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Title: A Day in the Life of the Dark Lord

Author: Isis (msthoth@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Vader, OC's

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns all the IP from this work of fiction. I receive no monetary renumeration from it whatsoever.

Summary: Bast Castle Fiction Challenge. The title says it all.

The alarm went off. The Dark Lord didn't hear it. It got louder. The lone occupant of the enormous bed still didn't hear it. The volume of the beeping increased, and at last Vader heard it. Using the Force, he turned it off. What this meant was that he flung the small beeping object across the room to the opposite wall, where it smashed into little pieces.

Lord Darth Vader didn't do mornings. He always hated mornings. But there was one thing about most mornings that the Sith had no problem with at all: very often, it meant yet another opportunity to enjoy the affections of a concubine or other lover, before the day began. This morning, though, his bed was as empty as his stomach was, and that meant that there was not one redeeming characteristic about the start of this particular day.

Vader rolled over from his side to his back, and thought about what he knew was on his schedule today. Staff meeting in about an hour and a half, with Admiral Ozzel and his Merry Men. That sychophantic cretin, who was living proof that the evolutionary process occasionally ran backwards, was all that a Sith could stand any time, much less first thing in the morning.

Then there was the weekly call from his Master, the Emperor. The Dark Lord wondered if he was going to whine some more about the fact that the new Rebel base still hadn't been located and that there hadn't been any Jedi found for several months. Jedi were like Terran cochroaches, he liked to say. If you found one, that meant there were probably hundreds hiding out somewhere. They had to be exterminated, Palpatine constantly insisted. Lord Vader didn't mind doing that, he just didn't like to be nagged, and what the hell was it with the Emperor's obsession with Earth anyway? That planet was very far out of the Imperial domain, in a different galaxy in fact. Very far away. Far, far away.

Lovely planet though, he admitted to himself, as he relaxed with his durasteel hands clasped over his chest. Even lovelier women, some of the most attractive around. A smile curved the Sith's full lips. He had a few Terran concubines, and they were so sexual. Beautiful and sexy. Very, very sexy. He got carried away recently with one of them, and she accidentally broke her leg. He didn't mean for it to happen, felt awful about it, but she was mending well. He would visit her later today. The cast didn't slow her down much. In fact, it didn't slow her down at all. It slowed him down a little, though. He really wanted to take her again on the very large metal conference table in his private office, but that was how she broke her leg. Dangling from the light fixture while he licked the wonderful sweet juices that ran down her thigh as he fondled her. It had been her idea. Gods, what a woman!

Terran women. Precious gifts of the Force, some of them special delivery from the Dark Side. Terran women. Irresistible. Unforgettable. Creative. Very creative. Even Padme hadn't been lovelier and sexier, treacherous bitch.

Some days he wished she were alive, so he could kill her. Again.

Other days…well…that was why he had 26 concubines. And any number of more casual relationships.

Earth, Sol system, nine planets. Not that remarkable. His Imperial Highness didn't much care for women, and Lord Vader knew that there were more beautiful planets, closer to home, with more strategic possibilities than Terra. What was Palpatine's interest there? The Sith Apprentice did not know, and that bothered him a little.

After the call with his Master, there was the quarterly meeting with the Advisory Board from the Military Science Institute, to present their latest technologies. He was looking forward to that. Sometimes their inventions didn't have practical field applications, or just flat-out couldn't possibly work, but when they did come across with something that worked, it was pretty amazing. Often they had prototypes. The Dark Lord loved testing prototypes. Especially the weapons prototypes.

After the Ad Board meeting, he had to spend some time reading over the field and fleet intelligence reports, and then he would need to have a word with General Veers. The stormtroopers on the Executor were getting a bit out of hand. Vader caught them souping up the speeders and racing them inside the landing bays again. While the Dark Lord could sympathize, and he'd done his fair share of the same kind of thing in his day, it was only a matter of time before somebody crashed inside the bay and took out the entire force field landing grid. That would take the bay out of service for several days, and it was an unacceptable risk to accept for a bit of fun during off-hours.

They needed a battle. Perhaps the whole fleet did. Things had been just a little too quiet.

Vader sat up in his bed, lifted his durasteel legs and feet off it and onto the carpeted floor. As he did so an awful thought came into his head. Today was also the day he had an appointment with his physician. He'd almost forgotten about that. Regular checkup. His Master had already given him a great deal of grief about having missed his last two appointments, and if he missed this one…well, the Sith Apprentice just didn't want to think about that. Palpatine had an unnatural interest in the functioning of the Dark Lord's cybernetic and organic systems, and always read the doctor's reports with great interest. That wasn't too bad, but then he wanted to discuss them with his Apprentice. In excruciating detail. For hours and hours. Force take it, if he wanted to have that kind of conversation, why couldn't he have it with the doctor, and leave him out of it?

Vader stood up and poured himself a glass of water, and drank it down. Perhaps Palpatine did discuss the reports with the doctor. He frowned, brow furrowing. Yes, the Emperor must be discussing his case with his doctor, because every time the Dark Lord went for his physical, there was always some kind of new test or new procedure that hadn't been done before. It was usually painful and/or humiliating.

The doctor's appointment was scheduled in about fifteen minutes. Vader was going to be late, but so what? He was doing the doctor a favor just by showing up at all.

The Sith sighed and reached for his lifesuit. He was probably supposed to have fasted for the blood tests, so no meal before he had to leave for the infirmary. That would mean that he would have to face Ozzel and his executive officers with low blood sugar and an attitude from being poked and prodded by the local- what was it his little Terran concubine called it- witchdoctor?

So much the better. Nobody expected pleasantries and congeniality from a Sith Lord. They weren't going to get any, especially this morning.

Vader really wished he hadn't been so tired last night. A few kisses from one of his consorts might have made the morning a little easier to bear. He would have company tonight, but it was going to be a long morning.

The Dark Lord stalked down the corridors to the Infirmary, and it was a good thing they were empty. He was hungry. He was tired. He hated doctors. He hated medical droids. He hated his Master. He hated Admiral Ozzel. He hated Obi-Wan Fucking Kenobi, rotten miserable traitor Jedi bastard, for doing what he did to him and making this visit to his doctor necessary.

The Dark Side energies were flowing through him, and they felt WONDERFUL. It was just criminal that he would have to bank them down for at least an hour, while the doctor examined him. He couldn't hack the filthy quack into bite-sized pieces until after he'd discussed the test results with the Emperor. After that, all bets could be off, but it was always risky, executing his physicians. Some of them also attended his Master, and he never knew for sure which ones they were. It was yet another tactic Palpatine used in order to make sure that his Apprentice made, kept and continued his medical surveillance.

The Infirmary section doors opened themselves at Vader's approach. No one was there at the front desk either. That was a little odd, but maybe they saw him coming down the hall. It wasn't unusual for minions to run the other way, at his approach. He strode into the section that had been set aside for him, and into the airlock. After a few seconds, it opened and the Sith walked into the highly-pressurized, oxygen-rich atmosphere that was required for him to breath outside of his suit. He knew he was supposed to take off his lifesuit, breathmask and undergarments, so he did. As he was disconnecting the vocoder, the doctor walked in, followed by two medical droids.

This was a new doctor. He didn't look old enough to be attending either the Emperor or Lord Vader, not nearly senior enough in Imperial service. He'd better not be a substitute or a replacement. The nameplate on his white tunic said "Graner".

"Graner, where is Troppert?" Vader demanded.

"Admiral Troppert is attending his Imperial Highness, my lord. He asked me to do today's examination. Is that acceptable to you?"

The Sith frowned. No, it wasn't, but if Troppert was with Palpatine, it would probably have to be. "Let's get on with it," the Dark Lord replied, grumpily.

Major Graner had been warned that Lord Vader was a very difficult patient. Apparently, the warnings had been fully justified.

The routine examination didn't take very long. Blood tests, lung function tests, cardiac efficiency tests, neurological tests, brain scan, kidney and liver scans. The medical droids did them in less than ten minutes.

Graner took a cylindrical instrument, with a rounded tip, out of his pocket and made to approach the Dark Lord.

"Just what do you intend to do with that?" Vader growled.

The major swallowed hard. He'd been dreading this. "My lord, there is a colon and prostate check that needs to be performed. It's been a standard year since your last one."

"Nothing has changed in the last year, Doctor." This from the Dark Lord, in a tone that did not allow contradiction.

"We don't know that, Lord Vader. Admiral Troppert would be furious with me if I do not perform this test as part of your regular physical exam."

The Sith looked down his nose at Graner. No wonder Troppert decided to be out of reach during this physical exam. Vader recalled that he'd threatened to kill him if Troppert touched him with that instrument ever again.

"Graner, if you try to use that thing on me, I can assure that it will be the last thing you ever do with both your hands."

The young major swallowed hard.

"Admiral Troppert warned me that you might be…resistant… to allowing this test. So he sent me something to make this pleasanter for you."

The doctor pressed a button. The door opened. In walked a most handsome young man, with long reddish blonde hair that curled slightly as it touched his shoulders. He really was beautiful. He sort of looked like…like...

Lord Vader's beautiful blue eyes grew very wide for a moment, and then flashed lethal fire.

"Graner, whose idea was this?" he asked, slowly. Carefully. In a very controlled voice.

The beautiful young man smiled at the Sith seductively, the invitation in his aquamarine eyes explicit.

Major Graner, M.D., physician and member of the Imperial College of Surgeons and Medical Practitioners, had never been so frightened in his life. Troppert told him that Lord Darth Vader was not a morning person, that he hated his physical examinations, and that he particularly hated any invasive procedures. The Admiral had gone so far as to take his concerns to His Imperial Highness, who suggested that there might be a way to make this easier to tolerate for his Apprentice.

The Dark Lord had been a Jedi once, before their treachery was known and exposed. He'd had a Master in the Order. A Master he'd been quite fond of. More than a little fond of. A Master that, well, he'd been powerfully attracted to. The handsome young man that Graner had brought with him to the Executor had been found on a distant world. Thanks to a very few surgical alterations, he now demonstrated a strong resemblance to Lord Vader's former Master. He was a very rare being, very rare. As the Dark Lord would discover. If he was willing to find out for himself instead of refusing to take what was being offered.

"My lord," Graner replied, trying to sound more confident that he was feeling, "This young man is able to help you with your examination, to make it pleasanter. He is most unique in his abilities. His Imperial Highness himself had him brought here for you, and I strongly recommend that you permit him to assist you now. His name is Karesh. He cannot speak, but he is a telepath. He is also a powerful empath. He can feel another's physical experience as if it were his own, and is an excellent diagnostician. There are other things that are unusual about him, but I think you should discover them for yourself. If you permit him to examine you, I need not use the instrument that you take such exception to. If you will not, then I will have to do the colonoscopy and DRE. I'm sorry, but it is direct orders of the Emperor."

Lord Vader heard the doctor, but he couldn't stop looking at the young man. Karesh told him telepathically that he had no wish to force himself on the Sith, but that he could make the physical examination very pleasant, if he could be permitted to touch him. He was very respectful about it. The Dark Lord could also tell that the young man desired him.

Vader considered for a moment. He was hungry, tired, out of sorts, and he needed something to keep from killing Ozzel in the staff meeting in an hour. But this, frankly, was not what he had in mind.

There was a new concubine, one that had just arrived from Terra. Another redhead. This one was a magnificent morsel, a splendid specimen of womanhood: tall and strong. He had to take her from her husband and home at the point of his lightsaber, and even though she put up a hell of a fight, he thought she kind of liked the idea of going with him. However, between trying to solve one crisis after another over the last few days, he hadn't managed to spend any time with her. The staff officer in charge of the harem aboard ship told him yesterday that she was getting restive. She'd smashed eleven protocol droids that had come to wait on her, and she'd only been here three days.

Yikes.

He needed to work out some frustration. One hour. That wasn't much time. He didn't have any left for dalliances with beautiful young men when there were redheaded Terran women around to be serviced.

"Graner," said the Sith, "I simply don't have time for this. I have a meeting in one hour with Admiral Ozzel about fleet and troop deployments, and that is more important than this, er, examination. I will return late this afternoon, and we will complete it. Is that understood?"

The young doctor saw that he wasn't going to get anywhere arguing. Even naked, Lord Vader was frightening to cross. "Very well," agreed Graner.

Karesh smiled. He was patient. He could wait. Vader was going to have to do this exam, one way or another, or there would be hell to pay with the Emperor Palpatine.

Graner and Karesh left the room. The Dark Lord got dressed quickly and left the infirmary in record time.

As the Sith strode down the hallways, to his private area of the ship, he reflected. He had four concubines aboard the Executor, all of them from Terra. At first he thought it was a good idea; the girls would have each other to socialize with, to keep from getting bored or lonely. But if his new lady, Heather, was destroying droids already after three days, then maybe this idea wasn't working. He was going to have to look into the situation.

Unfortunately, there just didn't seem to be time right now. There was never enough time. Never.

Lord Vader's private section had very heavy, blast-proof doors, and a complex series of locks. They opened with a passcode, which was changed each week. The Dark Lord told himself that it wasn't to keep his concubines in; it was to keep his officers and men out. Rumors flew aboard ships, and Vader had heard some wild ones about the Sith Lord's harem girls. Most had not a word of truth to them. But there was obviously intense curiosity about the harem, and that always spelled trouble. He had all the security installed because he didn't want his ladies ogled by boorish Star Fleet commanders and stormtrooper clones. Melynda, in particular, would really hate that. He'd been neglecting her too. It was her night last night, to come to him, but he'd begged off at the last minute.

He really was tired, it was true, and he did need the rest, but he still wished he'd kept his appointment.

Melynda was one of his Dark Side gifts. She was very special to him.

Vader had already booked his precious Kelly into his schedule this evening, laid up with her cast. He arranged for her to be transported in an enclosed anti-grav sedan chair to his quarters. She was so adventurous; that time they did it in his especially- outfitted TIE fighter had been unforgettable. He could never be bored with her. She always amazed him. He was going to have to look after her a bit better, though. That fall from the ceiling was really unnecessary. He should have been paying more attention.

Kim was coming tomorrow night. She was fairly new also. She was stunning, very fair-haired and passionate. Their first night together had nearly killed him.

Of course, his first night with the concubine he liked to call the White Queen did require him to be resuscitated. She was not aboard the Executor. The White Queen lived on Coruscant, and even the Emperor didn't know who she was. Thank the Gods. Palpatine was never going to find her, never going to arrest her, never going to put his hands on her. She had been a Jedi. At one time. And she was his.

The Dark Lord had to override the passcode on the locks. He'd forgotten it again. Mostly, his ladies came to him and there was a private corridor connecting the harem to his quarters.

The doors opened. There was a shredded protocol droid lying on the floor. Vader wondered if this was going to be twelve, for his Heather. He pressed the doorchime to her quarters. The doors opened. She stood in the doorway.

"My lord," said the concubine, tossing her long red ringlets back from her shoulders and trying to sound both surprised and not particularly pleased at his arrival. It didn't fool him for a minute.

"My lady," he said, inclining his head. Forty-five minutes. He had forty-five minutes. "Is that the twelfth droid you've destroyed, laying on the floor back there?"

Heather looked a little sheepish. "I was trying to keep up with my lightsaber practice. I was practicing my swing."

Beneath his mask, Vader smiled. A woman after his own heart. "My dear," said he, "you mustn't use the protocol droids to practice on. I will take you to my private gymnasium, and you can do your work-outs on my specially-designed battle droids. I will scale down the programming on a dozen or so, and you can feel free to destroy them. If you can."

She smiled broadly. "Thank you, my lord. I would appreciate that very much." Heather looked down at her feet a little shyly. Yes, she was new, thought Lord Vader. Mel would have dispensed with the pleasantries by now and been sending him mental images that would be melting his underwear. Kim's seductive smile would have left him speechless, like a little boy with his first crush on a girl. Kelly would have given him some smart-ass remark and he would have been torn between spanking her hard or kissing her until she turned blue. He would have wound up doing both.

Forty-three minutes. About five of those needed for transit time to Ozzel's meeting. Perhaps five to seven to say a quick farewell and get out the doors. That left thirty-one minutes. Only thirty-one minutes, with a delicious Terran redhead.

That was just plain wrong.

The Sith reached out one gloved hand, grabbed the front of her robe and ripped it practically right off. As he did so, he activated his Force chimera of Anakin Skywalker.

"Forgive me, my sweet, but I have little time for niceties. I won't bore you with stories or excuses, but let's just say that I need this right now. You shall have plenty of opportunities for all the seduction you can stand, I promise you that. I always keep my word to my ladies. But now…it would be better if you didn't fight me this time."

Lord Vader lowered his head slightly towards his Heather, and gave her a blistering kiss. Heather's first response was shock at having her clothes ripped off, then anger at probably the lamest excuse for rape she'd ever heard, and then, well, she would have to say lust was what she ended up with. After a second or two, she returned his kiss, her hands traveling down his back to his slender hips. The Dark Lord entwined his hands in her hair, his tongue practically down her throat, and the two of them fell to the floor. A little bit harder than either of them expected. Heather actually did have the breath knocked out of her for a moment. The Sith didn't notice. He was too busy removing her undergarments, or rather tearing them into unusable pieces.

Vader wished he didn't have to use the Force chimera, but time, time was against him today. Heather had not seen him yet, as he really was. He sometimes lost concubines who couldn't live with the reality of his appearance. He truly hoped Heather wasn't going to be one of them. She'd wound her arms around him, holding him close, letting him hold and touch her. She didn't demand, and she didn't fight him, but when she surrendered her wonderful body to him, it was just as sweet as if he'd had to earn every privilege he got. She was as generous as she was strong and magnificent. As he released himself into her sweetness, his lips lingered on hers gratefully. His hand of flesh caressed her face, lingered on her soft ivory cheek.

"Thank you, my lady." Lord Vader whispered. "You probably saved someone's life today. I will send for you as soon as I can. Capitan Piette will contact you with instructions on how to find my gymnasium sometime today. Please don't chop up any more droids in the meantime."

Heather smiled into his eyes, and kissed his forehead. And with that, the Sith got up off her, resumed his real appearance and, with a slight bow, left her quarters.

Admiral Ozzel's ornate conference room, where Vader's first meeting of the day was to be held, was probably fifty meters away. The Dark Lord walked quickly. He felt much calmer, thanks to his lady. But he was hungry as hell now. After this meeting (and it had better be short) he was going to have to return to his quarters and take some of his nutritional supplements.

As he walked, he grew thoughtful. Not to mention light-headed. The Sith's full lips pursed into a tight line. Did he really have to be at this stupid meeting?

That young man with the doctor this morning, Karesh, who looked so like Obi-Wan. A much younger version of Obi-Wan. An Obi-Wan who was about the age his former Master had been, when the boy who was Anakin Skywalker entered puberty and developed his first crush. On Kenobi, of course.

That had been an unfortunate event in Vader's life. Obi-Wan had largely glossed over his apprentice's feelings, chosen not to deal with his awakening sexuality, brushed him off. Anakin had loved Padme since he first laid eyes on her, but he hadn't thought about her in that way; he didn't even know what that way was at that point. This realization wouldn't come until a few years later. The young Anakin had hardly known what his adolescent feelings were about or what they meant; he'd had no one to turn to, except Palpatine, for his information…not to mention support. When his Master had more or less ignored him and rejected him, he felt he had nowhere else to go.

Senator Palpatine couldn't have been more understanding and considerate with him. Anakin had always been grateful for that. Palpatine was kind and respectful in this situation, and it had been he that sat the young man down and give him the facts of life. And found him the pretty young daughter of one of his retainers, to be Anakin's first girlfriend. Anakin experienced his first kiss with her, at the age of 12. And shortly thereafter, the young Padawan of another Master had developed a bit of puppy love for him, and made some shy, hesitant overtures. At that point, Anakin discovered that he didn't mind the affections of his own sex, and was very alarmed

about it. Palpatine had come to the rescue of his protégé yet again, assuring Anakin that this wasn't abnormal and running interference for him with the rather upset Jedi Master of the afore-mentioned Padawan. Anakin pretty much grew out of his affinity for boys, and stuck with the girls, but he never quite got over Obi-Wan. Until Mustafar. Or so he thought.

Seeing Karesh, the very image of Kenobi as he'd been at about the age of 24 or 25, brought it all back. The rejection. The loneliness. The hurt of the lost young boy from Tatooine, with no father, no mother, and no home to comfort him as he grew into manhood. In the wake of Obi-Wan's cataclysmic and overwhelming rejection of him at Mustafar, Vader had completely forgotten this part of his life. It was an abominable distraction from the matters at hand.

The Dark Lord could not afford distractions like this. There simply wasn't time for them. No time, no time, despite the Dark energies they created.

Karesh was sent by his Imperial Master. He had to be a trap of some kind. A pneumonic one. Palpatine was trying to wake old memories. For what purpose? Vader didn't know. But he was probably going to find out.

The conference room was already pretty full when he arrived. The sight of all those officers, and the bland, unintelligent face of Ozzel made him a little ill. It nearly always did. It also made him grumpy. He wanted this meeting over and done with.

"Good Morning, my lord," said the obsequious twit of an Admiral. "I hope to make this meeting as short as possible, as I know you have a full schedule today." The Dark Lord thought he detected a slight smirk. He decided to ignore it. Ozzel could thank Heather right now that he wasn't lying on the floor nursing a crushed trachea.

"Get on with it, Admiral. I do have a full schedule, but it's no concern of yours. You called us here to discuss deployment of the fleet. I am curious as to why you wish to redeploy when we have no intelligence reports indicating any new rebel activity outside of this sector."

Ozzel drew himself up to his insignificant height. "His Imperial Highness is requesting redeployment to Dantooine. He believes the Rebels are there."

The Sith stuck his thumbs into his belt. It figured. Palpatine always thought he knew better. "Did you send a reconnaissance detachment to check it out?"

"Yes, my lord. The reports are downloaded to your office computer."

"Give me the short version," Vader ordered.

The Admiral cleared his throat. "Nothing conclusive."

Inside his breathmask, the Dark Lord frowned. "Did you share your reports with the Emperor?"

Ozzell nodded. "And he still wants us to redeploy to Dantooione?" Vader wondered what Palpatine was thinking. The flag officer nodded again, looking a bit pale.

Lord Vader seemed to sigh. "Then we must redeploy to Dantooine."

"But my lord," the Admiral pleaded, "if we do that, the Rebels we know are in this sector will began raiding the systems we've been guarding. His Imperial Highness' orders are explicit- we must redeploy the entire fleet to Dantooine immediately."

