You've hardly incriminated yourself. I'm the one who found Sirejj, sent him to Atoa, risked my neck keeping Vader distracted."

"And now you've undone it all." Thalassa's face flushed. "You idiot. You pompous--do you think you're above losing their trust? They'll castrate you for betraying them."

"But I didn't betray them."

"You betrayed them the second you doubted their word on how Garoche died."

Tarkin rolled his eyes. "That was then. It was a misunderstanding." And yet her words struck a nerve; he'd had the very same concerns. His sleepless nights had been more and more filled with waking dreams in which Vader stood breathing in the corner, reaching out with that heavy hand to choke him. "You're obviously upset; I would be open to discussing this further once I have completed my mission and you've calmed yourself dow--" As he tried to brush past her, Thalassa grasped him firmly by the arm and shoved him against the wall. Startled by the suddenness of the action, Tarkin wriggled for a moment, then stood still and looked his wife in the eye. Her face was inches from his; they were almost of a height and their noses were practically brushing. He could smell the faintest hint of wine on her breath, and he wondered what occasion had been cause for such an expensive vintage. Her fingers tightened around his bicep, the nails pinching the skin.

"Think very carefully about what you do next," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Is this what you want?"

Thalassa's teeth were bared behind her closed lips, and her dark eyes were burning. She wanted to kill him, just then--he could see it. He knew that look. She couldn't do it, of course...she might be heavier, but Tarkin had training. He could maneuver himself out of this in seconds, but he wanted to give her the chance to back down first.

His wife searched his face, her vision clearing slightly, but her grip didn't loosen. Whatever she was looking for, she hadn't found it.
"One day," she said softly, and again Tarkin got that waft of wine...what was that? White, certainly...and sour. Not Thalassa's usual red. "One day," she went on, "you're going to make a decision that gets you killed, and you're going to be so wrapped up in yourself that you won't even notice until it's too late."

Tarkin's jaw tightened, and he straightened up against the wall, preparing to jerk himself free. Then she let go abruptly, shoving past him and stalking down the stairs with her comm in her hand.

He stood there rubbing his arm, brow furrowed as his wife's footsteps faded. That had been...unexpected. She'd almost looked afraid before she grabbed him. And when he'd entered the room, like she was hiding something. What, though?
The smell of wine gnawed at him as he picked up his suitcase again.

The vines that wrapped around the railing bore light-lavender flowers that gifted the breeze a subtle sweet scent. It was refreshing to stand beside something other than cold steel. A few of the plants had begun to seed in the tiny cracks between the metal and concrete. A few had even managed to bloom despite their harsh conditions. It wouldn’t be long before they were pulled up and tossed into a bin, but the gardener must have had a week off. Several sprouts were already climbing up the rails from their beginnings in the cracks.

He was passed by people, but none of them took notice of him. Some chatted, some were silent, most were simply going from one point to the next. While he was very alert for any sign of danger, he listened to their conversations. Here, life carried on normally. The royalty of the world; sheltered and safe from having to scrape a living. Some resented them- Sirejj did not, for what good would it do him? There was nothing admirable about inherited power, but it wasn’t always detestable either. These people were ignorant, but perhaps not all maliciously so.

Sirejj watched from the corner of his eye as a small trio approached the landing platform. He straightened slightly and fixed his eyes towards the horizon, but sensed their movements as they drew nearer. There were two adults and what appeared to be their child. She was young, Sirejj guessed close to four or five and chattering incessantly. He paid them little heed, other than taking a slight step closer to the edge of the overlook and pretending to be preoccupied.

The girl, constantly weaving in and out of her parents’ grasp and running circles around them stopped to excitedly examine the flowers.

“Don’t hurt them,” her mother said. She was a fair dark-haired woman dressed simply in elegant, pale blue jeweled robes. Her husband looked to be either military or perhaps some political strategist, for he carried himself like a man of skill and intelligence. His garb was equally as simple with minimal silver stitching decorating his crisp jacket, which was similar in color to his wife's robes. His jawline was rigid and his hair neatly combed and his face militaristically clean shaven. His eyes were sharp, but behind that cold Imperial pride flickered affection for his small family. He was rather plain looking, and though he couldn’t have been any older than Sirejj, he appeared weathered beyond his years. An officer occupation now seemed more likely.

“The flowers fell down again!” The child knelt and gently plucked up one of the seedlings from a seam in the concrete and before she could be stopped, gently placed its roots into one of the pots and covered it in dirt.

“Now you’re filthy.” Her father reached down and scooped up the protesting child who crossed her arms. Her mother fussed and used a handkerchief to clean the girl’s hands.

“What are we going to tell everyone? That we let you roll in the mud?” The father chuckled and they turned to walk away. The child objected to being carried away but soon laughed as her father hefted her onto his shoulders, much to her mother’s worry.

“You’ll drop her!”

“I will not- ouch!” The child grabbed a fist full of his carefully groomed hair. Her mother smiled triumphantly as they walked away, their voices melting into the others that passed him by.

