Marco stood near the Garibah tree, just in front of the maze, his arms crossed as he kept an eye out for Tom. He couldn't see the others, but he knew they were there.

He felt jittery, like they always did back in the war before missions. He bit back the compulsion to crack a joke - he couldn't thought-speak one right now, and saying it out loud would look really weird if that just happened to be when Tom was coming along.

Course, Marco was sure Tobias would give them plenty of forewarning. Still - it didn't hurt to be cautious. Especially now. Especially when it was Tom. Marco had seen what Tom's death had done to Jake after the war: Tom's and Rachel's and those seventeen thousand Yeerks. He couldn't change what happened to those Yeerks, and who knew if Ax would be able to change things for Rachel when they got back to their world. If they ever did get back to their world. But here, right now? They could change what happened to Tom. Him they could save. And maybe that would save Jake too.

Marco waited.

Kenobi!

Vader's eyes snapped open as he jerked to consciousness, his last memory of Kenobi's smirk burnt into his memory. The treacherous Jedi had thwarted him again. Why he was not dead was beyond him, but the second time Kenobi had left him for dead without having the stomach to actually finish the deed would be the last.

His mouth curled disdainfully as he surveyed his surroundings. It may have been foreign, but he recognized a medcenter when he saw one-- and liked it as little as he liked any other. The ventilator tubes had been reinserted into his nose, and he began to examine the large machine he was bound to. He could, in theory, take it apart and convert it into something more manageable. He had no idea if his kidnappers ever intended to return his suit and lightsaber. If he wanted his revenge on Kenobi and reclaim his son (his son-- no, he had to put that out of his mind), he would have to act quickly, before the...ship...realized his intentions.

[Continued from here]

Thrawn's reputation said that nothing escaped him; given the man's record, Tycho was inclined to believe it. Thus he was sure Thrawn had noticed the side-long glances Tycho kept shooting him as he guided the Chiss down Stacy's corridors, pointing out locations of interest. The passed corridors leading to the transport tubes, the media library and the sleeping halls and crew quarters before they finally reached the sensoriums. Tycho was normally a quiet, reserved man, but Thrawn's presence had made him even quieter. He had a million things he wanted to know, but he doubted there was any way he could ask that would be sufficiently subtle or clever enough to get past Thrawn.

The sensorium chamber they entered was a large blank room. "Well, here we are," Tycho said redundantly. "And-" he shut his eyes, and suddenly they were standing on a balcony on the upper level of the Imperial Palace, looking out over a night-time view of Coruscant's skyline. Speeders and other hover-traffic whizzed by in the distance, and far above, the lights of sky hooks twinkled distantly. A cool night breeze blew on their faces. From the open balcony doors behind them came a warm spill of light and the tinkling sound of soft music and laughter. Clearly some kind of event was taking place, probably one Tycho remembered having attended. The scene now created, Tycho opened his eyes and turned to look at Thrawn. "-that's how they work," he finished.

He waited, hands clasped behind his back, for the other man's reaction.

Title: Can't Have Forever
:Location: Stacy; The Sensoriums





It was strange how quickly the laughter of a pillow fight could turn.

Logically, Renne knew the questions were simple, innocent, and very easy questions. He'd been asked those questions hundreds of times through the years and had rarely felt what he did now when answering them. Logically, he shouldn't have felt much of anything beyond the distant pang that was usually short lived.

And logically, the seaside tavern he'd asked the Sensorium chamber to produce should have done more than the little it did. Cooking was therapeutic most often and cooking in a place he knew, a place he loved, had most often doubled that.

Why it wasn't working this time, he had no logical answer.