The Sith Apprentice realized that he'd been called to this meeting in order to intercede with his Master, to try to talk him out of something that appeared to be remarkably stupid. Palpatine may be a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Vader wondered if there was a reason behind this apparently nonsensical order or if he was just testing the loyalty of his commanders. He did that, from time to time. The Emperor was paranoid, but the Dark Lord forgave him for it. Often he wasn't paranoid, but prescient.

"I will discuss it with the Emperor today, and advise you if there are any changes to his order for redeployment." Ozzel nodded, gratitude in his pale, watery eyes.

What a specimen to be at the head of the Imperial Star Fleet. A political appointee, of course. Palpatine always had his reasons, but they eluded Lord Vader most of the time.

He turned around and strode out of the conference room. It had been a short meeting, alright, but it might be a long discussion with his Sith Master, in about an hour.

The corridors bisecting the ship, in the directions of his quarters, were beginning to have some traffic in them. It was mid-morning. Officers and droids and technicians were moving back and forth. As Lord Vader got closer to his section, there was less and less activity, until he got right in front of his doors. No one was around at all. They opened themselves at his approach, and he walked through them.

The large room was dominated by an enormous black spherical object, which was slightly opened around its circumference. As the Dark Lord walked up to it, the upper half raised itself all the way up, to allow him to go in and sit down. As soon as he did so, the top came down and the sphere sealed itself. Within a few minutes, enough pressurized and highly-oxygenated air pumped in to allow the Sith to breathe, and Vader could remove his helmet and breathmask. It only took a moment for the autochef inside his meditation sphere to prepare his nutritional support concoction, and Lord Vader reached out one gloved hand to take the glass from the autochef hatch. He drank it down quickly, as he pulled up the intelligence reports on the computer screen and began to read them.

The supplement stuff wasn't bad. This particular one had a slightly sweet, tangy taste to it. There was something to be said for being able to take one's meals very quickly and without any fuss.

It wasn't that Vader couldn't eat food that everyone else could. He could. He sometimes did. It was just that ordinary food didn't have the nutritional density he needed, to support the demands on his organic systems. The cybernetics didn't require nutritional support, of course, but in order for them to function optimally, the Sith's human organs needed to be at peak performance. The margins under which his combination body operated were very thin. One organ failing to meet cybernetic demands on it meant further stress on both it and the systems around it. Cybernetics weren't forgiving of occasional lapses. A liver failing to do its work within a few percentage points of optimal meant that his cardio-pulmonary cybernetics would have to up their performance levels. And demand more of their organic counterparts. Which then became stressed. And so on.

Sepsis had nearly killed the Dark Lord twice, both times due to not properly caring for his human components. Palpatine instituted the quarterly medical surveillance program on him after that, and began to meddle a lot more in his Apprentice's health issues than Vader thought was reasonable. And, occasionally, more than what he thought was acceptable. Just one more small humiliation for a once-healthy and vigorous young man to have to endure, in the service of his Imperial Master.

Learning to live as a cyborg had not been easy. He hated that word, cyborg. Knowing that his many scars and fleshless limbs made him hard to look at made it even more difficult. What he hated the most about this shell, this body he had to live in, was the fact that he couldn't breath unassisted.

He. Really. Hated. That.

The intelligence reports, he noted as he finished reading them, not only had nothing conclusive in them about the presence of a Rebel base, but they had hardly anything useful in them at all. Palpatine was well off the mark this time, unless he was picking up some kind of precognitive information.

The Dark Lord had the ability to sense the shape of the future, but he had his best luck with sensing the futures of those close to him. There had never been a large number of those in his life. He counted no Rebels among them.

Suddenly, a beeping noise sounded in front of him, and a flashing red light. The Emperor was calling him. He was a little early.

Quickly reassembling his helmet and breathmask, and pressurizing the lifesuit system, Vader opened the two halves of his meditation sphere and stepped out. There was a holographic projector pad right next to the sphere. He went to it and knelt on one knee, bowing his head reverently.

At once, a huge hologram of Palpatine appeared just above him.

"What is thy bidding, my Master?"

The Emperor lifted his hand. "Rise, my friend. This is just our weekly conversation. No need for such formality."

Of course, if the Sith Apprentice hadn't knelt and delivered the formulaic greeting, his Master would have castigated him for it. They both knew it. There were things about the Sith Order that were both illogical and absurd, but overall, the Dark Lord found more truth in their silliness then he ever had in the monstrous hypocrisy of the Jedi. So he tolerated it.

"I understand you had your physical today, Lord Vader. Of course the full test results won't be available for a couple of hours, but did Dr. Graner have anything preliminary to report?"

"No, my Master," Vader replied. "Nothing seems to have changed since the last examination."

"That's very good, my young Apprentice. I am pleased. What did you think of Karesh? Did he make some of the tests more, er, pleasant?"

Beneath his mask, the Dark Lord grimaced. "I didn't have the opportunity to discover whether he did or not, Master. I had a meeting with Admiral Ozzel this morning about redeployment of the Fleet, and had to leave before the testing was complete." Not wanting Palpatine to have a chance to chew him out over this issue, Vader hurried on. "The Admiral was most concerned about your rationale for moving the Fleet at this time, to Dantooine. I am curious about this too. Do you have some additional information that is not present in the reconnaissance reports we just received?"

The Sith Master was not so easily put off in his wrath. "I care nothing for Rebel activity, or the lack of it, near Dantooine. We both know it isn't there, and that isn't the point behind moving the Fleet. Your health is of far greater concern to me than this insignificant rebellion. I wish to hear no excuses for avoiding the maintenance of your health. I would have thought you would have figured that out the last time you skipped your quarterly examination."

Lord Vader swallowed hard. The Imperial punishment for missing a quarterly surveillance appointment was a complete laboratory work-up, which meant several hours of invasive procedures, and total maintenance servicing of all his cybernetic parts. On the same day. Without anesthesia.

"Yes, Master. I have arranged to return to the doctor this afternoon, after the Military Science Institute Advisory Board meeting."

Palpatine came close to pouting. The effect was pretty funny, actually. He looked like the Irish bulldog one of his Terran concubines bought with her to Bast Castle, last year. "Lord Vader, I can respect that it is necessary to pay attention to new military technologies, and I am appreciative that you have accepted the responsibility to meet with the Ad board in my stead. However, I will accept no excuses whatever for any neglect of your health. I will notify the Board members that they must reschedule their meeting for next month. I want you to proceed to your appointment with Dr. Graner immediately."

The Dark Lord bowed his head, his heart sinking. "Very well, Master."

The Emperor was all smiles after that. He loved getting his way better than anything, even though he pretty much got it all the time now. Bastard.

"I always appreciate our time together, my young Apprentice. I do hope that you will avail yourself of Karesh's services, although of course you are free to choose Dr. Graner's instruments instead. They are very unpleasant, I believe, but it is necessary to be thorough."

"Yes, Master," Vader said again. The idea of Karesh touching him had less and less appeal, the more he thought about it. He looked so like Obi-Wan, so very much like his old Master, before Kenobi grew that awful beard. He was so beautiful without it, but ultimately the man who had been Anakin Skywalker was grateful he had it. It made it that much easier to concentrate on his beloved Padme. It made him look so much older, so much like the respected General and Jedi Master, and his old Apprentice hated it for just that reason. Kenobi was not what he appeared. On any level.

The Sith Master was speaking again. "My friend, I'm moving the Fleet to flush out the Rebels that I know are in sectors neighboring to this one. They will think that I believed the subspace chatter that's been going around for months, about a base at Dantooine, and sent the Star Fleet on a wild bantha chase. I wish the deployment to be very brief, perhaps a couple of months or so. Ozzel does not need to know this. He just needs to obey his orders, and not ask questions. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." The Sith Apprentice felt like he was repeating himself like a scratched data disc. Then, all of a sudden, he felt defiance rising in him. No Sith just rolled over during a conflict, not even with his Master. "My lord, why did you feel it was necessary to surgically alter Karesh so that he resembles Obi-Wan Kenobi so closely? What could possibly be the point of that? Were you curious as to whether or not I still retained any feelings for him, after all these years?”

Vader paused for a moment. "I would find insulting the idea that you might think my loyalties were in any way divided."

Palpatine smiled broadly. Very good. His Apprentice wasn't a house pet. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker had barely been housebroken. He was expecting a moderately aggressive question like this, and would have been disappointed if he hadn't gotten one. "Nobody knows better than I do what the complexity of your feelings were for Kenobi. I didn't send Karesh to either confirm or disprove what I already know is true, but for you to find out for yourself how you feel. I encourage you to use this opportunity to explore your emotions."

Then the hologram of His Imperial Highness disappeared.

The Dark Lord was feeling kind of lost, all of a sudden.

He stepped off the holograph projector and turned to exit his quarters, with a great sweep of his black armorweave cape. He had his orders. As Vader walked back to the infirmary, not very quickly, he considered.

Karesh. Or the instruments. The Sith knew that, if his Master was encouraging him to take a course of action that ostensibly involved a choice, it meant that there was really no choice at all. Karesh now, or Karesh later, was the actual issue to be considered.

As Lord Vader approached the infirmary doors, he though glumly that he would have preferred the instruments. At least he knew what they would be doing, and why. No hidden purpose. No concealed traps. No dangerous memories. He stepped into the airlock, separating his dedicated medical wing from the rest of the facility. As it cycled, ramping up the atmospheric pressure and air mix to equalize with the rest of the area outside it, Vader tried to focus himself, center his emotions within the energies of the Dark Side.

The airlock door opened and the Dark Lord strode through it. Graner caught up with him just before he was to enter the examination room door.

"Thank you for returning so promptly, my lord," he said courteously. The Sith felt like hitting the man, but he didn't. Beneath his mask, he glared at the doctor.

Graner might not have been able to see it, but he felt his patient's hostility. To a large degree, he understood this man's feelings. Of course he knew little about Karesh and even less about his lordship's personal history, but he did know that the Emperor Palpatine never did anyone any favors.

"Karesh is waiting inside the room. I presume that you are willing to have his help with your examination?"

Vader waited a moment before replying. "Doctor Graner, you may need to return here in about half an hour. With an emergency medical kit."

With that, he walked into the examination room and the door closed behind him.

Graner shook his head. And walked away.

The Sith saw Karesh standing quietly next to the exam couch. He began to remove his helmet and breathmask. The young man who was the image of Obi-Wan Kenobi thought about going over to help the Dark Lord, but he could feel the hate and fear radiating off the tall black-robed figure. It would be better to let him disrobe by himself.

It didn't take long. As he completed his task, Karesh regarded his subject.

Two meters tall. Young. Terrible injuries, treated with exceptional medical skill. All that was human flesh was his torso. The thickly-lashed, startlingly-blue eyes looked at him with hatred glittering in their icy depths. Karesh could guess why. He knew Lord Vader's personal history. And the reason he'd been brought here to examine him. As he delicately contacted the Dark Lord's mind, he marveled at the strength of will, the extraordinary desire to survive, the mental toughness and tenacity that kept this man alive. It was time to do what he'd come here to do.

Vader's examiner approached him slowly. `I will need to touch you, my lord,' he told the Sith telepathically. `It would be better if you did not prevent me from doing what I must.'

The Emperor's Apprentice stood completely still, hardly breathing. The beautiful young man, who looked so like his old Master, stretched out one hand and laid it in the center of his chest. The hand drew itself slowly downwards, to his waist, and paused.

Karesh sensed the damaged heart, the ruined lungs, and the cybernetics that now did much of the work of these organs. Liver, spleen, pancreas, colon, all functioning within acceptable limits. For a human being about twenty years older than Lord Vader's actual age. The energies of his body were low, but the young man could feel that it was still capable of occasional spikes of astonishing power. It was as if there was a living memory, a cellular footprint, deep within the Sith, that remembered what he was and refused to let go of that power that once was his.

Karesh removed his hand, walked around to the rear of his subject. The Dark Lord's back had some severe scarring. He laid his hands, both of them, on Vader's shoulders. They were not exceptionally broad, but they were well-developed and strong. As he ran his hands down his spine, he picked up some wear on the vertebrae, some weakness in the kidneys. The man who looked so much like Obi-Wan moved his hands to rest on each hip, and they moved slowly and carefully back and forth.

The Sith Apprentice had been tolerant, but he was running out of patience. He'd read the thoughts of his examiner and learned little about his physical condition that he didn't already know. Now he could sense desire rising in Karesh. Those hands, resembling those of Kenobi, were lightly passing themselves over his rear, caressing him. Karesh's thoughts were tumbling over themselves, mingling medical diagnostics with sexual desire.

When Vader's examiner reached his hands around and placed themselves around the Dark Lord's penis, it was too much.

Darth Vader grabbed Karesh's hands and shoved them away, then whirled around to grasp the man's neck in one powerful durasteel hand.

"You take liberties, Karesh, to which you are not entitled," he growled, his blue eyes turning orange.

The Dark Lord's victim couldn't speak, but his aqua eyes pleaded, along with his thoughts. `My lord, I must touch you there, I must, or it is impossible to complete the examination.'

"You enjoy it too much, Karesh," Vader hissed, tightening his grip.

The young man was losing consciousness. The Sith's fingers tightened some more. With a loud, very gratifying cracking noise, Karesh's neck snapped and Vader let his body drop to the floor. He was dead.

As the Emperor's Apprentice looked down at the corpse, he felt a twinge of anxiety. His Master might be highly displeased that he'd killed Karesh. Or maybe he wouldn't be. It was difficult to know. Then he began to feel other emotions, as he looked at the dead man who looked so much like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He actually felt a bit of sadness. A tinge of regret. Then something began to gnaw at his insides. It was a very deep, visceral twisting. It sort of felt like…loss. Pain. Terrible, terrible anger.

Then something incredible happened. The body of Karesh began to move slightly. Vader had to stare fixedly at him for several seconds to be sure that this was actually happening. He was moving.

Impossible. This was impossible.

The Dark Lord's eyes became very wide and his mouth hung open, while he watched the young man slowly get himself up off the floor and stand again before him. Karesh was smiling slightly.

`My lord, I'm sorry that you feel that your…privacy…has been violated,' he telepathed.

The Sith was shocked speechless. Karesh was supposed to be dead. He'd heard the man's neck snap, felt the bones break.

The man who was the image of Obi-Wan took off his tunic, leaving his chest bare. It was beautifully developed, the skin looked wonderfully smooth and soft. As he smoothed his long reddish-blonde hair back from his face, his mind contacted Lord Vader's again.

`I am a member of an ancient race,' Karesh told his subject. `There are very, very few of us and we don't come from this galaxy. We are ageless immortals, from the edge of the universe. I have been alive for approximately half a million of your standard years.

`In all that time I have learned and experienced much, but one truth in particular I will share with you now. Life and love are the most precious things there are. Throwing either one away without careful thought is unworthy of a sentient being.'

Lord Vader blinked rapidly. Gods. An immortal. He'd never heard of such a race, never knew such beings could exist. And then it hit him: this being was the image of Obi-Wan Kenobi-- one that would never die. The Emperor would use this being to ensure that Vader had no peace from his memories of his old Master. Never, as long as he lived. Which, for Karesh, would be only as brief as the twinkling of a star against the background of space. Vader, all of a sudden, felt completely insignificant. And very vulnerable.

The beautiful half-naked immortal approached the Sith Lord again, slowly and gently placing his hands on Vader's chest. As they caressed him, the man who had been Anakin Skywalker felt his heart beat faster, perspiration begin to form on his brow. Karesh leaned forward and kissed his left breast very softly. `Relax,' he told the Dark Lord's mind,' Relax and enjoy this.' Then, he put his arms around his subject, and held him very close.

The being who looked like Vader's old Jedi Master could feel his subject's heart beating fast, and very efficiently. The human organ and cybernetic supports worked very well together. Beneath the fog of desire that was descending around his mind, Karesh could sense also Dark energies rising equally fast. Vader's life energies were also spiking. The immortal wanted to see how high he could raise them, and hopefully find out where they bottomed out as well. That would tell give him an idea of the Sith's overall strength.

Karesh raised his head to look at Lord Vader. Orange eyes flashing, the Emperor's Apprentice lowered his head to the young man who resembled Obi-Wan, and they kissed hotly.

The immortal being was amazed at the Sith Lord's passion. It was incredible. His life energies were so strongly peaking that Karesh had never felt anything like them before, from any living thing that was not an immortal. They continued to kiss each other, Vader melting into Karesh's arms.

Yet, the being who resembled Obi-Wan Kenobi was not here to seduce the Dark Lord. He was only here to test him. At least, at this point. Slowly, gently, he withdrew from the Sith's embrace. He could feel the life energies dropping, dropping, as his body resumed it's normal state. It took only a short time. There was a mild trough, before resuming baseline levels. In a few moments, he'd resumed a resting state.

Lord Vader's life energy strength was still very considerable, the immortal concluded. If he had not had such terrible injuries, suffered such crushing heartbreak that so damaged the engines of his life energies, he would have been near an immortal himself.

Such a tragedy, thought Karesh. But the Dark Lord had at least known what most beings in the universe would never experience. And he could still feel, even yet, in its undistorted form, the rhythm of Life that created and sustained all that was.

`My lord, I congratulate you,' the immortal being told his subject telepathically. `Your health is very good. You have great potential for further healing. You should be pleased with yourself; you are an awe-inspiring being. Even I am impressed. It was a pleasure sharing energies with you.'

With that, the man who looked resembled Vader's old Jedi Master, who had inflicted such agony on his former Apprentice, inclined his head respectfully. And then he left the room.

Darth Vader's emotions tumbled together in confusion. Rage predominated, and he didn't know why. The anger felt centering, felt empowering, but it had a sour taste and feel to it too. The Sith didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.

He knew what he needed. Melynda. He needed Melynda.

So he resumed his lifesuit, helmet and breathmask, strode out of the infirmary, and went out to find her.

Lord Vader walked very, very quickly, his long stride making the distance disappear between the Infirmary and his quarters. Taking the private passage through his quarters to the harem was the fastest way. Also, he was in such a state that he would probably have taken his lightsaber to the entrance doors. He'd already forgotten the security code and bypassed the locks once today. A bypass wouldn't work twice in the same diurnal period.

Dark thoughts roiled through his mind as he went. The past was dead, dead as Padme, dismembered as his body, destroyed as the Jedi. Palpatine's pathetic attempt to revive the shards of his memories was as disgusting as it was misguided. He was incensed. He was insulted. He was outraged. His Master constantly violated his privacy in almost every conceivable way, from the intolerable micromanagement of his physical health to the execrable manipulations of his emotions. A Sith Apprentice was not required to accept this kind of treatment. He wasn't a pet. He wasn't a child. He wasn't a woman.

Palpatine constantly forgot that he wasn't a woman.

Durasteel hands clenched themselves convulsively. Why send Karesh to torment him? To prove that Obi-Wan Kenobi was no longer in the Dark Lord's thoughts, except for the virulent hatred that had grown up at Mustafar, like corpse-pale blossoms-- the flowers of Death?

He had not loved Kenobi, never loved him. Never. Never.

Never.

The double doors of his quarters just barely got out of his way fast enough as he walked through them.

The private entrance to his harem was in his bedroom, though a concealed panel in one wall. It would open automatically, if Vader stood in front of it for ten seconds.

The ten seconds it took for the panel to open seemed like they took ten hours.

The hallway the panel revealed was dimly lit with sconces mounted about halfway up the walls, every meter or so. The darkness calmed him a little. At least it matched his thoughts. After a moment he gained the threshold of the harem, and the reception area. There was a large fountain that took up most of one wall, the effect like an artificial waterfall. The foaming water at the bottom of the long narrow pool seemed to reflect his feelings. The space inside the harem had been especially designed to soothe, and it did its job. The beautiful Terran women who lived there were there to service him.

And today they would do their job.

Lord Vader strode up to the door that was the entrance to Melynda's quarters and it immediately opened.

Melynda had a feeling he might be coming. She knew Heather had been visited already, fairly early this morning. She didn't think it had anything to do with the collection of diced protocol droids that had been littering the common areas of the harem over the last three days. The visit took far too long for that. Vader could have solved that problem with a quick but firm vidcall. It was probably shaping up to be a bad day for her lord. He needed an outlet for his frustration.

Now he had come to her, and it wasn't yet noon. It must be a very bad day.

He'd come to her as he always did, when things weren't going well, for a sense of perspective. It was an important part of what she did for him. Melynda looked at him coolly with her almond-shaped blue eyes, as he stood in her sitting room like a supersized gargoyle. Then she let him have it.

"So your Master, and/or your senior staff, have been pissing you off again. And this has what to do with me?"

Beneath his mask, the Dark Lord's full lips pursed into a twisted smile. He could always rely on his Melynda.

"I'm not your sister, I'm not your mother, and I'm not your friend. If you have some kind of problem, if you're thinking of confession, or if you're looking for absolution, find a priest. If you've come here for something else, fine. I'll set the atmospheric controls and we can get on with it. Talk is for lovers, my lord. That isn't what we are."

Vader lunged at her, grabbing her upper arms and pinning her body against the nearest wall in less than two seconds. "No, we aren't lovers," the Sith Lord snarled, his hands bruising her triceps. "I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten that."

The Dark Lord snatched her to him, one gloved hand un-gently fondling her ass, kneading it. The sound of his respirator grew more rapid in its intervals as he felt his way around her body. Melynda raised one leg up to rest on his waist, being careful not to press against the control on his belt. Vader's other hand grasped her thigh, to support it as it rested there. His other hand encircled her waist, pulled her closer. Melynda's hand reached up to her blouse, began to unbutton it for him. When she had it completely undone, the whole of her chest exposed, Vader moved the hand around her waist over to fondle her breasts, the leather of the glove teasing her nipples into hardness. Melynda pressed her body closer to him with the muscles of her leg, one arm trying to hold onto him as he caressed her.

"My lady, " he said heavily, the respirator making it sound even sexier, "you have no idea how beautiful you are to me."

"Shut up," Melynda ordered, lust almost completely taking over her consciousness. "Shut up and kiss me."

The Sith hauled her over to the nearest couch, but didn't lay her on it. He laid her across the low, wide back of it. "No, my lady, I'm not going to kiss you," he sneered electronically, "Kisses are for lovers. That's not what we are."

Vader was pulling up her skirt, one gloved hand reaching up to fondle her sex beneath her lacy red panties. They were a new confection of Chantilly and satin. Melynda moaned as he touched her; she was already so wet and distracted that she scarcely heard a word he said.

