Chapter Text
Ryee,
It’s been three cycles, and you are as out of reach as the day you disappeared. On days like these, it is hard to push back the darkness that wants to cast its veil over my heart and hold onto the glimmers of hope that one day I will find you out there, amidst the millions of stars in the sky. It’s hard not to look up at those multitudes of lights and not despair at their numbers and distance, to not crumble under the weight of how impossible the search is.
I wish I had Anakin’s faith that we would find you. Even now, as he fights a war on three fronts, his confidence that we will succeed seems unwavering, as if by believing it enough he may bend the universe itself to his will and make it happen. You want to believe him, which I guess is part of what makes him such an effective leader. He says that you aren’t dead and he would sense it if you died. And that gives a sliver of hope, even as days slip away.
I’ve become more implicated with the Runners since your absence. Just the other day, we freed a family of four, and their young daughter reminded me so much of you at that age it was all I could do to not start crying right then and there.
I miss you, sareen. Every day we spend apart, my heart bleeds from the hole in it where you should be. I hope you’re alive, and as safe as you can be. And I hope you know that I love you, and I will try finding you until my last breath.
“Okay, Beedee, stop the recording.”
The recording indicator on Ryee’s little droid switched off. Vetta exhaled shakily and lowered her head.
<You = okay (future?)> asked Beedee.
“No,” Vetta said. “But I’ll survive.”
She patted Beedee and stood back up, the little droid scampering up her clothing to perch on her shoulder. Vetta had gotten used to her weight over the course of the past year and a half, to the point where she felt too light without it.
“Ready to work?” she asked, standing and holstering her blaster.
Beedee whistled an affirmative.
“Good.”
With a steadying breath, Vetta headed towards the doors. They swooshed open, and she stepped into the lively, eccentric world of the Queen Amidala. To this day, Vetta still wasn’t sure what do make of the place. Was it an Executor-Class Super Star Destroyer? Yes. Yes it was, and Anakin assured her it was still fully functional as such. Was it also a nineteen kilometre-long city in space, complete with its own districts, diasporas and emergent culture? Also yes. Right now, they had some festival going on, and the hallways were filled to the brim with colours, noises, and smells that assaulted the senses. Vetta largely ignored the hustle and bustle, stopping only to grab caf at Suni’s before she headed up the turbolift to the bridge.
The upper levels, at least, appeared closer to what Vetta had always imagined large ships to look like. Up here, the people who passed her were clearly crew, if not quite in uniforms, still baring plaques designating their functions and ranks. A few recognized Vetta as she passed and nodded to her, a greeting she returned in like before finding the conference room she was supposed to join a meeting in. To her surprise, Anakin and Veers, the former’s general, were deep in discussion over a holomap as she walked in, and Admiral Piett was also present, with the bleary eyes of someone who hadn’t slept the night prior. That was unusual—the meeting was supposed to be Runners-related, and Piett and Veers were from the political/military branch of Anakin’s operations. Vetta paused in the doorway, then shrugged and stepped in.
“Caf?” Vetta asked, lifting the container she’d bought. “You look like you need it, Admiral.”
“Thank you, Vetta.” Right on cue, Piett stifled a yawn.
The twi’lek poured him a mug and handed it over. “What did I miss?”
“Oh, just civilians being the bane of my existence. I’m an admiral, not a babysitter.”
“I assure you that relocating our passengers is a priority,” Anakin said. He’d discarded the upper half of his mask today, something he did more and more frequently it seemed, and the scarred skin around his eyes crinkled in a smile.
Piett snorted and took a sip of his caf, grimacing as it apparently scalded him. “In all due respect, Milord, it’s very clear to me that their relocalizing is not one of your utmost priorities.”
“Indeed.”
Piett gave a tired sigh. Veers shot him a grin, grabbing the mug of caf Vetta handed him with a grateful nod of the head.
“Well, the New Republic won’t shoot innocent civilians, so at least our civilians bring us some tactical advantage.”
Piett’s flat look told Vetta exactly what he thought of the general’s comments. For his part, Anakin gave the burst of static that was his laugh.
“Veers, we are not using the civilians as meat shields.”
“Without disrespect, Sir, you can’t make me believe the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”
Anakin’s silence was rather damning. Vetta raised an eyebrow at him. He caught her glance and seemed annoyed.
“…that is not the primary reason why we keep them aboard,” the Sith-turned-mechanic-turned-Remnant-leader said. “They know too much and are a security risk; besides, it would be a gesture of goodwill on our part if we work with the New Republic to relocate them on one of their worlds.”
The others began trailing in one by one. Like Vetta, they marked an uncertain pause when they saw the general and admiral’s presence. Apparently not part of the meeting, Piett and Veers finished up their discussion with Anakin and left. Now more at ease, the others settled down. Vetta stood at Anakin’s right, Shaat coming in to stand on her right, passing an arm around her waist. The other former slave had followed her off Tatooine when she’d left, and they’d grown closer as the search for Ryee was unfruitful. Vetta felt a bit guilty for it. It felt wrong, building a life with someone as her daughter was still there among the stars, missing and alone. She briefly leaned her head against Shaat’s shoulder before straightening back up and offering him a cup of caf. He accepted. Like pretty much anyone who had to deal with Anakin on a daily basic, he’d developed a caffeine addiction.
Once everyone had finished arriving, Vetta inserted her datachip into the holotable console to kick off the meeting. It was the usual things: the rundown of the number of individuals and families saved from sentient trafficking in the past month and the follow-ups on the ones they’d help resettle and relocate. Then Costa Riggs, who was part of the intelligence side of things, stepped in to give a summary of the next leads.
“We’ve wind of a trafficking operation in the Dalaang sector. Hutt-led, we think it’s operating out of Nar Shadaa.” Costa hesitated, then looked at Vetta. “Our eyes on the ground reported seeing a vessel matching the description of the one that took your daughter and her friends.”