Sirejj’s brow furrowed. He might have found the brief interaction amusing in the past, but something about it now pricked him internally. He listened to their fleeting footsteps as the three disappeared around a corner, taking for granted their happiness and peace. It was so unlike the rest of the galaxy now. Coruscant, even in the richest sectors, would not remain untouched forever. The Imperial disregard for life was evident everywhere but here- then again, he'd not visited the depths of this world. He knew what lay there and that the bright upper levels were merely a cover for the squalor below.

The longer he stood there, the more out of place he felt. He turned away and continued down the street. He would eventually circle back to the apartment to see if Tarkin had left. The thought of interacting with him again grew increasingly detestable as time drew on.

Thalassa was shaking as she strode out of the apartment, adrenaline making her steps rapid and her fingers clumsy as she pushed in Sirejj's contact information. She felt in the deepest part of herself that she could have snapped her husband's neck just then, if she'd gotten a better hold on him. But she'd hesitated, she'd been unsure if she actually could do it in the moment.

The consequences remained to be seen. He might very well have struck back--Thalassa would have relished a proper fight. She wondered how long it would take for him to subdue her, and if she would even have a chance if she did engage. He was wily, to be sure, even if he looked like he was on death's door. It was all fantasy, anyway, noting aspiration to ever be pursued. She'd tear him to shreds in her daydreams, and that would have to be enough.

His mind was sick; of that much she was certain. Whatever poison his family had made him soak in all his life, it was choking him to death now. She'd seen it in his eyes when she had him against the wall, so close she could smell the stale coffee on his breath. He'd been feverish, barely awake and unsteady on his feet. She wouldn't have been able to get ahold of him if he wasn't.

Good, she thought bitterly. He ought to be eaten up by what he'd allowed to happen. She was glad of it. Let the assassin's kill him, whoever they were and whoever was behind them. A man that deep in his own reality deserved what he got.

Thalassa held up the comm, waiting for Sirejj to pick up as she hurried to her transport. It had been foolishness to leave; she knew Wilhuff would be leaving right after her, but part of her had feared that he would continue the argument and she would reveal too much of what she'd done with Mon Mothma.

Sirejj's thoughts were interrupted by the blinking of his commlink. Instantly back to the task at hand, he picked up. He could sense something had changed and turned through a side street to begin making his way back towards the apartment.

"Yes?"

"Meet me at the transport. Now. You're going back to Atoa." Thalassa's heart was pounding. How long until Tarkin left, she wondered? The Executrix was probably hovering above; it would take about twenty minutes for him to get up to the landing bay, ten minutes to get to the bridge and another two for him to give people coordinates. She and Sirejj had the advantage; the vessel she had come in was a small corvette and would take no time to board.

"What? What happened?" Damn that miserable old man. He sped up, placing his staff on his back so he could move through the streets. He dodged a few people but by the time they look to see who passed them he was already gone.

"I'll explain on the way. How soon can you be here?" Thalassa cast a look over her shoulder, half-expecting her husband to round the corner.

"In a moment." He ad completely avoided the apartment and headed directly for the landing platform when she'd called. In a moment he rounded the corner and cleared the short half-flight of stairs that led up to the platform.

Thalassa had stepped into the transport the second she saw him coming.

Tarkin was heading down the landing platform to get into his own transport, blinking away a headache. The rush he'd gotten from his argument with Thalassa was fading, and he was looking forward to getting to his Star Destroyer and collapsing into bed for just a few minutes. He descended the steps, then stopped short as he saw Thalassa and Sirejj. He and his wife made eye contact, and then his eyes shifted to Sirejj.

Thalassa whipped around and grabbed the droid chauffeur's shoulder. "Bridge 9," she hissed. "Go! Now!" The engine revved, and they shot off down the air lane.

Tarkin watched them go for a second, shocked. "Shit," he muttered, and then broke into a dead run for his vehicle.

Sirejj made the briefest of eye contact with him before leaping into the ship as the door closed. He scrambled to a window and watched Tarkin sprint away. Muttering a curse to himself he turned to Thalassa.

"What happened? Did he find out about your meeting?"

"No." Thalassa looked behind her. "Gods damn it, he's going to be hurrying now. Of course he is." She turned back to face front, smoothing her hair down. "He's just been back from a meeting with the Emperor; he was ordered to kill the Atoans. I had plans, things I wanted to ask--urgh!" She waved a hand in frustration and punched in another number on her comm. It buzzed for a second, then Zee's drawling tone came out of the speaker.

"Lassa?"

"How soon can you have two ships orbiting Atoa?" Thalassa demanded. Immediately, Zee's voice changed, sensing the urgency.

"Two days, give or take. How soon do you need them?"

Thalassa murmured calculations to herself, brow furrowed. "...I need you to outpace an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer by a considerable amount."

"We'll have to dig into Admiral Motti's hangar..."

"Do it. Conan doesn't play with any of his toys, anyway." She hung up abruptly.

---

Tarkin punched in the emergency contact for Vader as he ran, practically falling into his transport as he ordered the droid to start the engine.