The Dark Lord knew it. He ripped the underwear off her, massaged her mound harder, almost roughly. "Are we, my lady?" he demanded. "Are we lovers?"

She couldn't think anymore. All she wanted was to have him inside her. Right now. He could call it whatever he liked. Vader inserted one gloved finger into her, his thumb pressing against her clit, teasing it. It was all Melynda could do to keep from shrieking. She moaned, instead. "What?" the Sith asked, mockingly. "What did you say?"

"Lovers," Melynda whispered, arching herself into his hand. He inserted another finger, pushing hard, searching for the sweet spot that he knew was there. She moaned again. Ah, there it was. "Did you say something, my lady?" he inquired sarcastically, his other hand on one full breast, teasing the sensitive nipple some more--none too gently.

"I can't hear you. Did you say that we were lovers?"

"YES!" she shrieked. He rammed her G spot then, her entire womb throbbing as she came at his touch.

As she started to come down, panting, Lord Vader lowered his head until the awful breathmask was just centimeters from Melynda's delicate face. "No, Melynda, we aren't lovers," he said softly. "We can't be lovers. You've given me no love token."

He steadied her on the back of the couch with one durasteel hand, and with the other, he draw his lightsaber. Igniting it, he bent over her. "Don't move," he warned sternly. "Don't move at all. Lie perfectly still."

The red blade hovered over her head, blade humming ominously, and Melynda would have been lying to herself if she didn't admit that she was just a little frightened. The Sith picked up one dark ringlet of her hair, held it up, and with his saber, cut off about five centimeters. Then he turned the saber off and put it back on his belt.

The Dark Lord ripped a small piece of the couch's upholstery off and wrapped Melynda's hair in it, carefully. Then he stuffed it inside his boot.

"Now we are lovers," he said calmly. Then, without another word, Lord Darth Vader turned around and walked out of Melynda's quarters.

It didn't take longer than twenty seconds for her to wonder where her love token was.

Vader felt calmer as he took the private passage from the harem back to his quarters. Much calmer. If he could just be left in peace for a couple of hours, he might be able to get some work done today. He thought he could concentrate much more effectively now. Things didn't seem so confused and convoluted. Melynda had a wonderful way of being able to put things into perspective for him.

The Dark Lord walked back through his bedroom and returned to his meditation sphere, where it was much more comfortable for him to work. As soon as he sat down and prepared to close the seals, he saw it. The flashing red light that indicated that his Master wanted to speak to him. Again.

Reluctantly, Vader got up and returned to his holograph projector pad. He knelt, bowed his head. After about thirty seconds, the huge digitally-created, rather ghostly image of the Emperor appeared in front of him.

"What is thy bidding, my Master?"

"I understand that you have completed your medical examination, my friend. Karesh transmitted his report to me about an hour ago."

"Yes, Master," the Sith replied, wondering what this was all about. Palpatine sounded a little bit…unsure. That was unusual. It sounded like he was fishing for information.

"He says that your health is very good, Lord Vader. Apart from the issues we already know about, there is nothing new to report and in fact, he is impressed with the strength of your life energies."

There didn't appear to be an inquiry there for him to address, so Vader was silent. After a moment, his Master continued, still trying to draw him out.

"Was there something you wished to discuss with me, my young Apprentice?"

"What do you mean, my lord?" The Dark Lord wasn't going to help his Master pry into his personal affairs. Palpatine was in waist-deep in his business all the time was it was.

The Imperial image seemed to dip lower, so it appeared to lean closer to the kneeling Sith. "Don't be evasive. You know what I mean."

"No, Master. I don't know what you mean."

Palpatine sighed. "You asked me before why I had Karesh altered to resemble Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I told you that I wanted you to explore your emotions with regard to your old Master. I would like to know what you discovered."

Beneath his mask, Vader's lips curled in a silent smirk. "But Master, I thought you already knew what my feelings were. Or so you said."

His Apprentice was being very irritating. He could be like that, when he was feeling sure of himself. He'd hoped Karesh would unnerve him, or at least derange his emotional state, but Vader didn't seem to be at all unsettled. How was that possible? "I want to hear it from you, Lord Vader. I want to know how encountering him affected you."

Telling his Master anything about his time with Karesh was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew Palpatine would not be fobbed off with something vague. It also made him wonder just how much the Emperor thought he knew. Maybe it was time to draw *him* out a little.

The Dark Lord shrugged. "It was disconcerting, at first. I didn't enjoy his examination of my genitals. Then I killed him. Or tried to."

The Sith Master smiled. Homicidal rage was a fine reaction, just what he hoped for. "So you found out Karesh was an immortal. How did that knowledge affect you?"

"I was disappointed that he wasn't dead, Master." This delivered in a completely flat, neutral tone. The vocoder carried this expression even better than his natural voice, Vader reflected. There was something good about that apparatus after all. And that was interesting; Karesh hadn't made mention of the incident in his report to the Emperor.

There was absolutely no reason why Palpatine needed to know anything about the subsequent events with Karesh. No reason at all. Apparent Karesh didn't think the Sith Master needed to know either. Humph. The Dark Lord wondered if he might owe the immortal a favor.

*That* worried him a little. He didn't like owing anyone any favors.

From the opulence of the private audience chamber of the Emperor, far away on Coruscant, in the atmosphere of servility granted by absolute power, Palpatine sensed that his Apprentice was hiding something from him. That wasn't surprising; Vader was a Sith and there was always tension between a Sith Master and his Apprentice. A certain amount of deception was normal, even expected. But deception over this felt deeply strange, potentially dangerous. He couldn't put his finger on why this should be, but it bothered him. Bothered the Emperor a great deal.

Karesh's report had been brief, strictly related to Vader's medical issues, his general health, and nothing more. It hadn't mentioned the Dark Lord's attempt to kill him, but Palpatine had expected something like that to happen. Vader hated Kenobi. Vader hated being poked and prodded in medical examinations. Vader wasn't famous for patient submission to anything. It was almost certain that his Apprentice would try something like that. The Emperor was expecting more than bland disappointment, though, in failing to kill his victim, who resembled so closely the former Master he hated so much. Why wasn't he getting it? He thought he knew his Apprentice rather well. Very well, in fact.

The Dark Lord knelt placidly on his holographic pedestal, far away on the Executor, which was heading to Dantooine at that very moment. In the Imperial private audience chamber, Vader's doppelganger also simulated his respect and devotion to his Master. For reasons that Palpatine was not sure of, it felt like he was being betrayed. Twice. Well, betrayal was the way of the Sith. In the private quarters of Lord Darth Vader, looming high over his head, the image of the Emperor bent over his Apprentice, as it also did in the Galactic Ruler's small private office. Palpatine had been a Sith Master for many years now. He knew how to deal with betrayal and treachery in an Apprentice, but it was important to let the evil flora grow for a while, sub rosa, before cutting them from the ground. It made the lessons that much more meaningful.

"Well then, my friend," said his Imperial Highness, "I will leave you to your work, then. Until our next meeting." The ghostly image passed his hand over the kneeling Dark Lord. And then it disappeared.

Lord Vader rose from the holographic pedestal, and returned to his meditation sphere.

As he activated the seals and the chamber began to pressurize, the Sith Apprentice considered his conversation with his Master. Palpatine was no doubt suspicious of him now, which was normal because his Emperor was paranoid. This, though, might be a bit more than the ordinary run of psychosis. Palpatine had been right in thinking that Karesh's presence would awaken old memories and strong feelings; the Dark Lord had been truly unnerved. He just didn't want to discuss any of his feelings with his Master, and the immortal had fixed it so that he didn't have to if he didn't want to. It appeared that he definitely did owe him a favor.

What could he want? What would an immortal being, who had been alive for half a million years, want from a Sith Lord?

Vader did not know. He didn't think it was sex. Maybe it was release from Palpatine's service. It could also be that Karesh wanted something more tangible.

The apparatus at the top of the chamber came down and removed his helmet and breathmask. When it finished, the Dark Lord took his carefully wrapped love token from Melynda out of his boot and laid it on his console. He'd have to find a better method of keeping this bit of his lady with him than putting it in his clothing. He also reminded himself that he ought to give her a token of his own. This, however, presented a problem.

He didn't have much hair to speak of. There really wasn't a whole lot of himself that he could give.

Melynda wasn't a romantic, thank the gods, but she knew all about quid pro quo.

Without being aware of it, the Sith slumped a little in his chair. What could he give her? He'd given Padme a gift once, a piece of japoor that he'd carved as a good luck charm. That seemed like a lifetime ago. He'd been another man then, a much more gullible man. Lord Darth Vader was well beyond such things as charms and tokens now. Or so he thought. He didn't really know why he took a love token from Melynda.

It was probably because she would never have just given him one. He would have had to take it by force. He took it because he could.

It seemed ironic to him to consider that, when he was a Jedi, he'd possessed nothing and had no power over his own life—yet as a Sith, he was possessed of incredible wealth in credit, property and other things, but he still had no power over his own life. And nothing of personal value that he could give to a mistress. His Masters still controlled him completely, or tried to. Possessions had never been part of the equation. Another Jedi fiction, he thought, lips curling into a sneer. They said possessions were things to be avoided. How stupid. They weren't ties that hampered action and led to wasteful desire; their problem was that they were largely irrelevant. That was the only problem with them. Other than that, possessions weren't bad at all.

Yet the only thing he ever wanted was his freedom, and if freedom was a possession, then it was the only one that mattered, and the only one it seemed he couldn't have. His Masters and his Order continually held it over his head, keeping it just out of reach, as they had done all this life.

His Masters. Palpatine. Obi-Wan. One had saved his life, while the other nearly ended it. Vader closed his eyes, recalling that horrible encounter at Mustafar—something he seldom did. The rage. The hate. The unspeakable agony. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker, lying in pieces on the black glass sand. Had Kenobi been unable to finish what he started? Or unwilling? Vader couldn't believe that Jedi scruples alone were the deciding factor. Kenobi had no right to claim he had any scruples, after he'd done. Hypocrite. Jedi. Traitor.

Murderer.

How could Obi-Wan do it, the Dark Lord raged to himself suddenly, durasteel fists clenching in anger and pain. How was it possible? How could it be that after all those years together, after the many times he's saved his old Master's life, when Kenobi had been the closest thing he'd ever had to a father, he could coldly hack him to pieces and leave him for dead. On a hell-like planet, far away. And not look back. Not even once. Not even one last time. He just left him there. Helpless. Dying. Alone.

Lord Vader did not know he was weeping until the tears began to run down his cheeks, until their large salty drops hit his lifesuit with a soft, melancholy plunk. He did not wipe them away. He wasn't crying over Obi-Wan. Not at all. No, he wasn't. No, he certainly was not.

A light began to flash on his console. This one was blue. It meant that someone was requesting permission to enter his quarters. The Dark Lord didn't want to see anyone, but this might be important. Using his computer tie-in to the security system, he checked the cameras outside his door. It was Karesh.

The Sith owed him a favor. Maybe the immortal had come to collect it.

Vader pressed the button on his console that opened the entrance door to his chambers. Then he resumed his breathmask and helmet, and opened the meditation pod’s sphere. About halfway, one meter. Swiveling his chair around to face the being who had just entered, he spoke peremptorily.

"What is it, Karesh?" he asked.

The man who looked so like Obi-Wan smiled gently. The Dark Lord gulped just a little bit. The immortal had Kenobi's smile too. He hadn't noticed that before.

"I've come to take my leave of your lordship. The Emperor just informed me that my services are no longer required."

Vader was feeling so many emotions that he didn't know what to think or what to say. "I see," he replied noncommittally, after a moment.

The man spoke again, directly into the Dark Lord's mind. "I can sense that there is much inner turmoil in you, my lord. Do you want to talk about it?"

The Sith shook his head. Much to his chagrin, he'd begun to cry again, inside the breathmask.

Karesh could feel Vader's pain, knew of his tears. He had a favor to ask. And he had one that he could give, if Lord Vader would take it. He was an immortal; his race paid their debts.

"My lord, may I join you in your pressurized environment? I would like to see your face one more time. I ask it as a favor, before I go."

So this was the favor he wanted, thought the Sith. As favors went, this was not a difficult one to grant. He pressed a button, and the top of the sphere raised about one meter higher. The immortal who looked so much like Obi-Wan entered it and Vader shut it again, sealing them inside. Rapidly, the sphere pressurized. The meditation chamber wasn't intended to be occupied by more than one person, so Karesh had to find somewhere to sit that wasn't on top of a control or a computer system. It wasn't easy, but he found one. The Dark Lord swiveled his chair around to face his guest. With the touch of another button, a mechanical arm came down once more and removed the helmet and breathmask, disconnected the vocoder. After a few moments, the scarred face of Lord Vader was revealed to the immortal being.

Karesh could see that the Sith's cheeks were wet, his long lashes damp, his blue-green eyes tinged with red. He looked at his former subject with great compassion. So much pain. So much ruin. So much betrayal.

"Thank you for granting the favor, my lord," he sent. The Dark Lord inclined his head politely. The immortal crossed his arms over his chest, and looked into Vader's eyes with his own azure ones. "I have something that I can give to you, if you wish it."

"Then I would owe you another favor," replied the Emperor's Apprentice.

"Would that be so terrible?" Karesh was smiling again, as his mind telepathed his amusement.

Lord Vader smiled himself at that. "That would depend on what it was. And if I can afford it."

The immortal stopped smiling and looked at the Sith with great seriousness. "I would accept the tears on your cheeks as payment, if you accept what I would like to give you in return."

"Very well," said the Sith. "I know I can rely on your discretion." That was both a statement of fact and a thinly-veiled threat.

The being who looked like Obi-Wan Kenobi took a small piece of white gauze from the pocket of his trousers, and leaned forward. Gently, almost tenderly, Karesh wiped the tears of the Dark Lord away, and put the cloth back into his pocket.

"Thank you again, my lord," he telepathed, "Very, very few know this, but those of my kind are able to heal mortal beings, if they wish to be healed. I cannot heal all of your wounds, as they are too many and too grievous, but I can erase one of them completely. Again, if you truly wish it."

Lord Vader leaned back in his chair. He could hardly believe his ears. He'd tried many times, through careful and intense meditation through the Dark Side to heal himself, but never succeeded. How could Karesh succeed where he had so spectacularly failed?

"Would you allow me to attempt it?" The immortal asked him mentally.

The Sith nodded in agreement. "What would you like me to do?" the being asked.

"I would like to be able to breathe without the need of cybernetic assistance," Vader replied. "Ordinary air, standard pressure."

Karesh smiled. He thought the Dark Lord might ask that. He was ready. But the real question was: was Vader? The immortal wasn't all that sure.

"Have you tried before, to heal yourself?" Vader's guest asked him.

"Yes," the Sith replied. "Many times."

The man who looked like Kenobi seemed pensive. "That may mean, " he telepathed, "that some part of you is not ready to be healed in that area. If you will not permit it, my efforts will not succeed. Do you have an alternate area you would like me to concentrate on?"

The Dark Lord frowned. He wondered if this was a silly game by a half- million-year-old being who liked baiting foolish mortals. But all he was getting were a few tears for his trouble. That was all he asked for. If this was a game, it was an absurd one, for little gain. "If you can't heal my lungs, then heal what you will. As you say, I have many wounds."

Karesh unfolded his arms and stood up. "I will do what I can," he sent. "Please close your eyes and sit still."

The Sith complied. The immortal bent over the wounded man, and placed one hand gently on both cheeks. The hands moved down slowly, cradled his jaw. Then, the man who looked so much like Obi-Wan leaned over and kissed Vader's full red lips. Gently, gently.

The Dark Lord groaned and parted them, seeking greater contact with his healer's mouth. Karesh leaned forward even more, and, as he kissed him, exhaled pure energy into Lord Vader's mouth and down into his lungs. At that point, the Sith fainted.

The immortal straightened again, keeping his hands on Vader's face. As he stroked the scarred visage, one by one, the marks of fire and sword vanished, leaving smooth, pale flesh behind. The scalp healed as well, ready to support the re-growth of the golden brown locks that Anakin Skywalker had secretly been proud of. Lord Vader's face was beautiful to look upon once more.

He didn't know how much function had been restored to his subject's lungs, but at least he'd done this small healing, It was a very small thing, Karesh thought to himself, but sometimes the restoration of one little thing helped make larger ones possible. The man who was Darth Vader had once known a small amount of innocent vanity about his handsome-ness; knowing that he was hard to look upon now caused him pain. It also mocked his wish for healing other wounds that were not as visible.

The Sith was still passed out. Karesh needed to leave the ship. The Imperial eviction notice was explicit: the immortal had to be off the Executor in four hours. He figured all the haste was due to the fact that the Emperor's plan to test his Apprentice with a replica of his old Master hadn't gone the way he hoped. Karesh smiled at his thought. Mortal beings loved to be able to predict outcomes, but success or failure were always moving targets, even when predictions came true. There was such a thing as succeeding too well.

The immortal who looked so much like Vader's old Master needed to find out how much function had been restored to his subject's lungs before he breached the seals of the meditation sphere. In order to do that, he would either have to touch his chest or kiss him again.

Karesh gently shook the Dark Lord. He was out cold. The immortal shook him a bit less gently. No response. One more time. Nothing. He examined the front of Vader's lifesuit, tried to see how it came off. It wasn't difficult to unfasten, but he couldn't get the suit off without taking off the armor, and he couldn't take the armor off without taking the Sith's cape off. And he couldn't take the cape off because the chain that held it on was too tightly pressed against the armor plating of his shoulders. He couldn't get his fingers in between the chain and the armor. Also, Vader was sitting on the great black cape, which was itself armorweave and very heavy. The Dark Lord himself was too large to move without assistance.

He was running out of time. Karesh had to find out right now if he was putting his subject at risk by breaching the hyperbaric oxygen chamber. The immortal leaned over, placing one knee on the side of Vader's right leg. Gently taking the newly-healed face in his hands once more, Karesh placed his lips over the Sith's and kissed him, a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Vader wasn't stirring into consciousness. His healer needed him to take at least one deep breath, needed to feel the air coming from his lungs. Karesh escalated his efforts, kissing the Dark Lord very passionately, forcing his lips open wider, exploring his mouth with his tongue; a long, sensual kiss that effectively cut off his oxygen supply. Vader began to stir, not more than half-aware. The Sith's arms raised, crushed his companion to him, began to kiss him back. His eyes were still closed; with a soft moan he opened his mouth even wider, and took a deep breath. Then sighed it out in a scorching kiss.

He felt…very strange. Lord Vader's eyes opened. The image of Obi-Wan Kenobi was hovering over him. He felt very disorientated, immediately broke off his kiss. "Obi-Wan," Vader whispered softly, still confused and semi-conscious. "You came back. You didn't leave. I knew you wouldn't really go. You came back for me." Before Karesh could do anything to prevent it, the Emperor's Apprentice hauled him even closer into his arms, in a loving, fraternal embrace. Holding him so tightly that it felt like he would never let him go. The Dark Lord kissed his temple softly, one hand behind his head, the other around his back.

Tears welled up in the immortal's eyes as he hugged himself tightly to his subject. His healing of the Sith's lungs had not been very successful. Some function had been restored, the damage lessened, but it was clear that it wasn't simply that the alveoli were destroyed. It was Vader's heart that had been broken, and the damage had spread, throughout his body. It would never, ever heal until Vader could let go of his pain and make peace with his past. A Sith Lord could not do that, and remain a Sith. It wasn't hopeless, the immortal knew that nothing was ever completely hopeless, but it would be a long time before Lord Darth Vader could bring himself out of the Darkness. Until he could, there would be no more healing.

As the Dark Lord held his companion close to him, he gradually came to his senses and recalled what had happened. He released his healer, and Karesh got himself off the Sith's lap. "Your lungs have improved, but not as much as I hoped," the immortal telepathed to his subject. "You can probably survive an hour, maybe two, without the hyperbaric oxygen environment, but not on a permanent basis. I'm sorry." Vader nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I need to leave now, my lord," Karesh told him. "The Emperor wants me off the ship. I have one hour to vacate." The Dark Lord nodded again. "I was able to heal some small things," the man who looked like Obi-Wan Kenobi said. "I hope that this improves the quality of your life."

With a press of a button, and whirr of machinery, a mechanical arm came down and replaced the Sith's helmet and breathmask. Then Vader operated the controls that opened the meditation chamber. Karesh stepped out, faced the Emperor's Apprentice once more. "My kind don't believe in final partings," he sent to the Dark Lord. "In our philosophy, all things return in time. You may see me again. Until then, be well."

With that, the immortal bowed his head respectfully, turned and walked out of Lord Vader's quarters, sparing one last look over his shoulder before the doors closed. Then, he walked quickly down the hall towards the docking bay. He had an errand to run before he left the galaxy, and returned home to his people.

The Dark Lord's feelings were in great turmoil.

He sincerely hoped he wouldn't hear from his Master again today. In his present frame of mind, he would probably do something he'd never done before. He would refuse to take the Imperial call.

Kelly was a little depressed, more or less stuck in her quarters with her broken leg and a serious case of boredom. She missed her lord. She missed her regular exercise. One of Lord Vader's flight officers was teaching her how to pilot a TIE fighter, but with her leg in a cast, she couldn't get in and out of the cockpit. Six weeks in the cast, and this was only the third week. She wondered how she was going to manage to keep herself from going mad.

Vader had arranged to bring her to him this evening. With the cast, she couldn't walk very far and the private passage that led from the harem to her lover's quarters was too narrow to accommodate the little power-chair her doctor arranged for her to use.

It was time. The sedan pulled up to her quarters. It was a very small four-wheeled vehicle, enclosed on all sides with reflective glass, to shield her from prying eyes. As Kelly came out her door, she saw a handsome, strongly-built young lieutenant holding the door of the vehicle open for her. The space inside it looked small. It was going to be a challenge getting it. But between the two of them, they managed. He got her power chair inside the car also, although Kelly had no idea how he did it.

The vehicle pulled up to Lord Vader's quarters a short time later. Kelly wriggled out, with the assistance of the lieutenant. The cast went all the way up to her mid-thigh, and although not as bulky as Terran plaster-of-Paris varieties, it did hamper a lot of activities. The long skirt she'd worn was slit up the same side as her casted leg, but Kelly had to cut the slit up even higher in order to be able to move around. It was now a mere handful of centimeters below her hip. The young Terran concubine hadn't attempted to wear sexy underwear. She solved that problem by dispensing with it altogether. But it was quite difficult to struggle out of the vehicle without giving her escort a view of far more than she wanted him to see.

