Chapter Text
“Transport IS-H702, this is planetary control, what is your business on Ansion?”
Versé doesn’t blink as she accepts the transmission, hitting a switch to open her end of the comm.
“Planetary control, this is transport IS-H702. I’m here to refuel and spend a day planetside on my way to the Core.”
“Clear for landing, IS-H702. Enjoy your visit.”
“Much appreciated.”
“That was…too easy,” Sabé crosses her arms in the copilot’s seat, glaring determinedly at the planet ahead of them.
Versé shrugs. “Don’t make a problem where there isn’t one, right?”
“I am concerned that the problem has already been made,” Sabé turns to halfheartedly glare at her.
“Well…stop being concerned then, I don’t know.”
Padmé stands from her seat further back in the ship— a conveniently placed crate makes for good sitting, apparently— and goes to lean over the top of Sabé’s head.
“Why are the docks so…quiet?” She whispers, trying not to alert the few Chiss that followed them to Ansion that there is even potential for a problem.
“I don’t know,” Sabé returns in that same whisper. “This is the only major refuel station this end of the hyperspace lane. It shouldn’t be quiet.”
“There’s nothing indicating any outright danger just yet. Everything's still fine, as far as we know.” Versé's tone is smooth, placating, even, but Padmé can see the reflection in the glass betraying the way that her eyes keep bouncing across her dashboard— overly prepared for any problems.
Padmé nods, silent and apprehensive before turning to take her crate-seat once more. Something here is…off.
“Ahsoka?” She calls into the room, not bothering to try and seek her out herself.
“Yeah?” Her voice comes from somewhere indistinguishable and above.
“You alright?” Padmé winces. She’s being such an overbearing mother. But if she knows that something feels off, Ahsoka is likely sick to her stomach with how ‘off’ it truly is.
“I’m fine,” She calls back. Flat, annoyed, like she would slam a door if there was one that she could get her hands on.
“Have you eaten?” Padmé tries again, tilting her head against the wall behind her.
“I said, I’m fine,” Ahsoka repeats. Padmé jolts back up as Ahsoka lands with a soft thump in front of her. “I don’t like this planet.”
Padmé pulls her knees to her chest and tucks her chin on top. Ahsoka leans against the wall across from her, arms crossed and picking at her arm bands. Padmé turns her gaze towards the scuffs on the far back wall of the ship, waiting for the rest of the story to come loose.
“Planetary control was…surprised to see you. Like they knew it was fine, but were shocked anyway. Maybe they were distracted, but there shouldn’t be anything unusual about someone stopping here to refuel.”
“There isn’t,” Padmé confirms. She had checked with the Csillans before they left. “It’s the last stop before the hyperspace lane. Ansion is a tourist planet.”
“So why did seeing tourists surprise them?” Ahsoka half gestures with one hand, spreading her fingers while keeping her thumb tucked against her arm.
“What do your instincts tell you?” Padmé prompts, parroting something she’s heard both Anakin and Obi-Wan ask her before.
“That something is happening today. Something that would disrupt travel. Something that we didn’t hear about,” Ahsoka replies without hesitation. She reaches up to grab on to an overhead rack as the ship rumbles through the upper atmosphere of Ansion.
“That could be any of a thousand things,” Padmé mutters, biting the corner of her lip while she does the same.
“I didn’t say I had a good answer,” Ahsoka snaps. “You’re the one who asked what my instincts told me. Master Obi-Wan says that instincts are a first response, not a good one.”
“Hey,” Versé calls over her shoulder. “Keep the teenage angst to a minimum, please? I’m trying to understand this maker-damned docking system.”
Ahsoka clamps her mouth shut, nearly grinding her jaw as she fixes her gaze on the ground. Padmé internally groans. Another point against Amidala.
Sabé is the first one off the ship once they’ve landed, sticking her head out and confirming what everyone else had already seen: it is nearly a ghost down.
“Alright, Ahsoka, you’re the one who knows all about off-world travel,” Padmé announces as the rest of them follow. “Where do people go if they aren’t on the streets?”
The usual bar noise is a constant from planet to planet. Padmé hasn’t been to too many, but she is well-versed in Outer-Rim saloon culture. There is always yelling and drinking and some kind of slimy goop on tap and someone dancing mostly-naked on the counter. This particular planet borders on Unknown regions, but she had apparently made the mistake of assuming that it was close enough to the Outer Rim she was familiar with.
It’s nearly dead silent. The only noise is a quiet shuffling of fabric, of shoes on old tiles, and ice cracking in glasses. That and the holo news. Up against every wall and in every corner and even on a few tables— some kind of news network is playing. Padmé leads the way through the doors and slots into a group circled around one of them, the rest of her group close behind.
“...And the thing is, that so many of our Senators were off-world at the time of the assassination, that there isn’t a way to organize a fair election for a replacement. Not even an emergency bill accounts for nearly half of the Senate to be missing, as much of the Mid and Outer Rim planets’ representatives had left for the recess.”
“That’s right, Karrli,” The angle changes to a human male with strikingly dark hair. “Not to mention that there are serious efforts to obscure who, exactly, is on-world right now. Only fifteen of the more than two thousand representatives are confirmed to be on Coruscant, likely under heavy security. Efforts are being made to collect the rest of the Senate to vote on how to move forward, but you only can wait so long after something like this.”
“Something like what?” Sabé whispers to Padmé, who shrugs.
“Padmé?” Ahsoka tugs at the edge of her sleeve, her voice sounding far off. Padmé twists around, her gaze catching on Ahsoka’s outstretched hand, pointed at a holo across the room that has glitched and frozen in place.
“Chancellor Palpatine found Dead,” It reads. “Killed by Clone Soldier”