She finally made it out of the little car, a little tousled, but that was all. She thought her young lieutenant was smirking just a little at her repeated attempts to pull her skirt down as he extracted her out of the seat, but how could she be angry with him? He was doing his best. And if he got a little more than he bargained for, then so be it.

Three blasted weeks in this cast, she thought to herself as she settled herself back into her power chair. Three more to go. The itching started just yesterday. Her bones were knitting, and that was good, but oh, the itching.

It was driving her crazy.

The lieutenant pressed the door chime for her, and waited until the doors opened. Then he clicked his heels together and bowed slightly, got back into the sedan and drove away.

Kelly moved her chair inside the Dark Lord's quarters and the great double doors closed behind her.

The young woman didn't see or hear her lord anywhere in the great room. She hadn't been in Vader's private rooms more than twice, as he generally came to her, so she took the opportunity alone in them to look around a little. The meditation chamber dominated the enormous space, taking up perhaps a third of it. She'd been inside the great sphere before. Kelly smiled at the memory. Near it was a holographic projection pad. There were lots of control banks and computers mounted into the walls and into consoles along two of the walls. And very little else. Strictly functional.

There were three doors off the large main room. One, she knew, led to the bedroom. Another led to his private exercise room. What was behind the third door, she did not know.

The bedroom door opened abruptly, and the Sith strode into the chamber. He saw Kelly, sitting in her power chair; her left leg propped up in front of her in its pale gray cast. She was wearing a long black skirt, slit up very high, and a midriff-baring black sleeveless sweater. Her hair was left hanging about her shoulders, and she looked good. She looked very good.

Kelly smiled up at her lord. She could sense that he was smiling back at her. Vader stuck his thumbs into his belt and walked towards her.

"How are you feeling?" the Dark Lord asked as he stood in front of her, although he already knew. His Kelly positively radiated health and happiness.

"Very well, my lord," she replied, holding her arms out to him. He ignored them. The Sith extended one black-gloved hand out and bent to caress her cheek. Then his hand traveled down to run itself across her jaw. Then down her neck. Then it caressed one firm breast beneath her sweater.

"Your doctor tells me that your leg is mending rapidly, but that you're not ready to resume your flight training. Also, there are…other activities that should be restricted. At least for a while."

Kelly scowled. "Doctors! What do they know? All that's wrong with me is that my leg itches and I can't scratch it, because I can't get at it. Also the itching moves around. It's like…like…" She searched for a metaphor. "Have you ever had a tarantula in your pants?"

"For about five moderately happy years," Lord Vader replied, recalling Padme. "What's your point?"

She sighed. "I guess I don't have one. I just need you, my lord. I don't care what the doctors say."

The Sith crossed his arms over his chest. "What if I say that I agree with them? What if I say I must refuse you?"

Kelly's mouth hung open. Refuse her? Impossible. He'd never not wanted her.

"Are you telling me no, because the doctors say no? Or are you telling me no because you are refusing me?"

"What do you think?"

Kelly didn't know what to think. "Why did you have me brought here?" She was starting to get angry now. "If it was just to talk, then you're wasting my time."

"That is irrelevant. Your time is mine, and you are mine, to do with as I please."

"You don't own me!" The Terran concubine was furious, absolutely furious.

Good, thought Vader. Very good. She needed to have her feathers ruffled a little bit. Anger was good for the circulation. Even better in the bedroom. Or on the floor. Or anywhere else.

"Don't I?" He said mockingly, behind the mask. "Don't I, my lady? Your contract says I do. For exactly one standard year. You still owe me seven months." He paused for a moment, observing her mounting anger, and frustrated desire. With great satisfaction. "The agreement says that you will function as my concubine for one year, and you will come to me whenever I call you. It says nothing about me being obligated to service your needs, madam. I can take you or ignore you at my pleasure."

"How dare you treat me this way!" Kelly shouted, breathing hard, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

"How dare you raise your voice to me in my quarters, on my ship." Although said quietly, the undertone was deadly. The young woman was too angry to notice.

"I didn't come here to be insulted, you bastard!"

"What did you come here for? And what makes you think you have the right to expect anything?" The sneer was obvious, through breathmask and vocoder.

"I came here so that you could fuck me, my lord. But I won't let you treat me like a street-corner whore. I'm leaving." Kelly turned her chair around and started for the doors.

"I didn't say you could go." The words, and the tone, were danger signals. Dark energy was swirling around the Sith Lord. It was practically visible.

The Terran concubine turned her chair around to face him, her lovely visage full of hurt and anger. "I didn't ask your permission," she snarled. "I'm leaving you. Right now."

Lord Vader used the Force to lock the doors. It also summoned her chair to within one meter of where he was standing.

"I think not, my lady," he growled.

Reaching down, he grabbed her by the front of her sweater with one durasteel hand and lifted her bodily out of the seat. He leaned his head down until it was right in front of her face. "You're not going anywhere until I say so. "You're mine, Kelly. You're mine, Earth girl. And don't you ever forget it." Then he flung her back into the chair so hard that she and it nearly toppled over.

She sat there, panting, eyes wide. Partly in fear. Partly in anger. And partly in intense lust.

With that, the Dark Lord detached his helmet from his breathmask and took both pieces off, setting them on the floor. Then he disconnected the vocoder and put that down beside them.

Kelly's mouth hung open, and her eyes blinked rapidly in complete shock. Of course she'd seen her lord's face before. It had burns and scars on it, but she thought it handsome anyway. He'd only ever shown her inside the meditation sphere, or in his bedroom. Never, ever outside it. She was unprepared for what she saw now.

Lord Vader's face and head had been completely healed. There wasn't a mark anywhere on it. It was very pale, that was true, and the hair had not yet begun to grow appreciably, but he was amazingly beautiful. Kelly gasped.

"What…" Vader's Earth girl didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. He'd reached down for her again, grasping her upper arms with both hands and pulled her to him. His full red lips came down on hers in a blistering kiss.

Kelly's anger evaporated under the furious onslaught of the Sith's lovemaking. She opened her mouth, offering him her tongue, sucking at his in complete abandon.

His lips ravaged hers. Vader felt almost drunk with the sensation of making love to his Kelly, without the mask, without the constraints of the hyperbaric oxygen chamber or the sterility of his bedroom. Making love as an ordinary man. His hands traveled down her body, grasping her hips, holding her against him. The Dark Lord ground the plasteel of his codpiece against her groin, making her groan.

"Kelly," he whispered hotly into her ear, "Love me."

She reached down and helped him remove the codpiece. The hard erect member beneath it was begging to be touched, to be sucked, but Kelly couldn't kneel. She stroked him firmly as he thrust himself into her hand. They kissed desperately. Vader helped her to lie on the floor, to pull her skirt up. She raised her right leg, moved it as far to the side as she could. The Sith noted that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Her beautiful sex was naked. Beckoning. The Dark Lord bent down and began to softly lick the wet folds.

Vader's Earth girl was going mad with pleasure. When his tongue began to tease her clit, she cried out, trying to keep still and failing. "Want you," she panted. "Inside me." Her lord, eyes umber and orange, hauled himself up and, after carefully placing himself between her legs, thrust his cock inside her hot, wet core. The contact wasn't quite as satisfactory as it usually was, but neither noticed that much. In a few moments, they climaxed together.

Kelly closed her eyes, held her lover to her. She needed him so badly. She couldn't leave him. Her threat was an empty one.

The Dark Lord knew it. He also knew that she stayed with him because he compelled her. He forced her give to him what she wanted him to take anyway. His Earth girl liked it like that. Vader didn't mind it either. Didn't mind it at all.

He might not have freedom yet, but he did have power. He had concubines, staff officers and rivals that lusted after it. He had an Emperor that worshipped it, but was unworthy to keep it much longer. The Sith lord had a great deal of power and he was not afraid to use it. Kenobi had taken his fear away at Mustafar, along with everything else. He had, after all, nothing left to lose.

Karesh had made him wonder what he'd gained. Lord Vader silently thanked the gods for sending the immortal to him, because now he understood.

Power was everything. The power to choose was freedom, and he had that. He could set himself free of his Master and his Order at any time. It would cost him, true, but everything precious had its price. When he was ready, when the time was right, he would cash out and wrest his freedom from the Emperor's terrified grasp.

His concubines would help him do it. Their power bolstered his; their love nourished him. Their lives, intertwined with his, gave form to his intentions and tangibility to his desire. Bless them, the innocent lovelies. Bless them all.

The immortal got to the docking bay in very quick time. His ship was refueled and waiting for him. As soon as he boarded and made his way to the bridge, he saw on his com screens that he had clearance for immediate launch.

In less than fifteen minutes, he was away from the Executor, and his computers were calculating his jump into hyperspace. In another ten, his ship made the jump. Karesh would make a couple of different jumps, with different star system headings, to cover his tracks. He was searching for a man who would not be easy to find, and it was vital that the Imperial Star Fleet not be able to follow.

The man's name was Obi-Wan Kenobi. One of the last of the Jedi Order.

The being who was Kenobi's double wasn't sure where to find him, wasn't even sure if he was alive or dead, and it took longer than he expected to mine the databanks of his people. He found three possibilities. One looked particularly good: Tatooine. The home planet of Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan's former apprentice.

Tatooine was in the Outer Rim. It would take about four hours to get there. He had time for a nice long nap. Healing always took a lot out of him. From the amount of energy he'd lost, the immortal felt like he'd just brought a being back from the dead. Maybe he had, or nearly so, Karesh mused to himself. The Sith Lord named Darth Vader had nearly succumbed completely to the Darkness.

Recalling his healing of the Dark Lord jarred Karesh's memory. He took the gauze out of his pocket. It was time to extract the precious drops out of the cloth and crystallize them into something a little less fragile and impermanent. That would take a couple of hours. The immortal put the gauze into the extractor and set the controls. Then he went back to his cabin.

Karesh brought his ship down into a docking bay on the far side of Mos Eisely spaceport. He had no absolute knowledge that the Jedi he sought was on Tatooine, but knowing what he now knew about Vader and his former Master, it was a pretty fair assumption. Anakin-and-Obi-Wan had almost been one word in the Old Republic. Where one went, the other wasn't far behind, so it was said. Anakin Skywalker was dead, but if he had family left, they would be here, and Kenobi would want to be near them. The immortal was willing to bet on that. Even if his hunch was proved wrong, there was little danger in this side trip. Just sand. And heat. And rough trade. And just maybe, an exiled Jedi Master.

Closely hooded and cloaked, Karesh exited the ship and began his search. He didn't expect anyone to know the name `Obi-Wan Kenobi' but he thought someone might know of a person named Skywalker, who once lived in these parts. After having had to contact some fairly rough characters (including a Troydarian named Watto, who was irritated at having to dig through his old records), and expending a ridiculous amount of credit, the immortal found out where Owen and Beru Lars lived. He also got a map of the surrounding settlements, and some information about who lived in them. After a short process of elimination, Karesh decided to pay a visit to one. The man who lived there, who had a reputation for being a hermit, was also supposed to be a little mad.

Sounded like Obi-Wan Kenobi to him.

Karesh found a speeder and took it out beyond the Dune Sea. It didn't take him long to find it.

The smallish sand-colored dwelling looked exactly like every other residential building in this part of Tatooine, and it was quite far from its nearest neighbor. The immortal hoped he'd find Kenobi at home. It was important that he see the Jedi before the day was over.

Karesh was on a mission. He was an immortal; his people had obligations. They paid their debts. Sometimes, though, they collected from others. Today was payday--although it might not be for him.

Karesh got out of his speeder and approached the door. His double met him before he got there.

If Obi-Wan Kenobi had any surprise that he was being visited by a doppelganger of himself, he didn't show it. He merely stood quietly at the door, smiling serenely, and waited for his visitor to speak.

The immortal hailed him pleasantly. "Greetings, Jedi," he sent.

Kenobi blinked his eyes a few times. A telepath? Or had he been in exile on this planet too long, without human companionship, so that now he was creating imaginary companions- mirages that looked like himself? Reaching out psychically, he contacted the mind of his guest.

After a moment, he swallowed hard, took a step back. He was completely astonished and showed it. His visitor was an Immortal. An Immortal had tracked him down here to Tatooine.

"What is it you want here, Immortal?"

Karesh shook his head at the tone in the Jedi's voice. It sounded a bit hostile. "The Jedi Order is dead, Master Kenobi. Why cling to the old hostility that once existed between Jedi and the Immortals?"

"Immortals are amoral, self-interested pacifists, who bring nothing but trouble. Why should I welcome you?"

Karesh sighed. "I am also a weary traveler who has come far, and still has far to go," he sent, "I came here bearing a gift for you. Can't you at least invite me in?"

Kenobi raised his bearded chin a little. "The Jedi do not accept gifts from Immortals. We learned long ago that they are far too costly, and not worth the trouble they bring."

The Immortal shook his head in dismay. "What has become of Jedi hospitality? Even Master Yoda never treated me with such disdain. I mean you no harm. My people are, as you say, pacifists. I have no weapons." Karesh smiled engagingly, cocked his head to one side. "What do you say, Obi-Wan?" he telepathed cajolingly. "May I come in for a moment?"

A thoughtful frown came over the Jedi's handsome face. It wouldn't do for him to be churlish, even to such a one as an Immortal. He motioned for Karesh to come inside.

Obi-Wan's guest entered the Jedi's home, and took off his cloak. Kenobi poured him a drink, took one for himself, and motioned for him to be seated.

"Suppose you tell me your name, and why you've come to see me," he said, regarding the Immortal. His likeness to the face he saw in the mirror every morning was astonishing. Except that the eyes of his guest didn't look like he'd seen the destruction of his whole life's work, of the brotherhood of his Order that had meant everything to him. Of the man he'd loved more than a brother.

The man who had been General Kenobi, a Commander of the Republican Armed Forces, Jedi Knight and Master, was fading into the sands of this forsaken world, and he knew it. If this being had brought him a gift, then he was enriching a rootless and forgotten man, who wished no more attachments and no more possessions. They had brought him nothing but pain. He had more than enough of that. Since the gift was coming from an Immortal, it probably had something attached to it, or conditions that Obi-Wan wanted no part of. Everything in him recoiled from the idea of accepting it. But he had to admit he was very curious.

The Jedi and the Immortals had not had any dealings in at least five hundred years. This gift must be very unusual, and perhaps of some import, to bring one of them all the way out here to deliver it.

The being who was Kenobi's guest silently looked over his host as he drank his tzoltzian tea. Pain was radiating off the young Master. Also guilt. Sadness. Loneliness. A tinge of despair.

"My name is Karesh," the Immortal telepathed. "I've come here bearing a gift that is both rare and precious, and you are correct: it does have strings attached to it. You are free to decline the gift, but I tell you now that it will do no good to refuse it. It is nothing more than a tangible expression of the pain you already carry."

The Jedi's guest reached into the pocket of his robes, and withdrew five small crystals, cut and polished so that they resembled yellowish jewels. He held out his hand, opened it so that Obi-Wan could see them. They sparkled in the immortal's palm, even in the gloom of Kenobi's cold dark house.

"These are the tears of the Sith Lord, Darth Vader," the Immortal sent. "He cried them for you this morning, far away on his ship, the Executor. This is his grief for the Master he loved so much. He has not forgotten how much he cared for you, Kenobi. He never will. Even though he holds deadly hatred for you in his waking hours, in his shadowed days, the love is just as strong. As you can see."

The Jedi stared at the crystals. They seemed almost to stare back at him.

Karesh's thoughts grew stern, his mental tone cold. "You slashed, poisoned and burned him, Kenobi. You made him what he is now. You are guilty of a terrible act, Jedi, and it is just that you suffer. I came here, to Tatooine, to bring you the evidence of your crime. And to help you choose your penance."

The Jedi didn't know how to react. He stared at the crystals in the Immortal's hand, mesmerized by their beauty and the pain they held within them. It took a few moments for him to recover himself, and when he did, he realized something.

In spite of himself, in spite of all his discipline as a Jedi Master, he was absolutely furious.

"You can go now, Karesh," the Jedi said, pulling away from his guest, just barely managing to keep his voice level. "And take those things with you. I will not have them."

The immortal didn't move. He was expecting this reaction. He simply sat there, and waited for the justification that was coming. He didn't have to wait long.

Kenobi made an enormous effort, centered his emotions, released his anger. He'd told himself much of what he was about to say to Karesh. Sometimes, he repeated several times a day. Especially when he first arrived in his self-imposed prison.

"Darth Vader murdered, in cold blood, all of the Jedi in the Temple, including the youngest ones, the younglings. He helps the Emperor hunt down and destroy any Jedi that survive. He was once the Padawan I trained and loved, the warrior I fought beside and defended, the brother I would have willingly died for. The Chosen One of Jedi legend. In effect, Darth Vader murdered him too, and for that alone he deserved everything he got. I do not want a Sith Lord's tears, I care nothing for his torment and I will not repent. Take your gift and go."

Obi-Wan's guest withdrew his hand, keeping the jewels safe inside it. Karesh chose his answer carefully. "You failed him, Jedi Master Kenobi. You failed him, and you know it. Everything he did, he did because he did not know another way to save the ones he loved. You would kill, or you would die, to defend one of these precious lives he tried to save even now, wouldn't you? That is why you're here, on this world, right now, to protect and defend the son of Anakin Skywalker. Isn't that so, Obi-Wan?"

The Jedi's mouth opened and then closed again. It was true, but he had done what he had done at the command of the most senior Master of his Order. And to make one final bid to save the Republic. What else could he have done?

The immortal leaned forward in his seat, looked at his host intently. "I see within your mind that you believed you were acting upon orders from a superior," he sent quietly. "You believed you were serving a higher goal, a greater interest. But the Republic was already corrupt, Obi-Wan. The Jedi were complacent, and in some ways, complicit. As surely as Palpatine controlled the Senate, Yoda controlled the Council. All of the members on it were his former Padawans, or were taught by him. He was honored and respected to such a degree that no one would question Master Yoda—no one would question him any more than the Senate would question the Chancellor. Jedi defeat was fore-ordained; it had always been too weak to stand alone. It was specifically created to be that way. In the end, faced with extinction, it found strength to try, but it was too late. Out-maneuvered and over-stretched, it had no chance."

Kenobi still couldn't find any words. He just sat there, quietly livid. And completely horrified. Of course.

Because everything the Immortal was saying was true.

"You were not the Chosen One, Obi-Wan," Karesh continued. "Anakin Skywalker was. He stood between the Council and the Chancellor, at that one critical moment where the battle lines were drawn. It was clear to him that the Jedi were willing to sacrifice him; that you were not willing to stand by him. You didn't love him enough to help him, but at the same time you loved him too much to let him go. You couldn't bend that mighty pride of yours-- that pride in yourself and your power that you used to justify your existence as a Jedi-- enough to understand his need. You couldn't let your Padawan be better than you were, to have more than you could. To know the love your Order denied. So you made him less than he was, cut him down, took it away. Now he lives, diminished, dependant on machines, with only a small part of him left to recall his birthright—and not enough left even to dream of getting back the life and the love he lost at your hands.

"The Jedi say the Sith are cruel and Dark, but even they do not sentence a man to live in death. What you did to him was obscene, Obi-Wan. Your hands are not clean of his blood because your Master ordered you to do it. You could have prevented all of it, but you didn't."

Kenobi knew he should have cut the Immortal down with his lightsaber before he entered his house. But it would have done no good, and the Jedi knew it. He knew he could have stopped it, should have intervened, but he closed his eyes to Anakin's pain. He denied it existed. Until it wiped out everything he cherished.

Yet even so, there was one crime for which the Sith deserved death, but Obi-Wan had spared him from that ultimate punishment. He had been merciful. He really had. Hadn't he?

"Karesh, Vader slaughtered innocents. Younglings. Children. Isn't that an obscenity? Or don't Immortals value the lives of the guiltless, the helpless and the young?" Kenobi paused, swallowed hard. The memory of those security holograph images seared through his mind as he recalled their brutality; the soul-shattering spectacle of his own Padawan wielding the laser sword that cut them down.

"I find moral outrage on the part of one of your kind particularly hypocritical," the Jedi continued, "Considering that you regularly benefit from assisting both sides in a conflict when it suits you," the Jedi accused, voice getting softer as his feelings got stronger. "You tell me that you've come to help me choose my penance. I tell you that if I owe the universe payment for the blood of Anakin Skywalker, then Vader owes the gods much more than I. At least I did not murder the Sith Lord. I showed him more mercy than he did to those young ones at the Temple."

"No, you did not murder him," the Jedi's guest telepathed, "and yes, the hands of Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader are stained with blood, but that isn't the point. Penance isn't payment for crime or judicial redress. Penance is a personal exercise. I am here because what you did haunts you. Knowing how you maimed the man you loved more than any other person is a day-after-day, year-after-year torment to you. You believed that you loved the Jedi Order, and the Republic, better than you did him, but the passing years have taught you differently. You really did love him more than either of those things, and now your heart is becoming bitter. Your memories are sour, rancid, within you. I brought you the tears of the Sith so that you could stop torturing yourself.

"He still loves you, on a very deep level, somewhere within the wreckage that is his darkened, scorched and broken heart. I want you to forgive both yourself and him. That is why I came here."

Obi-Wan seemed to collapse in his chair, sinking down into it. He'd thought perhaps the Force had sentenced him here to permanent confinement, in constant battle with despair, until the end of his life. Apparently, the Light had changed its mind.

After a moment, he spoke. His voice seemed to come from far away. "Are you saying that you want to try to broker a reconciliation between myself and Lord Vader?"

The Immortal shook his head very sadly. "I don't know that formal reconciliation is possible. These tears from the Dark Lord may be the closest he can come to acknowledging the depth of his pain and loss. He will never apologize, although he might admit regret. I don't think he can give any more than these small tokens."

Kenobi was silent again for a while. "Then I will accept the gift," he said.

Karesh leaned over and extended his hand to the Jedi, opened it carefully. Obi-Wan took the crystals, looked at them lying in his palm. They felt almost warm. Like they were alive.

Kenobi's guest reached out mentally again to his host. "Obi-Wan, he has given. Now you must. What would you give, as a token, to try to undo this great sorrow of the past?"

The Dark Lord took a walk down to the Executor's landing bays, towards the area where the TIE fighters were hangered. He'd designed some engine augmentations for the latest models, and ordered that they be implemented on the entire inventory of attack ships. It was always a good idea to follow-up on these kinds of projects; too often if there were problems with implementation, he didn't hear about it until all work had ground to a halt and half the ships were laying in pieces on the repair docks. That wasted both time and energy, and could put the Executor at risk. It was just easier to keep on eye on things personally. Also, he liked coming down here. This was where the real work was. The smell of engine oil and grease and the banging of tools around a shop reminded him of home.

His appointment with Kelly had energized him. She acted on him like a tonic. The Sith felt like a hundred thousand credits' worth of high-energy warship fuel and an Imperial Space Cruiser of Dark Side attitude. It was a perfectly wonderful emotional space to be in. Lord Vader doubted that his Master ever felt that good in his whole life. Too bad for him, the Emperor's Apprentice smirked to himself.

As he strode into the repair docks, he saw that there were swarms of technicians crawling around all over the ships. It didn't look like they were having problems. A pudgy, middle-aged Master Technician caught sight of him, got up off the floor where he was laying under a fuselage, and hurried over.

"Good evening, my lord," said the Master Tech. The name badge said "Ferro." "May I be of assistance?"

"I'm interested in the progress of the engine modifications. How are they proceeding?"

Ferro waved a hand over to the dozens of busy techs. "Very well, sir. I think they will have all the ships modified in two standard days, at most. Approximately two-thirds of the new TIES have the engines mods installed and are ready for service."

The Sith was quite satisfied. "Good," he replied, and meant it. It had taken them less than a week, for over a hundred ships. The modifications weren't complex, but the new engine design wasn't all that tech-friendly. They'd done a good job. "I will commend the crews to Admiral Ozzel."

The Master Tech clicked his heels and bowed slightly. "Thank you, my lord. Is there anything else?" Ferro was fairly glowing with pleasure.

"No," the Dark Lord said after a moment. "Carry on." He whirled around, prepared to do an extended inspection of the dock areas. Then he noticed something.

His head itched. The entire scalp area. And there was an odd sensation on his cheeks too. It had been years since he had much feeling there, so he was rather taken aback. What could it be?

Vader intended to go back to his quarters once this errand was finished, but he thought he would stop at the Infirmary. As he headed off in that direction, he wondered absently if that ass, Troppert, had made it back from Coruscant yet.

Troppert hadn't made it back to the Executor, but Graner was there when the Sith got to his infirmary wing. He met him on the other side of the airlock, and if he was at all surprised to see the Dark Lord again so soon, he didn't show it.

"My lord, is there a problem I can help you with?" The young doctor sounded politely concerned, but Vader could tell that he was extremely curious. The Emperor's Apprentice knew that an inquisitive nature was necessary in a medical science practitioner, but he didn't have to tolerate more than a modicum of it.

"There is some irritation on the top of my head," Lord Vader replied.

One of Graner's pale eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Let's have a look."

The doctor led the way into the examination room. He turned his back to his patient while he withdrew a couple of instruments from a drawer and washed his hands. The Sith removed his helmet and breathmask, disconnected the vocoder, and sat down on the examination couch. When Graner turned around and looked at the Dark Lord, he gasped. Loudly.

"What is it?" Vader demanded irritably.

The Major swallowed hard and blinked several time before he spoke. "Lord Vader, it's very clear what is causing the itching sensation. Your hair has grown back. Very rapidly. Your face and head have been completely healed. There is no sign of any injury, trauma or scarring whatsoever."

Lord Vader sat on the couch, speechless. Karesh mentioned that he'd healed some small things, but the Dark Lord never imagined that he would heal his face and head. Major Graner reached into his instrument drawer and pulled out a mirror, handed it to his patient. Vader took it with one gloved durasteel hand and looked into it.

Staring back at him was the face of Anakin Skywalker. Exactly as it had been prior to Mustafar. His eyebrows had completely returned. His hair had come back in the same golden brown waves, and it was already a bit longer than it had been when he was a Padawan. Even the scar that bisected his brow, a parting gift from Asajj Ventress, was gone. His beard was beginning to grow as well. It was becoming obvious that he needed a shave.

Anakin Skywalker had returned. The Hero Without Fear. It was a face he had not seen for years, one that he expected never to see again.

Anakin Skywalker had returned. He hadn't aged a day, as if none of the past six years had ever happened.

Anakin Skywalker had returned. The room began to spin. The Sith saw images flash before his eyes. Obi-Wan. Padme. The younglings in the Temple. Mace Windu. Chancellor Palpatine. Master Yoda. Qui-Gon Jinn. His mother. Obi-Wan. Padme. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. He blinked, trying to clear the intruders away. He shut his eyes, opened them again. The mirror in his hand showed him Anakin Skywalker.

The Jedi was back.

He heart felt like it stopped beating. He felt a cool rush along his veins, as the blood drained from it. His head felt very light for a moment. Then the floor rushed up to embrace him. Darkness.

Major Graner had no time at all to react. The mirror dropped from the Sith's hand onto the floor, and the glass shattered. The tall bulky frame of Lord Darth Vader toppled and fell, unconscious.

The young doctor hit the emergency call button, and when the medical technicians came rushing in, followed by two droids, the four of them picked up the Emperor's Apprentice and carried him into the adjoining room, where there was a bed.

He wasn't breathing. His heart had stopped. The droids resuscitated him. He began to breathe again. His heart resumed its action. But now he was comatose.

"Graner, are you sure?" Admiral Troppert was white with shock. What was he going to tell the Emperor?

"Yes, Admiral," the young Major replied from the com station inside the infirmary on the Executor. "Lord Vader is in a coma, unresponsive to stimuli. There is no sign of stroke, hemorrhage, or any kind of aneurism. His blood is fine, he is breathing on his own, his cardiac function is normal. Brain scan reveals nothing out of the ordinary. There is no sign of bacterial or viral infection, and he is not febrile. I can find nothing wrong with him, except that he is unconscious."

The Emperor's private physician was feeling something close to panic. He wondered if Karesh had something to do with the state of the Dark Lord. It was said that the immortals had mysterious powers. But they were dedicated pacifists; an attack on the second most powerful man in the Empire would be completely out of character for one of their kind.

Troppert came to a decision. "Keep Lord Vader under constant surveillance. I will contact you again shortly with new instructions."

Major Graner inclined his head. "Yes, sir. I will await your orders. Executor infirmary out."

The view screen went blank. The young doctor sighed. He went back to his commanding officer's private office to wait.

Admiral Troppert knelt reverently before the Emperor of the galaxy. Palpatine's yellow eyes, which had an unnatural glow to them that his doctor had never been able to explain medically, stared at him.

"You say that Lord Vader is lying in a coma, on the Executor, and none of your medical staff can find anything wrong with him?" His Imperial Highness sounded incredulous.

"Yes, Your Highness," Troppert replied. He was trying to control his fear, but he could not. The Sith Master, for his part, quite enjoyed its dank, grey power. Fear was a frigid, all-pervasive and extremely powerful state. It was his favorite emotion. Besides anger and hate.

The Emperor appeared to consider. "I want you to go back to the Executor and examine him yourself. Recall Karesh as well; he may be able to sense something that evades your instruments. Find out what the issue is, Troppert. I will expect your report in four hours."

"Yes, Your Highness." Anything to get out of the Imperial presence and off Coruscant was fine with him.

"I would hate to be required to come to the Executor personally," Palpatine stated, insinuating the unspeakable. "But I will, if you haven't found out what my Apprentice's medical problem is by the end of the day."

"Of course, Your Highness." Admiral Troppert was sweating in his high-collared uniform.

The Emperor waved him off. The most senior medical officer in Imperial Service practically ran from the Imperial presence and headed to the spaceport immediately.

"What is past is done," the Jedi Master told his guest, lips compressed into a thin line. "It cannot be undone, cannot be changed."

"True," replied Karesh to Kenobi's mind, "but sometimes it is possible to make the memory of it easier to bear. Is there something that could be said, something that could be done, something that could be offered, that might take some of the shame and the guilt away?"

Obi-Wan thought about this.

During all those years he'd been Anakin's Master, and afterwards, when they traveled and fought together, never had the Jedi told his Apprentice and friend how much he'd cared for him. A Jedi would never say that, would have no need to hear it, Kenobi reasoned at the time. A Jedi held no attachments, knew no passion, had no possessions. Yet, Obi-Wan had loved Anakin. Truly. Deeply.

Fraternally. Sincerely. He was his brother, his best friend. If Obi-Wan had given serious thought to the intensity of his feelings for his former Padawan, he would have felt shame. Then his duty would have demanded that he examine his emotions and release them from his consciousness. But he hadn't wanted to do that. He buried them, so he could cherish them in secret. And he did. Until they destroyed everything.

Every day the Jedi lived in exile he reflected on this, and he felt the shame- and the regret. The Jedi Order had been his life, his oath, his vocation, but Anakin was his friend, his brother. In the end, Anakin had meant more to him. Much more.

There was a short beeping sound. It was a hand-held comtext device, Karesh's. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at its message. A smile crossed his handsome face.

"Obi-Wan, I'm being recalled by Imperial Order to the Executor. Lord Vader has collapsed, is lying in a coma. The doctor doesn't know what's wrong with him. I must go immediately."

"Is he dying?" Kenobi tried to ask the question without showing the anxious terror he was feeling.

The immortal decided to not respond to the cold, gray apprehension that was radiating off his host in waves. Why make him feel worse? "The message doesn't say. It just says I must come at once."

That decided the Jedi. "I would come with you, Karesh. I would see Lord Vader. I have something to tell him. Something I should have said long ago."

Karesh nodded. "Very well," he sent. "We will go. But you will have to remove your beard before we leave."

Kenobi frowned. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I don't have one," the immortal replied. "And you will be impersonating me."

For a moment, Obi-Wan didn't comprehend. Then he understood.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, was a fugitive, a wanted man, with a sentence of death on his head throughout the entire Empire. Lord Darth Vader would also likely attempt to kill him on sight, if he were able. He had more than enough reason. His old Master had seen to that. Kenobi would have to pretend to be the immortal healer, Karesh.

"Come," encouraged Obi-Wan's double, "let's get you ready. There are other things we have to do as well."

Admiral Troppert arrived aboard the Executor more rapidly than he thought he would- a mere three hours after he left the Imperial City. Admiral Ozzel was waiting for him when he got off the shuttle, with a group of his executive officers. The doctor didn't bother to stop to take their greeting, but strode directly towards the Infirmary. As if he weren't at all surprised at the breach of protocol, the plump ridiculous flag officer fell into step beside him. He had to almost jog to keep up. The other officers trailed behind at a respectful distance.

"Lord Vader's condition hasn't changed, Doctor," Ozzel said, beginning to pant. "I've just had word that Karesh's ship is en route and will be arriving in about an hour."

"Thank you, Ozzel," Troppert replied shortly. "Make sure he is escorted to the Infirmary as soon as he gets here."

The commander of the Executor continued to follow him. Admiral Troppert was considering ordering him to leave him alone and let him work when Ozzel spoke first. "Is it true that the Emperor's coming here? We've heard rumors."

The doctor stopped and looked at his ship's flag officer with disdain. Ozzel almost fell over as he halted himself a little too abruptly on the slick landing bay floor. "Yes, it's true," Troppert told him. "I would prepare for his arrival, if I were you."

The head of the Imperial Medical Service curled his lip at the commander and strode off on his way.

Karesh finished transforming his host into an exact replica of himself. The immortal was pleased with the result. The Jedi, on the other hand, found it disconcerting. Nearly fifteen years of his life had been wiped away from his visage, and he wasn't sure that he liked it. It was necessary, though, and he knew it-- yet did the disguise have to go quite that far?

The two left Tatooine within the hour. Karesh's ship was a fast one, and it made the journey to rendezvous with the Executor in slightly under two and a half hours.

Admiral Troppert finished his examination of Lord Vader. Apart from his pre-existing medical issues, there was nothing wrong with him. If anything, his condition had markedly improved. There was no reason why he should be lying in a deep coma.

Completely perplexed, he returned to his office to confer with Major Graner.

The immortal being had Obi-Wan dress himself in a set of his clothes, identical to the ones he was presently wearing. Lord Vader's old Master didn't object, but balked at handing over his lightsaber to Karesh.

"Kenobi, you must," he sent telepathically. "My people are pacifists. We do not carry weapons."

The Jedi was extremely reluctant, but handed it over. Karesh pocketed it. "Remember," the immortal told him mentally, "do not use speech to communicate, except privately to Lord Vader. And then only if he is unconscious. He will no doubt hear you, even in his comatose state, but it is vital that he not be sure who you are if he should wake. Say what you must, then return here as quickly as possible. I will need to go to him myself as soon as you are finished."

Obi-Wan nodded. His former Padawan could be dying. He wanted to do this, before he was parted from him forever. In his own pocket were the crystals that carried the pain and loss of the man who had been Anakin Skywalker. Kenobi hoped that these small objects were not all that was left of him. He hoped not.

Karesh operated the controls that lowered the ship's ramp to the Exector's landing bay. The Jedi looked at the immortal one last time before he turned and left the ship. As he walked out, he wondered idly if he was walking into a trap. Master Yoda always told him never to trust an Immortal. They were never what they seemed. They always took more than they gave. Nothing they did was motivated by either disinterest or altruism. Trust an Immortal, do not, Yoda insisted at his lessons, years ago. Never trust an Immortal.

An officer and four storm troopers were waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp, to escort him to the Infirmary. Obi-Wan pasted a serene expression on his face to hide the turmoil within him as he walked with them. As he went, he tried in vain to release his pain and his fear and think only about Anakin. And what he came here to do for him.

When he finally go to the Infirmary, he saw that the Dark Lord laying in a dark, quiet room, on a bed, in his private section of the Executor sick bay. His breathmask and helmet were off, his lifesuit removed. He was unconscious. That much was evident from the video monitors mounted near the door to his room. Obi-Wan paused to observe. He couldn't see his face well at all, but it was definitely he. Admiral Troppert met him in front of the door to the Sith's room. Troppert watched the monitors with him for a moment, frowning heavily.

"Karesh," he said quietly, "I can find nothing wrong with him. In fact, his lungs are functioning better than they were before, and the scarring on his face and head is gone. I know he's attempted healing through the Force in the past. Perhaps he's had some success here, but why he is in a coma now, I have no idea." The Admiral put a hand on the Jedi's shoulder. "See what you can find out, Karesh. Report to me when you're finished."

Kenobi nodded assent. Troppert turned and walked away. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and entered the room.

It was so dim inside it that it was hard to see much. As he approached nearer, he saw the handsome face of his former Apprentice, his hair long and curling in its golden-brown profusion. One of his hands reached out, of its own volition, to touch the soft waves gently.

The Dark Lord didn't stir.

The Jedi extended his hand once again, placed it on Lord Vader's forehead. As he opened himself up to his Padawan psychically, he sensed that there was some aspect of the Dark Side trapping his consciousness below the threshold of awareness. It wasn't letting him awaken. The awareness of the Sith was thrashing around, trying to break through, but it could not quite manage it.

Maybe the man who had been Anakin Skywalker just needed an incentive. He was strong; he was brave. He was a great warrior. Maybe he needed something to fight. Obi-Wan could give him that.

"Anakin," he whispered, his lips right next to the Dark Lord's ear. "Anakin, can you hear me?"

No response. He tried again. "Anakin, It's Obi-Wan. Please, Padawan, show me that you can hear me."

Nothing. The Jedi took one of the durasteel hands in his, moved the bedding back so that his shoulder was exposed. Kenobi's other hand reached out to the warm flesh, caressed it. The scars were clearly visible. Where his saber cut through. On Mustafar.

Tears welled up in the Jedi's eyes. He fought them back. "I've come back, Anakin, I've come back," he whispered. "I'm here. My dear friend, my brother, wake up. Wake up."

Kenobi thought he felt the hand move. But he wasn't sure.

"I know you hate me," Obi-Wan continued, a little louder, a little closer to the Sith's ear. "I know I deserve it. I failed you, Anakin. I failed you in so many ways. I loved you, and I failed you, and I failed to love you when you needed me most.

"You want vengeance. Wake up. Wake up and take your revenge. Take my life, Anakin. I am unarmed. I won't resist. Wake up, Padawan. Wake up and take it."

The durasteel hand definitely began to twitch.

"That's right," Kenobi encouraged, "That's right. Wake up. Wake up and take your sword."

The Jedi straightened, hurried over to where the Sith's lifesuit, mask and helmet were laying. He found the lightsaber, brought it back over to the bed. Putting it gently into Vader's hand, he folded the metal fingers around its hilt, clasped his own hand over them.

"See," Obi-Wan whispered, "Here is your saber. Open your eyes, open them. It's your old Master, Anakin, come to give you whatever it takes to bring you back. To make it right between us. Wake up, Anakin. Wake up."

The Dark Lord stirred. He felt like he was coming back to consciousness from far away. His eyelids were heavy. He tried to open them, but it was so difficult. A voice was talking to him, urging him. He thought he recognized it, but he wanted to see the man with his own eyes. Surely it was impossible. How could Obi-Wan Kenobi be in this room? How had he made it aboard the Executor alive?

He certainly wasn't going to leave that way.

Kenobi saw the Sith's eyelids flutter, then they opened. His old Master stood up, bent to look into his old Padawan's eyes.

Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, looked back at him.

The hostility Obi-Wan thought he saw reflected in those familiar blue-green orbs faded rapidly, and a slight smile curved his full lips.

"Karesh," said the Dark Lord pleasantly, "I didn't think to see you again so soon."

For a moment, the Jedi was speechless. Then he remembered he was supposed to be speechless. Immediately his mental shields clamped down and he gazed at the man who looked so much like Anakin. It had been so long, so very long, since he'd seen his beloved friend look at him with anything but hate. His eyes drank in the sight, could not take themselves from it.

Vader sat up, moved his durasteel legs off the bed. "I hope you haven't come here to collect another favor from me," he teased as he walked over to where his lifesuit lay. He couldn't help but notice the expression on the immortal's face. It had such love in it, such longing. Karesh was obviously besotted.

Well, there were worse things than being an Immortal's object of affection, he supposed. Karesh had obviously been called in to assist the doctors, and he had. Mission accomplished. Well done. Time to get on with other things. And quit staring at him.

The Sith dressed, while the Jedi Master watched. Vader could tell that his healer wanted to touch him, wanted it very badly, but his mind was completely closed to the Dark Lord. The immortal wasn't communicating at all. That was odd. And he kept looking at him.

Obi-Wan didn't know what to do next. He couldn't speak. He couldn't communicate telepathically without dropping his shields. He couldn't leave either, without doing one of those things. Also he hadn't done what he came here for. Vader would begin to be suspicious in a minute. Kenobi had no idea what Karesh would do, if he were here himself, under the circumstances.

Lord Vader, having finished dressing, regarded the immortal. Who just stood there, staring at him.

"Karesh, was there something you wished to tell me?" he asked, a somewhat peremptory note coming through the vocoder.

Before the Jedi could think of a response, the door to the infirmary room opened, and in walked Karesh. The immortal was wearing his discarded Jedi robes, and he'd transformed himself into the very image of Kenobi as he had been, when they first met on Tatooine.

The Dark Lord acted automatically. He drew his lightsaber and ignited it. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Jedi. Traitor. Hypocrite. Murderer. He must die. Right here. Right now.

To Kenobi's horror, the immortal drew the Jedi's lightsaber from his belt and activated it. He swung at the Emperor's Apprentice. Not very fast. Not very hard. The Sith easily countered it and swung his own saber in response. His stroke cut Karesh neatly in two. He fell to the floor.

What Obi-Wan did next was something he'd never done before in his life. He turned and ran from a fight. And he ran like hell.

The Dark Lord wasn't very far behind.

Kenobi hadn't actually panicked. He ran because he had to draw the Sith away from the body of the immortal. Before Lord Vader discovered that he'd struck down the wrong man. Before he realized that he would have to fight his old master again, one more time. The Jedi hadn't wanted to fight his old Padawan before, and he definitely didn't want to do it again now.

Obi-Wan figured he probably wouldn't make it to the ship, but it was worth a try. The Dark Lord couldn't run long distances anymore. The prosthetics wouldn't allow it. But he didn't have to chase his quarry, and Kenobi knew it. He had a ship full of storm troopers and security to do it for him. The Jedi would be caught soon. Maybe he would die soon, too.

Vader didn't chase the immortal far before he realized that it was ridiculous and called his security force. He told them to capture and hold the man Karesh for interrogation. As he walked down the corridors, he reflected. Had the immortal panicked? Why did he run? He'd acted so strangely. It didn't make sense. His sometime-healer had very tight mental shielding, which kept the Sith from making any contact at all with his mind. It was unusual for any but a Sith or a Jedi to have that ability, but perhaps the Immortals had it as well. In any case, the Dark Lord wanted to know some answers. To questions like, how had Kenobi gotten on the Executor and did Karesh know anything about it? Lord Vader was pretty sure he knew something. But what?

In a few minutes he got the message on his comlink that his security caught the man who looked like Obi-Wan Kenobi. They were holding him in a conference room, near the landing bay's control center. The Sith picked up his pace, striding easily down the hallways, smiling to himself.

His old Master had just died by his hand. At long last. A measure of revenge was his. That was most satisfactory. Today was shaping up to be a good day after all.

Karesh hated it when someone tried to kill him by vivisection. It took a fairly long time to heal, when one was cut in half. He was going to be on the floor for a while. But it was just as well. Lord Vader and his old Master still had some things to work out. There would be more than enough time for them to do it before Troppert, Graner and Ozzel found out what really happened here. And by then, there would be another player entering the game. To make everything just that much more interesting.

There was additional healing work to be done on his face as well. And how was he going to get rid of the beard?

Details, details. Bothersome but so important. The two halves of his torso began to knit together rapidly. The process ached like hell.

Kenobi was restrained by binders on his wrists. One security guard had an arm each. Another held a blaster on him. He'd caught his breath. He'd released his fear. He would wait for what would come. And meet it like a Jedi.

The Dark Lord strode through the doors of the conference room, black cape billowing out behind him like the fanned tail of a great bird of prey. Vader approached his prisoner and stood in front of him, placing his thumbs in his belt. Behind the mask, he regarded the captive.

"Why did you run, Karesh?" he demanded. The immortal looked at him serenely. He looked just like Obi-Wan Kenobi when he did that. It made the Sith's blood boil to see the expression, on that face. Then he remembered that Kenobi was dead. That calmed him down immediately.

"I have no wish to harm you," Vader continued. One gloved hand reached out, taking the immortal's jaw in it. "Did you know Obi-Wan Kenobi was on this ship? That he came here to kill me?"

The being who looked like his old master looked sad, regretful. But communicated nothing. Maybe he was frightened. Immortals were dedicated pacifists. Perhaps watching him kill Kenobi distressed the healer. Silly out-world deathless git. With the intense mental shields, the Dark Lord couldn't sense anything. He was clearly going to have to break them down, turn his focus, distract him. He knew of a way he could do that. He owed Karesh a favor anyway.

"You may go," the Sith Apprentice told his guards. "Wait for me outside." They left at once. Lord Vader was alone with the handsome immortal.

Obi-Wan's former Padawan moved closer to his prisoner. "I didn't thank you properly for bringing me back to consciousness," he said softly. The gloved durasteel hands reached up and removed his helmet, disconnected the breathmask and vocoder. He removed the apparatus and set them down on a nearby chair, returning to stand again very near Karesh. The beautiful face of Anakin Skywalker bent close to the being who looked so much like his old master.

"We have some unfinished business, you and I," Anakin's voice told him quietly.

For a split second, Obi-Wan wondered if he was talking to him or to the immortal that resembled him. "I know you desire me," the Sith continued. The Jedi raised his aqua eyes to look into those of the man in front of him. The sapphire-blue ones of Anakin were beginning to darken with emotion. Kenobi stood, rooted to the spot where he was standing. What was this? Karesh wanted Vader sexually? What kind of game was the Immortal playing on all of them?

His old Padawan bent his head further, and touched Obi-Wan's lips softly with his own. The Jedi gasped at the touch, drew his head back slightly. Lord Vader bent his head once more, to kiss his captive again. At the last second, Kenobi turned his head away. The Dark Apprentice's lips found his neck instead. He kissed it, sensuously, moving up and down its length, caressing it with his lips. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feelings in utter turmoil, complete confusion and disorder. Vader was speaking again.

"I was sure I heard a voice talk to me," he was saying as he drew the unresisting Jedi closer, into his arms. "It sounded just like that of my old Master." His old Apprentice began to run his leather-clad hands over Kenobi's body, slowly caressing his back and shoulders. Obi-Wan fought hard to keep his mental shields intact, not lose his focus, but it was becoming very difficult. The Sith was trying to break them down. He was succeeding.

"I didn't know you could speak, Karesh," the Dark Lord went on, his hands now resting on Kenobi's rear. They began to caress him there, too. Kneading softly. Pulling him closer. "And you seemed to know just what to say, to bring me back. You are indeed a rare being."

Vader unlocked his captive's binders with a slight movement of his beautiful head. They fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. Kenobi didn't know what to do with his hands, now that they were free. They hung at his sides. His azure eyes looked once more into the blue-green ones of the man who once was Anakin Skywalker. They were beginning to take on a sort of orange cast.

The Sith's durasteel hands gripped his upper arms and hauled Obi-Wan's body so close to his that the controls of his lifesuit were pressing uncomfortably into his chest. "The Jedi is dead," he said huskily, "You have nothing to fear. If you will not speak to me now, don't keep your thoughts from me." Vader's eyes were closing as he lowered his head once more to Kenobi. "Kiss me," the Dark Lord whispered, "kiss me. Give me the love that my old Master would not. Do for me what he could not. He didn't care for me. Never loved me.

"Kiss me," he pleaded against the Jedi's lips. "Please. I need it. Kiss me."

The Dark Apprentice's lips came down over Obi-Wan's. Soft, full, yet mobile and demanding. The Jedi parted them, and as his shields came crashing down, Kenobi scorched his former Padawan's mouth with a kiss that held all the love he felt for him. It didn't matter anymore that this love was not what he came here to share. It was what Anakin could accept. That was more important.

Lord Vader moaned, pulling his old master deeper into his kiss, opening his mouth wider. His thoughts touched Kenobi's at last; he felt the powerful, almost overwhelming love coming from him, and a part of him knew then.

"Obi-Wan," he whispered. So quietly. It was almost a thought and not a sound at all. That one word, on that soft breath, told Kenobi everything he came here to learn. The Dark Lord's lips came down again. With infinite tenderness, they kissed his lips, and then his cheek.

The two of them held each other.

Karesh had gotten up from the floor, removed and gotten rid of both his ruined clothes and the beard. Just as Admiral Troppert and Major Graner came bursting through the door with a contingent of security officers. Blasters drawn. He figured they would, as soon as he'd cut the power to the cameras.

His Imperial Highness sat on his carved onyx throne in his vast Coruscant palace, brooding. It was just as well that the outsized black hooded robe hid his face; it would have shown his yellowish eyes squinting almost into slits in concentration, brow even more furrowed, lips compressed into an almost invisible line. He didn't care how he looked anymore. But he didn't like for anyone to see him looking this concerned about anything.

It was bad for morale.

His Apprentice was comatose, far away on the Executor, and nobody could figure out what was wrong with him. Lord Vader's Force signature had grown very weak, was barely perceptible. Palpatine was growing increasingly concerned. He was in no position to replace him right now. Karesh, for all of his abilities, was probably not going to be up to the job of identifying what his problem was. He was not a Force practitioner, knew little or nothing about the Sith Order, and besides that he was an Immortal.

Never, ever trust an Immortal, his Master had once told him. A Sith didn't trust anyone, of course, but Immortals were particularly to be avoided. They always had their own agenda, and it was impossible to be sure that one knew what it was before it was too late. The Emperor had no idea what it was that the Immortals did to Plagueis that earned them their execrable reputation, but they seemed to be well known to the Jedi as well. They probably dealt with and exploited both the Sith and the Jedi. Palpatine snerked, quietly, to himself. That took *balls*.

The Immortals were trouble. Palpatine had known this when he found Karesh, months ago. His uncanny resemblance to Obi-Wan Kenobi, though, and the Sith Master's own misgivings about his Apprentice were a matter of grave concern. Lord Vader had the hate. He had the fear. He had the anger. He had lust and rage; he had a superabundance of those. But a lot of it seemed traceable back to only one source: his relationship with his old Master. It was Kenobi that made him what he was. Palpatine only exploited his weaknesses at the proper moment, and offered him a chance at a greater life. The Jedi's hold on him had been so intense that turning to the Dark Side had nearly killed him. Kenobi couldn't let the man who had been Anakin Skywalker go his own way without a fight.

Now, it seemed, the man who had been Anakin Skywalker couldn't let go of his old Master without a fight—and that conflict was what kept him in the Dark Side. The emotional energy of the bond between Palpatine and his Apprentice paled in comparison to that of Anakin and Obi-Wan. Despite six years of their being Sith Master and Apprentice, it looked very much like it would never come close. Palpatine was uncomfortable with this, only because Obi-Wan Kenobi was most likely still alive, in exile somewhere, and he had no idea how Vader would behave if he suddenly turned up again. Would the man who had been Anakin Skywalker not allow Kenobi to go without a fight? Lord Vader's new Master doubted it, but what exactly would he be fighting for? What would killing Kenobi mean for his Apprentice? Would that solve the problem of a single-source-Darkness, forcing Vader to create his own Dark motivation, or create an entirely new set of issues that his Sith Master couldn't even begin to identify?

That was why Karesh was ideal for this delicate and dangerous job.

That was why, in spite of every precept his own Master ever taught him, and the warnings of his own instincts, Palpatine had brought him in for his Apprentice. Karesh was an Immortal. He could not be killed. He was the perfect catalyst.

So far the experiment was working perfectly. The Dark Lord had behaved completely true to form; he'd attempted to kill the Immortal, the image of his old Master. Palpatine had been quite pleased. But why, less than a few hours later, was Vader now laying in a coma, his life force steadily weakening, and no doctor could figure out why?

Something was wrong, Palpatine could feel it. That fucking Immortal was up to something, something thoroughly vile, and was probably ruining his Apprentice even as he sat there, doing nothing about it.

One pale claw-like hand smacked the armrest. He moved it downwards, to the controls built into the chair. Restraining the desire to shout his orders, he spoke softly into the intercom, slowly savoring the fermenting rage in his veins, like the fine wine it was. And he told his lackeys to get his shuttle ready for immediate launch. He was going to the Executor. Right now.

Obi-Wan held his old Padawan close to him, closing his eyes, wishing he could hold onto this moment. Against his will, he started to tremble. He'd come here to tell the man who had been Anakin Skywalker that he'd always cared for him, always loved him. Always. He wanted very much for this man to believe him, and, miracle of the Force, he had. Maybe Vader didn't consciously know it, not entirely realize it, but right here and right now, he was living in the Truth: they would always be brothers. Always.

But the moment of unity was passing. The Force was already growing Dark around both of them. Anakin Skywalker really was Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. Even Obi-Wan's deep love and commitment could never change that. Lord Darth Vader would want his old Master to pay for everything he'd done to him. In pain. In shame. In full.

The Sith's hands began to move over him again. His breathing grew heavier, faster. He took his cheek, which had been lying quiescently against Obi-Wan's temple, away from its resting place. His head lowered, and his lips came down again to cover Kenobi's once more.

This time they weren't gentle. They were hard, violent, brutal. Demanding total surrender. There was no love in that kiss at all. Only hate. And lust. And anger. Lord Vader's tongue was practically down the Jedi's throat, and he could hardly breathe for the strength of the Sith Apprentice's grip on him. His leather-clad hands, coldly groping him, were bruising in their touch. Kenobi tried to turn his head away, tried to break free, but he could not. It would have required the Force to shove the Dark Lord back, but if he did, it would have meant death. Kenobi was unarmed. Force or not, the Jedi knew he would most likely die if he resisted. As one of the gloved hands placed itself right over the Jedi's cock, feeling it over his robes, Obi-Wan wondered if death might be a better choice.

Kenobi was pretty sure he was about to be raped. He could not fight back. He could not negotiate with his attacker. He dared not even try to influence his thoughts, touch his mind.

"I've wanted this for a long time," the Sith purred in a voice so feral and so Dark that Obi-Wan could hardly believe it was coming from Anakin's mouth. "I never wanted to fuck another man. But after what he did to me, the way the Jedi Council treated me…" he paused, his hands now gripping his old Master's ass and grinding his body against the armored lifesuit. "It occurred to me that I could quite enjoy fucking my old master. To use him like a whore."

Obi-Wan gasped in pain. That inflamed the Dark Lord even more, made him even more vicious. The durasteel hands, beneath their soft gloving, were mauling him. One of them reached inside Kenobi's robes, gripped his arousal. He began to stroke it. The Jedi was almost fainting. With shame. With humiliation.

"You want it, don't you?" The Sith's hand tore off the codpiece of his lifesuit. A moment later, Kenobi could feel his old Padawan's erection grinding against his own. He bit back a cry by biting his lip. Until it bled. "Yesss…" Vader hissed into Obi-Wan's ear. "You want it, I know you do. You want everything I decide to give you, don't you, Karesh? You will take what I give you, every time I give it to you, for as long as I decide to keep you here. You're going to remain on this ship, be my bitch, my Obi-Wan-whore, now that the Jedi is dead.

"You brought him here. You knew how I felt about him. Now you—you—will service me in his stead."

Jet-black hatred, mixed with red-hot desire radiated off the Dark Lord in gigantic waves.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had slammed his mental shields back down long ago, but keeping his body from betraying him was another matter. Having Lord Vader violate him this way was horrifying to him. He didn't know if he could stop himself from fighting back with everything he had, including the Force that he could use so proficiently.

Because the Sith was going to rape him. And from the sound of it, repeatedly. Right now.

A loud, insistent beeping started to come from a device on Vader's belt. A comlink. The Dark Lord snatched it from his waist and threw it across the room with a growl, smashing it into tiny pieces. Then he turned back to his victim.

Troppert was astonished to say the least, at seeing the immortal apparently unharmed but completely naked. Standing there quietly, waiting for them. There was not sign at all of the Emperor's Apprentice.

"What happened here?" the Admiral demanded. "Where is Lord Vader?"

"Lord Vader is recovered," Karesh told the medical officer telepathically. "He left a few minutes ago."

Graner frowned. So did Troppert. "What was wrong with him?" asked the Major.

"He had a kind of profound psychic crisis," the immortal being sent, "a sort of warp in the Dark Side energies of his mind. He just needed an…incentive to come out of it."

As Troppert looked at the deathless being, whom he knew resembled the Sith's old Jedi Master, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he asked it anyway. "What kind of incentive?"

Karesh just smiled and winked at them, as he glanced down at his nude body.

Troppert and Graner looked at each other. The young major shrugged. The Admiral sighed.

"Karesh, I don't think I want to know any more about how it was that you assisted the Dark Lord, but before the cameras stopped operating there was a record of someone else coming in here. Who was it?"

"I don't know," the immortal replied mentally, "but he was dressed as a Jedi."

A Jedi aboard the ship. And the Emperor going to be arriving within an hour or so. Troppert needed to notify Ozzel immediately, and find Lord Vader at once.

"Where is the Dark Lord now? Do you know?" Graner was looking quite concerned. Given that Vader had just recovered his health, the young medical officer wasn't at all interested in having to patch him up again. This entire excursion to the Executor, to assist his superiors in a difficult assignment, wasn't at all what he thought it would be.

"He went off in pursuit of the Jedi," Karesh answered. "I'm sure he's caught up with him by now."

Troppert turned to his security detail. "Find out Lord Vader's present location, and see if he needs any assistance." The security captain saluted and hurried off, taking his team with him. The head of the Imperial medical service turned to his colleague and asked, "Graner, can you find Karesh some clothes? I'm fairly certain the Emperor will wish to talk to him."

The Major wiped the smirk off his face that was beginning to form there. "Of course, sir," he replied, motioning for immortal to follow him to the Dispensary.

Karesh considered his situation as he followed Graner from Vader's private section of the Infirmary. The Emperor would be here soon. The Sith would have concluded his business with Kenobi by now, or very soon would. The entire security network of the ship would no doubt be looking everywhere for the Jedi. If the Dark Lord hadn't killed him by now (assuming he were planning to), it would take a miracle for Obi-Wan to leave the ship alive. A miracle—or the help of a friend, performed at great risk, as either an act of love or a gesture of honor. Or both. Karesh smiled softly to himself. Excellent.

The immortal and his escort came to their destination, a large office with supplies of all kinds stacked in row upon row of shelves. Graner led the way to the uniform storage section, found a tunic and trousers that he thought would fit. Then he began looking for footwear. The great Dispensary room had no one in it but them. It was as good a place as any to find out some nswers from the handsome, mysterious being. "Karesh, what happened to your clothes?"

"Lord Vader cut them into pieces," the Immortal said, pulling on the trousers. No reason to lie about that.

"Why did he do that?" The Major found socks and boots, handed them over to his charge, who was just slipping the tunic over his head. Graner had a feeling that Karesh was hiding something, and he wanted to know what it was.

The handsome being propped himself up against the shelving, put on the socks and shoved his feet into the boots before he answered. They weren't too bad, he noted with surprise. The Imperials apparently did think about the comfort of the ones that served them. "I knew that Lord Vader had been…fond…of his old master," Karesh pathed to his escort. "I just took advantage of this when I came to help him out of his coma."

"That still doesn't answer my question." The young officer had drawn himself up to his full height, frowning at the immortal suspiciously. He crossed both arms over his chest.

The beautiful deathless being raised his aqua eyes to the man beside him, and sighed. The Major was being a real pain in the ass.

Vader grabbed his victim by the back of the neck and slammed him onto the conference room table. Before he could even think about getting up and away from him, the Dark Lord took the front of his robe in a durasteel hand and ripped it off him. The sight of the being's naked body caused him to pause a moment.

There was something odd about it. But for some reason, he couldn't quite recall to mind what it was.

Kenobi saw the hesitation in the Sith's face, his confusion. Something was happening.

Lord Vader used the Force to pin his prisoner's body to the surface of the table. Then he flipped him over, forced his legs apart, climbed up on the table and bent over him. And paused again. The surface of the conference room table was some kind of glossy metal, polished so highly that it reflected like a mirror. As the Dark Apprentice looked down on it, he saw Jedi Anakin Skywalker, face twisted with hatred and rage, about to rape his Master. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

For a moment, several in fact, Vader just stared at the reflection. He had no thoughts. He had no emotions. He felt nothing. He couldn't move. This was what he wanted. Wasn't it?

The Jedi, breathing hard, fogged the tabletop in a short time, obliterating the vision. By then, the Sith had turned him over on his back and was kneeling over him. He leaned forward on his hands, supporting his weight by them, which were on either side of Kenobi's head. As Obi-Wan looked up at him, the eyes of Anakin Skywalker were looking down.

"Obi-Wan, it's you, isn't it?"

Kenobi was silent, not sure what to do. Not sure if he was entirely compromised. Not sure that it mattered to him whether he was or not.

Lord Vader glared at him, sapphire eyes now completely orange. "I'm going to ask you a question. I want a truthful answer. Just one word. I don't care whether you path it or speak it. If you decline to respond, I will break your neck. Perhaps it will kill you, or perhaps it will not, but it will give me great pleasure either way. You have ten seconds."

The question the Dark Lord asked him was very surprising. It wasn't at all what he expected to hear. In fact, it shocked him.

"Do you want me to?" was what he asked.

For a brief second Kenobi wasn't sure he heard the question correctly. It seemed such a strange thing to ask. Surely the answer was obvious.

But the Sith just wanted to know who was lying beneath him. It didn't matter what the word was. One word would tell him what he wanted to know. A voice or a mental touch would solve the mystery. The answer to the question, though, might show the quality of the man. It would take a brave one to refuse. No pacifist immortal could have much in the way of courage.

"No," said Obi-Wan softly.

A shudder traveled through the Dark Apprentice. It was clearly visible. So it was indeed Obi-Wan Kenobi, lying beneath him. Obi-Wan, whom he was about to rape. Obi-Wan, who had almost killed him six years ago. Obi-Wan, who had betrayed and abandoned him. Obi-Wan, who risked his life to show just how much he still loved Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan.

Vader could scarcely believe it. His Jedi Master had returned. To find Anakin Skywalker. Why? Anakin Skywalker didn't exist anymore. He was Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. Anakin Skywalker was dead. Dead and gone, these last six years. Wasn't he? Wasn't he?

His past was haunting him. The ghost that lived with him through most of it was lying on the table beneath him.

Now it was the Sith who couldn't speak. He moved to half-sit, half-lie next to his old Master, as the Jedi lay motionless on the table. Battered, bruised and shamed.

The leather-clad but skinless hands moved themselves all over Obi-Wan. Not a sexual touch, but as if they were trying to assure themselves that the Jedi really existed. That he was a solid reality, not an apparition, a ghost of some kind, as he feared it was. That Kenobi's love for him was a real thing, that if he touched the Jedi's pale body, he could feel it, rising from the flesh itself. Was it possible that his friend, the man who had been like his father, returned because he wanted…love?

Love and not pardon, because pardon was impossible. Love, from a Lord of the Sith?

Obi-Wan let his Apprentice touch him, made no move to stop him. He understood his friend, his brother. What he could touch was reality, for him. Intangibles were never Anakin Skywalker's strong suit. They bewildered, confused him. They always had.

"Obi-Wan," whispered the Sith, one hand finally caressing Kenobi's cheek. His sapphire eyes, having returned to their normal deep blue, looked into the Jedi's aqua ones.

The Emperor's Apprentice had been outside of his oxygen-rich, pressurized environment for well over an hour now. His lungs were stressed. His started to wheeze. His skin turned red, then bluish. Hypoxia.

Kenobi saw it. His old Padawan was suffocating.

Stretching out a hand, he used the Force to summon the Sith's helmet, breathmask and vocoder to him. Working rapidly, he replaced them on Vader's head, frowning over the controls. There had to be a system reset somewhere. One of the Dark Lord's black-clad hands took one of Obi-Wan's and brought it over to one of the small control boxes on his belt. It helped his old master press the reset button. A second later, the respirator began its work. Lord Vader was breathing again. In. Out. In. Out.

Leaving his old Apprentice to die the first time, he had killed only himself. Kenobi would lay his life down first, before he struck down his friend and brother again.

The Dark Lord, his face once more covered by the breathmask, his suit forcing the breath of life into his body once more, recalled what he was: a prisoner. A prisoner of his body, of his Master, of the Dark Side. He looked over at the Jedi sitting on the table next to him, and recalled what he was.

A captive. A Jedi captive. A Jedi captive Traitor with a sentence of death on his head.

The only commonality between the Sith prisoner and the Jedi captive was the man who held the keys. The man who had become Darth Vader felt a powerful disturbance in the Force, a very familiar one. His Imperial Master was coming aboard the Executor. The jailer had arrived.

"My Master is here," the Dark Lord told Obi-Wan. The Jedi nodded; he'd sensed it too.

"The Jedi believed that there was no honor among the Sith, but it is not so," he continued. "You saved my life today, brought me back. You owe me nothing now. I owe you nothing. My Master, however, still desires to be revenged on you. Allowing him to kill you now would not be honorable. I must remove you to the one place on this ship he will not have searched." Then the Sith Lord told him where.

Kenobi looked shocked. "You have a harem?"

Obi-Wan could practically see one of his old Apprentice's eyebrows lift mockingly. "Surprised? Kenobi, the Jedi were stupid to eschew regular sexual partners. I have four Terran women in my harem on this ship, and their value to me is immense. Come, we need to go at once. The harem is the most heavily protected area of this ship, next to the bridge and the engine rooms."

The Jedi crossed his arms over his chest and looked at his old Padawan a little sideways. "How can you be sure that I can be trusted with your concubines? You didn't trust me with your wife. I might be a Jedi, I might have been your old master, but I am still a man."

The Sith had already turned and started towards the door. Helmet and mask looked back over his shoulder slightly. The mention of Padme irritated him. But the dead supercilious bitch would have thought herself too good to have been unfaithful with such a one as Kenobi. It wasn't the Jedi he distrusted. Curling his lip, he replied a little sarcastically. "Are you really? I always wondered about that."

The doors opened to the hall outside. Kenobi called Lord Vader back. "My lord," he said. Vader turned towards his captive. And it registered that there was a problem.

The Dark Lord looked over to his security detail, and beckoned to one that was about the Jedi's height and build. "Your uniform," he commanded. "I want it. Now."

Sith and Jedi strode to Vader's quarters without speaking any further. Officers and men were scurrying around all over the place, hardly paying attention at all to the Dark Lord and his lone companion. Obi-Wan followed his captor's lead into his bedroom, to the concealed entrance to the harem. Ten seconds in front of the hidden panel, and it opened.

"Kenobi," the Lord of the Sith told him flatly, "I won't threaten or lecture you, but I will say this: my Terrans are my treasures. If anything happens to them while you are there, you will be the newest addition to my harem.

The Jedi Master's jaw dropped. "Yes, Obi-Wan," Vader assured, "you will be my whore, and I will treat you as one. Think about that, while you are admiring the beauty of my mistresses."

Darth Vader's old master would just as soon not think about that. He followed his old Apprentice down the narrow, dimly lit hallway that lead to the harem.

When they got there, the common area was deserted. The large fountain, forming most of one wall and quietly plashing, was the only sound. The Dark Lord bent down to a large polished table and struck the silver chimes that were mounted on top of it. Seconds later, the Terran mistresses came out of their apartments and gathered in front of the fountain.

Obi-Wan's mouth gaped open a little gauchely as he looked at them. They were absolutely beautiful. The aura of sexiness that clung around all of them was almost palpable.

Vader was speaking. "My Ladies, I must solicit your tolerance, and your hospitality, on behalf of this man. It will only be for a few hours, I assure you. I have no time to explain everything to you now, but I will return later this evening to answer all your questions."

Melynda tossed her glossy dark hair back and pursed her red lips. "Now Melynda," said the Sith, holding up one gloved finger in her direction, "I will have no debate. This is a small thing that I ask of you all, and I expect to be obeyed." She shifted restively in her scarlet stiletto heels, black peignoir flowing silkily around her beautifully curved hips, but was silent. Her Lord owed her a love token, and she had not forgotten about it. He wasn't going to be allowed to, either.

Heather, standing next to Mel, crossed her arms beneath her breasts, the pleated ivory satin of her gown setting off the russet glow of her long ringletted hair. She looked seriously annoyed, but Kenobi was immediately beside himself with admiration. What a goddess…Her pale skin shone like mother of pearl. The Sith Lord subtly used the Force to caress her shoulders, and gently tweak an earlobe.

Obi-Wan audibly gulped as he stared at her. Vader aimed a small kick at his shin.

Kelly, in her power chair, opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again. The new arrival was rather cute, a pretty young man. Her diaphanous pink pajamas, which hardly hid any of her luscious charms, were exceedingly becoming and she knew it. She noted that her Lord was staring at her fixedly. `Don't even think about it,' she thought she heard him growl in her ear. Invisible Force hands caressed her cheek, her neck. A ghost finger grazed her breast.

Kim shook out the pale green ribbon that bound back her red-gold hair, and the long waves brushed her bare shoulders. Vader's eyes followed the motion. She was just barely wearing a mint-green bustier and matching panties, a silken robe draped strategically around her body. In her satin heels, she was the perfect height for an extended make-out session, standing up. The beautiful concubine was sure she felt a touch of soft lips along her neck, and small nip at its soft flesh. `Later,' she seemed to hear a whisper say.

The Sith indicated each of his ladies in turn with his leather-clad hand, as if they were crown jewels in a velvet case. "These are Melynda, Heather, Kelly and Kim. Heather, don't be so cross. How can my guest help but admire your beauty?

"I must go. Behave yourselves." With that, Vader whirled around and prepared to walk out. Just as he got to the door, he issued a warning to Obi-Wan. "Remember, Kenobi, what I told you." And then he was gone.

The Jedi exhaled lengthily. The ladies approached their guest and looked him over for a few moments. Then Melynda asked, in a deceptively sweet voice, "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

Admiral Ozzel and his entire senior staff, plus representatives from each regiment of storm troopers and flight squadrons, and their officers, filled the landing bay. The Emperor was about to dock. His shuttle was on final approach.

Ozzel was in a state of complete terror, as were his officers. It wasn't so much because the Ruler of the Galaxy felt himself forced to come all the way out to the backwaters of Empire, to deal with a problem they should have been able to handle themselves. It was because nobody was quite sure where the Emperor's Apprentice was, and even the Admiral had to admit, that was pretty fucking ridiculous. The head of the Imperial Star Fleet was expecting that the first question out of Palpatine's mouth would concern Lord Vader's whereabouts and condition, and Ozzel had absolutely no idea how to answer him. At least he wasn't in the Infirmary. At least he wasn't still lying in some kind of coma. At least he wasn't going to die on Ozzel's ship. Not yet, anyway.

The shuttle entered the bay under tractor beam, and the grid controllers landed it as if it were make of gossamer silk threads and starlight. It touched down gently, with hardly a sound. The Admiral took a deep breath. Exhaled it slowly.

Out of the corner of his eye, a tall black form came striding across the landing bay floor towards the Imperial shuttle. Ozzel was so relieved that he almost fainted dead away. But behind him, General Veers took two steps forward and whispered into his ear.

"Admiral, I've just been informed that there is a Jedi loose on this ship."

The politically-appointed, well-connected but inexperienced officer gave a sound that was something between a cough and a wheeze. The shuttle ramp came down. In a body, the highest-ranking officers approached it, including Ozzel, and stopped four paces behind Lord Vader. All of them knelt. The Dark Lord knelt as well. Waiting. Heads bowed reverently.

Slowly, leaning on his cane, Emperor Palpatine came down the ramp. His Apprentice was waiting for him.

Good, thought his Imperial Highness. He had recovered. As he came to where the Dark Lord was kneeling, he extended a hand towards him. "Rise, my friend," the Sith Master ordered smoothly. "I'm pleased to see that you're feeling better.

"Now what is this I hear about Obi-Wan Kenobi being loose on this ship?"

Ordinarily Obi-Wan wouldn't have taken so long to answer a question from a beautiful woman. But at that moment it dawned on him that he might be in a worse situation with his fair hostesses than he had been less than half an hour ago, with his old Padawan. Lord Vader would have raped him and put him into one of the prison levels on the ship—and then he would kill him. Eventually. His actions would have been at least partially justified. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker had a grievance with his old Master, and Kenobi knew it. He'd failed his Apprentice, failed him in almost every way that mattered. Kenobi felt that guilt and shame every day of his exile on Tatooine. Vader spared him because, in spite of everything, he still felt a bond with his old Master. Tenuous, darkened, deformed, twisted, but there.

These mistresses of the Dark Lord, however, would only know one thing: the man who hacked their Lord into pieces, made him dependent on machinery to live and blighted his hopes to live free, was probably standing right in front of them. They would feel nothing for the Jedi, except anger and loathing. They could not know what it was, in those terrible days leading up with Mustafar, to see the work of a thousand generations undone in a single day, by a single man—and his Dark Apprentice. They could not know the thousands of days Obi-Wan spent working with Anakin, training him, worrying over him, sacrificing for him. Not that it would help, for them to know any of that. It would only make what happened seem that much more incomprehensible.

And Kenobi couldn't raise a hand against any of them. Unless, of course, he wished to join them in the harem as the Dark Lord's male whore. He did not wish that. Most emphatically, he did not wish that. He rather wondered why Lord Vader, apparently, did. It made no sense. Anakin didn't prefer men. But he did appear to be more flexible then Obi-Wan believed he was. That had been a bit of a surprise.

It also occurred to him that, placing him here in this place, he had done him no favor. Perhaps he was hoping that his ladies would do what he would, or could not. Looking at the cold blue eyes of Melynda, the furious stance of Heather, the suspicion beginning to flow from Kelly and Kim's perplexed, hostile stare, he was sure he was in very big trouble.

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Jedi said quietly. "Yes, that Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Graner glared at Karesh. He'd had it with the immortal, who apparently thought this whole thing was some kind of game. "I'm waiting for your answer," he snapped. While Karesh gathered his thoughts, he took a step back. This situation was getting out of hand. Before he could reply, a service droid came into the room. He was carrying a bundle of clothes and a lightsaber. Kasesh kept his face blandly expressionless, but he this was not a good development. He'd planned that it would take much longer for Kenobi's robes and saber to be discovered. By then he'd hoped to have escaped from the ship. This would complicate matters enormously.

"Sir, you asked me to bring to you whatever I found in the examination room that didn't match up to the Infirmary manifest," it said.

It held out the clothing and the weapon. Graner nodded, dismissed the machine. It glided away. The Major held up the clothing, each piece of which was cut neatly into two pieces at the midline, and examined the other item. He chuckled quite as evilly as Palpatine might have done.

"Well Karesh," he observed sardonically, "it seems you've been aiding and abetting the activities of a Jedi outlaw aboard this ship. I'm sure Admiral Troppert will want to talk to you. He will not doubt want to know what was done with the traitor's body. But before I take you to him for interrogation, I have something I want to do first. "

Putting the lightsaber in his pocket and tucking the garments under one arm, the young officer took a step forward. And slapped the immortal quite hard, across the face.

"I didn't want you here from the very beginning," he hissed. "We don't need your kind in the Medical Service. Immortals are nothing but trouble. I hope the Emperor realizes this, now that we have proof of your treachery."

Oh yes, thought Karesh, as his handsome face reddened from the stinging slap, this could get bad.

"The situation is under control, my Master," Vader replied evenly as he followed his Emperor's steps across the landing bay.

"Oh?" the Sith Master sounded highly dubious. The Dark Lord was glad that Ozzel and the senior officers were trailing behind him, out of earshot. At least they had that much discretion. "It doesn't appear that way to me, Lord Vader. Come, we will discuss this privately."

His Imperial Majesty made his way past the officers and men standing at attention, in columns and rows, without paying them the slightest bit of attention. Vader followed slightly behind, his thoughts completely shielded from his Master. Palpatine was, and he could admit it to himself, a bit concerned. His Apprentice was definitely hiding something from him, and it felt vaguely threatening. He didn't like it, that Vader was concealing vital information from him, but he was a Dark Apprentice. It was expected that he would, and from time to time, there would be danger in that. A Sith Master accepted this as the price of progress in training an Apprentice, as part of the rite of passage for the continuance of the Order.

It didn't mean he had to like it, though.

As he walked, the Emperor Palpatine picked up the echo of a powerful disturbance in the Force, coming from a room near the landing bay, just past the bay doors. He sensed the dark energies of lust, anger and hatred that lured him to it, as the smell of a fine dinner might draw a gourmet. They felt like Vader's energies. Something had happened there, probably involving the Jedi. Perfect. They would speak in that room.

Lord Darth Vader, following close on the heels of his Imperial Master, knew where he was going. He hoped that he would be able to explain what happened there, in the place where they were going, but he didn't truly understand it all himself. It was all very complex.

He wondered what, if anything, his Ladies had done to the Jedi he'd dropped on their doorstep. The Dark Lord didn't sense any disturbance in the Force that would indicate that he was dead, which probably meant that they were planning to toy with him for a while. He smiled slightly behind his breathmask, thinking of them. Melynda wanted her love token. The Sith had practically gift-wrapped it for her. Kenobi was unarmed, dared not fight, and there was nowhere he could run. If she didn't care to do it herself, she had plenty of able assistance from the other Ladies. There was just one thing that disturbed Darth Vader. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker didn't want his old Master dead, and that, he knew, would make no sense to his present Master. No sense at all.

His Ladies wouldn't understand it either. He would tell Palpatine that he'd thrown Kenobi to his Ladies, for bit of torture before he was executed. The Emperor would think him a sentimental fool, perhaps getting a bit soft, but would have no trouble believing that his Apprentice's harem girls would take care of business quite adequately. His Master had seen the intelligence reports on them. What Palpatine couldn't know, however, was that the Terrans were extremely clever. That they couldn't be counted on to do the obvious thing every time. That they had both the courage and the fortitude to do whatever they thought was best-- and that might not be what their Lord ordered them to do. That was one reason why he kept them here, why they were among his special favorites. They knew his heart. Sometimes better than he did.

He was counting on them now.

The Dark Lord's ladies looked at each other. Then they looked at him.

Without a word, Heather went back to her quarters and got her lightsaber. She glared at Kenobi and walked over to where he was standing. The Jedi took one step back, wishing he hadn't been stupid enough to hand over his own weapon to the immortal.

Melynda spoke quickly. "No, Heather, wait. Not yet."

"Why not?" the tall red-haired concubine snarled. "You know what he did."

"I'm not saying that he doesn't deserve it," Vader's dark-haired beauty said, her tone conciliatory, "I'm not saying that you're not absolutely right. But I think we should consider the manner of his death before we strike. This is an opportunity for vengeance that we shouldn't waste."

Kelly frowned, hostility growing as she regarded the man before her. "Yes," she mused aloud. "He should suffer, as our Lord suffered, or it's no good. Let's do this right."

"Ladies, may I say a word?" Obi-Wan interjected gently, hoping to get some kind of leverage in this situation.

"No," snapped Kim as she tied the green silk robe around her slender body. "Shut up, Kenobi. We don't want to hear it."

"Let's tie him up," Mel suggested. Heather nodded, red ringlets swaying as she did so. Igniting the laser sword, she held it on the Jedi. "Don't move," she ordered him, "or I'll cut you into fish bait."

Kenobi was still, thinking fast. He breathed deeply, attempted to center himself. He released his fear. Gently, so gently, he contacted each of their minds. Anger. Hatred. Resentment. Outrage. That was what he read. They all wanted his blood. He'd crippled, maimed and practically killed the man they loved. He'd loved him too. . He could hardly blame them. He'd blamed himself. Over and over again.

Melynda went back into her rooms and returned a few minutes later with two red velvet sashes and a small zippered bag. She handed one of the sashes to Kim. "Kim, would you please tie his hands?" she asked. "I'll get his feet."

"We should strip him first," Kelly suggested.

"Why?" asked Heather, a sneer curling her rose-pink lips. "I have no interest in looking at his naked body."

"Neither have I," the young consort replied, "but it will be easier to torture him if we take his clothes off."

Mel nodded. She looked at Kim, who also gave her assent.

"Take your clothes off, Jedi Master Kenobi," the lovely concubine ordered. "And then lay down on the floor."

Obi-Wan looked around at his beautiful torturers. They meant business. Heather draw her arm back as if to strike, and he immediately pulled off his tunic. The trousers followed, then the boots. He laid down as requested, his aqua eyes looking up at Heather. She was so magnificent. The Jedi Master thought maybe she hated him worse than all of the others, in some respects.

Kelly observed that her victim was well-endowed and beautiful, but felt no desire at all, which was unusual, for her. Ordinarily she was quite susceptible to male beauty, but knowing who this man was and what he did completely killed any attraction. Rotten miserable bastard. She stared at him, though. She couldn't help it. Against her will, Heather was a little mesmerized also.

Mel saw it. "Hey," she said, raising her voice slightly to get their attention. "Our lord was beautiful too. Before this asshole got to him."

It was true. They all knew it. And it made them furious to be reminded of the fact.

Obi-Wan looked over at Heather once again, trying to plead with her mentally. It wasn't working. She was blocking him off totally.

"I think we need to have a brief caucus," Kim ventured, "and work out a plan of action."

"Agreed," Mel replied. "Kim, let's tie him first."

The beautiful concubines bent to their task. If it weren't for the terrible hate and anger radiating off them, the Jedi would have considered this one of the most erotic moments of his life. Two lovely women were bending over his nude body, and were proceeding to tie him up with red velvet sashes. Gods.

Heather still held the lightsaber over him. Her eyes promised death. That put a damper on remaining erotic thoughts he might have been having. The girls, having finished their task, clustered around Kelly's power chair. Heather inched over to the other ladies, not taking her eyes from the Jedi, lying on the floor.

"I don't know about you," Kim began, "but I'd like a few minutes alone with him before we start. I have some things I want to say to him, some things to ask."

Kelly nodded. "Me, too." Mel looked at Heather, who nodded as well. "I think that's unanimous," she observed. "Shall we go in alphabetical order?" The ladies agreed. It seemed fair.

"Then what?" asked Kim.

"What's in the bag?" inquired Kelly, shifting in her chair and indicating the small zippered case in Mel's hand. Melynda unzipped it and held it open, so they could look.

A pair of cuticle scissors. A small pocket knife. A bottle of isopropyl alcohol, another of acetone. A small package of straight-edged razor blades. A few large rubber bands. A pair of tweezers and a fingernail clipper.

"I've got a Swiss army knife with a corkscrew," Kim mentioned. "I'll go and get it."

Kelly regarded the bag and wrinkled her smooth pale brow. "Humph," she considered. "I have a couple of leather belts with large brass buckles. Those might be useful."

Heather indicated her lightsaber. "I think I'll just use this," she said. All the girls nodded. While Heather stood guard, the others went to their quarters and fetched their instruments of torture. Mel also brought an embossed metal tray, and laid out all of the devices.

"Heather, you're first," she said to the tall, red-haired beauty with the lightsaber. The ladies nodded to her, and then departed for their rooms. Heather approached closer to the Jedi, and bent down on one knee to look him in the face.

His aquamarine eyes looked at her pleadingly. "You fucking pig," she snarled. Then she stood up and kicked him in the side so hard she flipped him over.

Palpatine entered the conference room ahead of his Apprentice. A couple of chairs were overturned. There were shredded garments on the floor. The conference table had scuff marks and scratches on the top of it. His Imperial Highness concentrated, and picked up images. They surprised him.

Vader kissing Kenobi, touching him, then all but brutally raping him. Lust. Anger. Confusion. Rage. Fear. Pain. Fine vintages, all of them, only an hour or so old.

"Well, well," observed the Emperor to the Dark Lord as he entered the room and sat down, on one of the chairs that were still upright. "Your feelings about your former master are complex indeed, and still very powerful. Why is that?"

Vader closed the doors to the room and locked them.

"They are not complex, Master."

The ruler of the Galaxy leaned forward on his cane, yellow eyes mocking beneath his hood.

"Anger, Hate and Lust? That's somewhat complicated, don't you think? I thought you just hated and feared him. It seems that you don't really fear him at all. I think you still love him. The hate is a smokescreen, a perversion of the love, not a pure emotion. That's what I think."

"Yes, Master." The Sith Apprentice wasn't going to argue this point with Palpatine. He could think whatever he wanted to. Lord Vader knew differently.

"Where is the Jedi now?"

"I gave him to my concubines."

"You gave him to your concubines?" His young friend was clearly out of his mind. That coma had affected him more strongly than he imagined.

"Yes, Master. They are torturing him as we speak."

When the Jedi turned over, Heather saw the bruises on his body. There were a lot of them, and they were turning purplish-yellow. Some were big. Some were small, and looked like hand and finger marks. There were cuts as well. All of them were very recent. Someone had been at him already.

The consort walked back around and turned him back over with her satin-shod foot. As she peered down, there was more bruising on his body that she hadn't noticed before. Bruises on his thighs, bruises on his arms. She'd had similar bruises on her thighs and arms, after she'd been with her lord.

"Who worked you over, Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan didn't want to answer, so he didn't. He didn't like to think about what happened earlier with his former Padawan. It was too humiliating.

Using the lightsaber as a light source, she passed it slowly over the Jedi Master's body. Heather had been married before Vader took her and brought her here. She knew the marks of ovemaking when she saw them, and these were very fresh. There was a suck mark on Kenobi's neck that the high-necked tunic hid, and his hair largely covered until now. What the hell had been going on?

The tall lovely concubine frowned, went over to Mel's quarters and knocked. Melynda came out, looking a little surprised at being called so early. Before she could speak, Heather beckoned her over. "Mel, come here and look at this."

Melynda buttoned up her black negligee and followed her friend to where the Jedi lay. Again using her lightsaber as a light source, Heather showed Mel the markings she'd found.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Mel's almond-shaped blue eyes looked puzzled, then a little angry. She knew what her body looked like, beneath it's elegant silk covering. Kenobi's skin was as pale as hers was, and he had bruising in almost the same places as she did.

"What does he say about it?" she asked.

"Nothing," Heather replied. "Absolutely nothing. I think he doesn't want to talk about it."

The two lovely consorts looked at each other. "Let's not tell the others," Mel said, "until we know more." Heather nodded. "I think we need to talk privately," she continued. "Call Kelly for her turn, and then let's confer in my quarters."

Melynda left in a swirl of lace-trimmed black, swaying on her stilleto heels. Heather's ivory satin gown flowed and drifted around her heels as she went to call Kelly.

Obi-Wan had never felt so ashamed in all his life.

"What did you do with the Jedi's body, Karesh?" Admiral Troppert demanded.

The Immortal was silent, pathed nothing. Troppert held up the sliced garments he'd been given by Graner, and glared at the being in front of him. Damned immortal. Never trust an immortal.

"I'm waiting for an answer. Or would you prefer me to haul you before the Emperor and let him get it out of you?"

`The Jedi isn't dead,' Karesh admitted. Well, it was going to come out soon that he wasn't anyway.

"Oh? I'd say that being cut in half would just about preclude the possibility of survival, wouldn't you agree?"

The handsome being just smiled. Troppert would get it in a few seconds.

He did. The Admiral was smart. The head of the Imperial Medical service shook his head in total exasperation. "Karesh, you fucking idiot, did you bring him here for Lord Vader to find? Why did you do that?"

Karesh wasn't going to answer that one either. Troppert was on the right track. He just needed about five more seconds to figure it out.

"Gods damn you for a fool, a meddling moronic ass," the Emperor's physician cursed him, as it dawned on him about six seconds later. The Immortal had been toying with all of them, right from the beginning.

There was no way Troppert was going to interfere in the business of the Sith Master and Apprentice. They would no doubt deal with the Jedi in their own way. But it made the Admiral extremely nervous. He had been the one that introduced Karesh to the Emperor in the first place. Palpatine made no secret of the fact that he expected to rule for a thousand years. Troppert doubted that he would last another twenty on the throne. Finding an Immortal had been a great piece of luck—if the scientists and physicians in Imperial service could examine him and find the secret of eternal life, Palpatine could realize his dream. And the Admiral could too. He could retire a wealthy and powerful man, a secure man.

Now he might retire, alright. In a two meter by three meter dirt plot. Karesh had stirred up a whole lot more than a Dark Lord's desire, and they might all die for it.

Kelly came out in her powerchair, and she'd put a soft pink robe on over her pajamas. Heather had given her the lightsaber, but the young girl didn't know how on earth she was going to use it, confined to her chair as she was. It wasn't necessary anyway. The Jedi was laying flat on his back, tied up, and not going anyplace.

Kenobi wouldn't look at her. That made Kelly a little bit mad. She slapped his foot with her hand to get his attention, but he didn't stir.

"What's the matter, Jedi, too good to talk to me?" No answer. "I couldn't care less, you rotten son of a bitch. "Do you know what you did to my lord? DO YOU?" she said, shouting that last bit in rising anger. "Vader requires a respirator to live now, with only short breaks from it, and he has no arms or legs. You cut them off, you cocksucker, and then left him to burn. I don't know anything about the Jedi, but if that's what they do, then give me a Sith any day of the week and twice on Sunday."

Obi-Wan looked over at her, and even if he could have spoken, he wouldn't know what to say. The misinformation that the Imperial Ministries had put out about the Jedi had been a propaganda coup, a true stroke of genius. It had reached every corner of the Galaxy, even to the backwaters of Empire where Kenobi now lived. The Jedi Order had been portrayed as traitors, kidnappers, trained killers, arrogant mercenaries with dreams of hegemony over the whole Galaxy. It had been they that destroyed the Republic. And if you took a certain view of the situation as it unfolded, there was more than a little truth to all of it.

"Have you ever tried to make love to a man who can't breathe?" Kelly demanded, warming up to her soliloquy. "To one that can't hold you in arms that don't feel like steel girders? To one that can't even touch you…touch you…" The young girl found herself looking at the Jedi's thighs. They had some bad bruising on them. And up a little higher, as she craned forward to get a better view, there were red marks on his penis. Scratches.

"Shit," the lovely young concubine observed succinctly. "You've been with my lord recently, haven't you? Haven't you?"

The Jedi didn't answer.

"Goddamn it, you talk to me," Kelly demanded. "We're not some collection of silly innocent women from far away. We are the consorts of Lord Vader, and none of us were virgins when we got here."

Kenobi still didn't know what to say. The vision in pink that was Vader's concubine ignited the lightsaber and moved her chair, so that it was right underneath Obi-Wan's throat. The light from it revealed the suck mark on his neck. Oh yeah. Her lord's, alright.

Kelly intended to threaten the Jedi into speaking to her, but as she looked down at his naked body, beautiful and pale in the dim light, all she thought for a moment was, damn that would have been hot, to see the two of them together.

Kenobi read her thoughts, and looked at her defiantly. "It wasn't voluntary," he said finally.

Her mouth dropped open. What was this asshole saying? That he didn't find her lord incredibly hot and want to fuck him like she and every one of her consorts did?

"No, I didn't want to have sex with him," Obi-Wan stated firmly, in answer to the unspoken. "I was his former Master, I practically raised him, from the time he was a ten year old child. It would have been…wrong. Obscene. I loved him, yes. But we did not love. We never loved."

"He didn't take you, a little while ago?" Curiosity was getting the better of Kelly's outrage.

"No," replied the Jedi. "I said `no.'"

Kelly shut off the lightsaber. And leaned forward, so she could look into his eyes. "Now let me get this straight," she said, her tone sweet. Kenobi immediately became very alarmed. "My lord kissed you, felt you up, ran his hands over your dick, wanted to fuck you, **and you refused him**, after everything you did to him?"

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. "Yes," he told her.

"I can't wait to watch you die," the beautiful young woman said, her eyes hard as durasteel. "You unbelievably selfish, stupid bastard."

Then she powered her chair over to Kim's door and knocked on it.

"Your concubines are torturing Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Palpatine repeated in disbelief. He hadn't arrived on the Executor a moment too soon. His Apprentice had obviously lost it.

"Lord Vader, where were these marvelous Terrans when we were wiping out the Jedi, six years ago? They must be powerful in the Force indeed, if the four of them can subdue a powerful Jedi Master like Kenobi, and torture him with no weapons, and no training."

The Dark Lord smiled smugly beneath his breathmask. Yes, they were marvelous, but his Master was giving him no credit for the…incentive…he'd created to make sure Obi-Wan submitted.

He'd give a great deal to be in his private area of the ship now, observing what was going on. He had no indication through the Force that anything but intimidation was going on, but he had a feeling that the festivities were about to begin. The rage in his Ladies was ramping up. Gods, he wanted to be there.

"Lord Vader, I would like to return to the discussion about your feelings for Kenobi.

"I believe that your hatred for him is not pure. You've obviously manipulated his feelings for you, whatever they are, to induce him to submit to your concubines. How did you convince Obi-Wan Kenobi to obey you, if you didn't make him think that you still loved him?"

The Sith Apprentice began to feel a bit uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why; his Emperor knew that he once appreciated the attentions of his own sex. Sex and love were not the same things, as his Master knew very well.

"My young friend, I know what transpired here. You can conceal nothing from me. You intended to rape him, didn't you?"

The situation was more complicated, but that was essentially correct. "Yes, Master."

"Why didn't you? Didn't you want to after all?"

"No, Master."

Palpatine sat back in his chair. It was clear to him now.

Bringing Karesh here had been a bad mistake.

Kim came out of her rooms, in answer to Kelly's knock. She handed over the lightsaber and jerked her head over to where the Jedi lay. "He's all yours," she said, curling her lip contemptuously at him.

"Thank you, my dear," the lovely strawberry blonde replied, tipping her a wink. And here she thought it was going to be a dull night. Kelly went back to her quarters and closed the doors.

Kim had changed into a soft knit gown, in a pale blue that flattered her peaches and cream complexion. It clung to her curves lovingly, was slit high up the front to both give her freedom of movement and to show her beautiful legs. She was sure that the blood would wash out of it completely. The satin outfit she had on before would have stained badly, and it was one of her Lord's favorites. He liked getting her out of it. She didn't want it ruined.

Gripping the lightsaber in her hand, she walked over to where Kenobi was laying. She ignited the laser sword, and its pale blue light lit her up exquisitely. Obi-Wan looked up at her.

She was so pretty, so very pretty, he thought. His old Apprentice was amazingly fortunate, to have such women grace his bed. The Jedi had had fewer than a dozen encounters with the opposite sex in his whole life, but he'd be willing to bet good credit that even on a bad day, the man who had been Anakin Skywalker had more and better loving than he would ever know.

This one hated him too, he realized as he touched her mind gingerly. They all did. He wished he'd done even one thing to them, directly, to deserve it. They detested him because of what he'd done to his old Padawan. It was unlikely that they would have given him the time of day, a kiss on the cheek or a slap in the face, if it weren't for that.

Kim knelt down next to the Jedi, so she could look at his face.

The detestable filth was handsome, she observed. She reached out one carefully manicured hand to caress his cheek, and then his arm. His long-lashed azure eyes looked at her, full of regret and sadness.

"You're going to die tonight, Jedi Master," the consort told him softly. "We're going to torture you to death. Is there anything you want to confess? Any last requests?"

Obi-Wan considered this. He supposed there was no harm in it. She could refuse him, she could slap him, but he was going to be tortured and beaten anyway.

"You're a very beautiful woman," he whispered. "Would you kiss me?"

Kim pulled back, shocked. How dared he? But she had asked.

The consort didn't want to, really didn't want to. But she recalled that her Lord solicited their tolerance and their hospitality for this man, whatever that was supposed to mean. Her fellow concubines wanted Kenobi dead, and that was fine with her because he was a Jedi, but she had nothing against him personally.

Alone among the ladies of the Dark Lord's harem, she hadn't seen her Lord without his lifesuit. She knew that he had been terribly wounded, but she presumed it had been in battle, against violent, barbaric foes. Her lover was a great warrior, strong and brave. She thought him beautiful too, and did not know what he had been. She also didn't really know who Kenobi was, except that he was a hated Jedi that her lover had some past history with.

This was a dead man she was looking at, whether by their hands or by that of the Empire. Maybe he could have one drop of mercy before his lifeless body was hauled out of their harem.

"Alright," Kim agreed, "as long as you understand that I will be thinking of my lord, and not you. I don't know you, and I don't care to, you miserable Jedi asshole. I do this because my lord asked us for tolerance, and do it for him, not for you."

The lovely woman took his bound hands and pulled him to his feet. Obi-Wan's eyes shone with gratitude. Kim closed her eyes, put her arms around Kenobi. The Jedi bent his head down and grazed her lips with his dry, swollen ones.

She was so pure and sweet. The handsome captive passed his lips over hers again, more fully, more strongly this time. The consort moaned, whispered the name of her Sith lover. Obi-Wan's tongue gently licked her lips and she parted their softness, allowing Kenobi to kiss her deeply.

All too soon, it was over. Kim backed away from him. "That's all you get, Jedi," she told him sternly. He looked at her appealingly. She ignored the look completely.

"Get on your knees, Kenobi." The Jedi obeyed, with difficulty. With his feet bound, it wasn't easy.

"I don't have anything more to say to you," the concubine stated flatly. "It's time for Melynda to have her way with you, and to get this little comedy over with. I for one don't want you around anymore."

With that, she walked over to Mel's quarters and knocked on the door.

His Imperial Highness regarded his Apprentice. Several extremely violent Sith curses ran through his mind. The situation was more serious than he'd ever imagined. Lord Vader had shown something close to love, something close to mercy, and something close to cowardice, in the space of perhaps two hours. His entire identity as a Sith was unraveling, the careful work of many years of dedicated manipulation and maneuvering on Palpatine's part. That was unthinkable. It had to be stopped, and right now, or he would lose Darth Vader.

Information. He needed more information before he could act.

Using the Force, The Emperor activated the intercom. "Yes, Your Highness," a voice said respectfully and attentively from Bridge Control. It was Ozzel. "Find Karesh and bring him to me immediately."

The Emperor didn't wait for an acknowledgement, but cut the connection off without further ado. He had a few things to go over with his young Apprentice before the Immortal got there.

"Lord Vader," he began, "tell me exactly what transpired between you and the Jedi, from the time you were first aware that he was present with you. I want to hear everything. Assume that I know nothing. Do not in any way skirt the facts or shroud your intentions."

"I would never do that, Master," the Dark Lord replied humbly. It didn't fool Palpatine for one second.

"I hope, for your sake, that you do not," the Ruler of the Galaxy told him. "I don't need to remind you that there are no failed Sith Apprentices. Only dead ones."

No failed Sith Masters either, Lord Vader told himself secretly. Just dead ones.

Heather entered Melynda's sitting room and flopped down on one of the couches. Mel was standing next to the small bar, on one side of the room.

"Care for a drink?" she asked, pouring some whiskey for herself into a crystal tumbler.

"Sure," Heather replied, leaning back into the soft red sofa.

Her hostess poured out another drink and brought both glasses over. Handing one to her friend, she sat down, across from her.

They drank in silence for a few moments. The tall redhead spoke first.

"Why don't you tell me what you think is going on," she asked Mel. "I think we're both on the same page, but I'd like to hear your views first."

Melynda lifted her glass and took another drink before she spoke. When she did, she kept her voice level, quiet, and neutral. It in no way reflected how she was feeling. "I think our lord has a very complex, very painful and very confused relationship with the Jedi scum in our entryway. That's what I think."

"Confused how?"

"He loves him. He hates him. He kisses him. He threatens him. He comes near to raping him, but then leaves him on our doorstep, presuming that we will torture and kill him. Yet his instructions to us are for tolerance, and to treat him with hospitality. Confused enough for you?"

"What makes you think he didn't rape him?"

Melynda drained her glass. "No blood on him except for small scratches."

Heather narrowed her eyes. "So what?"

The dark-haired beauty sighed. "The Jedi is probably a virgin. My lord told me that the Jedi Order were largely celibate. Kenobi would have been ripped up pretty bad, if he'd never been penetrated by a man before, never mind a man the size of Lord Vader."

Mel's guest nodded in agreement. "You have a point there. But I suppose it doesn't really matter if he did or not. What do we care about the condition of Kenobi's ass?"

"We should care a great deal." Melynda got up again, fetched the bottle of whisky off the bar and brought it over to where she'd been sitting. Pouring herself a few more ounces, she handed the bottle over to Heather, who also refreshed her drink. "Have you given any thought to the big picture here? Our lord puts his old Master in his harem, tells us to tolerate him, show him courtesy. Even if he doesn't mean it, about the courtesy and hospitality, the fact is **there's another man in this place**. Unless he intends Kenobi to become one of us, it would be ridiculous and foolish to put him in with us."

The beautiful redhead was horrified. "No way," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Think about it, Heather. Our lord doesn't permit another man inside these walls. Even our doctors don't see us, but everything is done through the medical droids. No cameras, no vidphones, no holoprojectors. I heard that the young lieutenant that chauffeured Kelly earlier today was transferred off this ship immediately after he was finished with her. It wouldn't surprise me if he were dead now. Lord Vader guards us jealously, keeps us in one of the most heavily protected and shielded parts of the ship. I think it's pretty clear that he expects Kenobi to either die or join us here, as his lover. I would think that if he wanted the Jedi dead, he would have killed him himself. He had every opportunity, no shortage of means, and every reason in the world."

Heather sat in stunned silence for a long time. Then she got up abruptly, red ringlets falling over one shoulder as she slammed her glass down on the side table. "You're wrong," she responded fiercely, angrily. "You have to be wrong. It's just not possible."

Melynda's voice grew even quieter, more gentle.

"Heather," she said reasonably, trying to calm her friend. "Don't be upset. This has nothing to do with the way he feels about his mistresses, or about any of us personally. The relationship he has with his old Master is just extremely complicated. I don't know how the sexual element plays into it," Mel finished thoughtfully, "but I don't think he does either. I believe our lord dumped him here because he wants us to help him sort out his feelings."

"How do you know that our lord doesn't just want him dead, and wants us to have the pleasure of doing the job? How do you know that isn't what it is, and that's ALL it is?"

Mel's blue eyes looked thoughtful. "I don't." There was a pause. Then the expression in her eyes changed to a hard, resentful glitter. "But I do know this: no matter what his motive was in bringing the Jedi here, it isn't our job to be the keeper of his conscience. If he wants the Jedi dead, he needs to do it himself and live with the consequences. If he wants the Jedi to remain alive and at liberty, then he will have to answer to both his Master and to himself as a Sith. If he wants the Jedi to live here, as his male concubine, then he will have to answer to us. It's that simple."

Heather crossed her arms beneath her ample breasts. "Okay. I can see your reasoning, that our lord that needs to be the one that takes Kenobi's life, not us. But what I want to know is, what are we going to do with the Jedi now? Do we torture him? Or what?"

Melynda got up, took her glass to the bar and put it down. Scotch. Where was the Scotch? There it was. She took another glass, splashed some into it. She knew she shouldn't, but what the hell?

It was going to be a long and difficult night.

Lord Vader's Dark Side gift drank down her Scotch before she answered.

"I think the punishment should fit the crime. Not Kenobi's crime against our lord. That is Lord Vader's affair, not ours. No, it is our lord's crime against us. The crime of infidelity and cowardice. I think it should be repaid. In kind."

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight and Master, was getting tired of all the hostility and rage he was meekly expected to endure. He'd been told that nothing should happen to Lord Vader's mistresses, or he would become one of them. He could ensure that nothing would. But he didn't have to take their abuse lying down. So to speak. Unless, of course, he wanted to.

He could sense that the mood of the women was changing. The one who had so sweetly kissed him, Kim, did not detest him personally. He thought that, if he was patient a little longer, he could determine what their intentions really where, and what was driving them. He hadn't been famed as a negotiator for nothing. Patience paid off, in any deal-making situation. He had plenty of that.

Heather and Melynda came out of Melynda's quarters. Melynda was carrying a large case of some kind. She set it down on the floor, opened it and began to rummage around in it. His lovely Amazon went to both Kelly's and Kim's doors, in turn, and had a short whispered conversation with each. He could hear none of it, could not read any of their thoughts, but both of the other women seemed shocked to hear Heather's message. Kim peered at him around Heather's shoulder, a perplexed look on her face. As if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. The Jedi tried to guess at what they were planning, but he really had no idea.

What happened next was completely unexpected.

The ladies all came out and gathered around him. Melynda knelt by his side. She really was a beauty.

"Kenobi, we've been discussing your situation. We've concluded that as a condemned man, you are to be allowed a last night of pleasure and relaxation. It's an old Terran custom, dating back hundreds of years in our Western culture."

Obi-Wan frowned. What did this mean?

"Our lord instructed us to show you tolerance and hospitality. We have been remiss. We will make up for it now. But we would like you to cooperate with us also. There are some…things…we want to do."

"What things?"

A sly smile curved her pink lips. "Oh, I think you'll like them."

Karesh was brought into the Imperial presence wearing binders on his wrists. The beautiful Immortal wasn't sure he understood why this was necessary, but it didn't matter. It apparently made Admiral Troppert feel better. He was the one getting into trouble here anyway.

Lord Vader regarded Karesh, and wondered how he had ever managed to mistake the Immortal for his old Master. They might look exactly alike, but their thoughts, their expressions, the set of their features, were quite different. Karesh would have enjoyed the attentions Obi-Wan had received in this room, from him. But it dawned on the Dark Lord that he wouldn't have offered them to the beautiful, deathless being. It was Kenobi he wanted, had been Kenobi all the time. Seeing Karesh right here, right now, made him realize this. That knowledge shocked him. Profoundly. And made him a little sick.

The Emperor Palpatine, reading his Apprentice's thoughts and emotions, wasn't shocked at all. Appalled would have been a better word for it. But he had a traitor to deal with first.

"Karesh," said he, "You brought a Jedi on board this ship."

"Yes," pathed the beautiful Immortal. "I brought him for Lord Vader."

His Imperial Highness rose slowly from his chair and walked right up to Karesh. His yellow eyes, glowing with a ghastly, unnatural light, bored into him from beneath the hood. "You presume a great deal, Karesh, upon my patience. Darth Vader is my Apprentice, and I do not accept any interference whatsoever in my relations with him."

"Yes, Highness, I am aware of that," Karesh replied mentally. "But I had no idea that bringing Kenobi here to be killed constituted interference in your affairs."

"That would have been a judgment for me to make after careful consideration, not for you take upon yourself. You have greatly exceeded your mandate." The Emperor was becoming furious. Damned Immortal. Never trust an Immortal.

"Yes, my lord Emperor," acknowledged Karesh humbly. "But I was also concerned that I might not be able to call back Lord Vader from his coma. His psychic state was disordered. It might not have been possible for me to make contact. I knew that Kenobi, as his old Master, might have been able to do it if I could not."

Palpatine glared him, more out of frustration than anger. The Immortal wasn't telling him anything like the whole truth, but he did have a point. Karesh would have found the ability to speak useful in reviving his Apprentice. Immortals didn't possess the physical equipment to create speech that could register on human ears. The Emperor knew that often beings could hear in coma, but that no other contact from the outside world was possible.

"You should have consulted me first," the Ruler of the Galaxy snapped. Karesh was making him look foolish, but the ancient being was also hiding something.

"I thought that it was a standing order, that all Jedi traitors were to be executed. If Kenobi had failed, he would have been turned over to Admiral Ozzel for termination. If he had succeeded, Lord Vader would have struck him down in revenge, as soon as he awoke. That was, in fact, what happened. It just turned out to be the wrong man."

Karesh held his breath, after making this argument to the Emperor. Either he was going to buy it, or he wasn't.

"Why were you wearing the Jedi's clothes?" demanded Palpatine after a moment, with a nasty grin. Weasel your way out of this one, Karesh. If you can.

The Immortal was ready with his answer. "If Kenobi had been wearing his own clothing, would he have made it into the Infirmary without being cut down by your excellent Star Fleet security? He had to wear my clothing in order to be admitted by Admiral Troppert."

"That doesn't answer my question." The Emperor was getting irritable now, because he just realized that his quest to expose Karesh had probably opened a very large can of worms.

"Your Highness," Karesh pathed with some of the best ersatz sadness he had, "You have an assassin onboard the Executor. He conducted me, wearing the Jedi's clothing, from my ship, into the Infirmary and into Lord Vader's room. Your Apprentice was to be killed as he lay in coma. Kenobi was to do the deed, and then be allowed to escape. I would be blamed, if the plan failed. If the plan succeeded, Admiral Troppert would be held responsible and would most likely be executed. The assassin would then receive the promotion he so lusted after."

Admiral Troppert turned a sickening shade of puce.

"Who is it?" Palpatine hissed. As if he didn't know.

"Major Graner."

Troppert was horrified. Graner had been a member of his staff for several years. The Admiral had personally asked that Graner attend the Sith Lord on this occasion. The Emperor had accepted the recommendation without question, as long as the Major used the services of Karesh, to carry out the Imperial plan for testing his Apprentice. It was inconceivable. Graner an assassin, a traitor? Impossible! And yet…and yet…

Lord Vader, smiling behind his mask, had to admire the balls on the Immortal. That was the boldest lie he'd ever heard told in front of his Imperial Master. And Palpatine was buying it. He was beginning to have some respect for Karesh after all. He thought he could even wind up liking the perfidious little nerfherder. In the meantime, though, it was time to seize the opportunity Karesh had given him, to enjoy the situation just a little.

"How fortunate, Master, that Karesh brought Kenobi aboard," the Sith Apprentice said with fake obsequiousness. "I might not be alive now, thanks to your careful selection of a substitute physician to perform my routine physical."

Palpatine glared at his second in command. "Shut up, Lord Vader."

The Dark Lord stuck his thumbs into his belt and managed not to snicker. He shut up. For now.

His Imperial Highness was extremely suspicious. Of everyone in the room. Especially the cursed Immortal. He turned to Troppert.

"Bring Graner in here at once," he ordered. "I want to interrogate him myself."

Kim and Heather helped Obi-Wan to his feet, and removed his velvet bonds. They each took one of his hands and led him to the fountain, which took up most of one wall, floor to ceiling.

"Step in," Heather invited seductively.

Kenobi looked at both of them questioningly. Kim nodded, smiling. The Jedi stepped into the falling shower of water. It was unexpectedly warm. It felt wonderful.

Kelly rolled up in her powerchair, carrying a pile of lush-looking towels and some other bath materials. She handed them over to Heather, who smiled her gratitude. "Thanks, honey," she told her.

Kim looked over at her friend and winked. The lovely young woman winked back, and powered off to assist Melynda.

The tall statuesque redhead looked inquiringly at her slighter companion. The beautiful golden-haired concubine seemed anxious, reluctant, but after a moment, both of the exquisitely lovely consorts stepped out of their gowns and joined Obi-Wan in the shimmering fountain.

The Jedi was astonished. Heather and Kim, naked in the fountain with him? He couldn't believe his eyes. The two beauties proceeded to bathe him, soft sponges in hand. Turning around, he tried to reach over to kiss the magnificent Heather, but she ducked her head away, smiling as she moved around to the other side of him. Kim would not permit him to kiss her either. He stopped trying to feel and touch their gorgeous bodies after a few unsuccessful attempts, enjoying their ministrations for the moment. They were most welcome.

In a few minutes, they'd gotten him clean and fresh. Then both of them helped him out of the fountain and dried him off. Heather and Kim each put on a long soft robe after they'd finished their task, but didn't cover him. Evidently, they weren't finished with him yet. Kelly had returned by this time, and she was carrying a large glass carafe full of water, and a crystal goblet. Pouring him out a full glass, she handed to over to the Jedi, who gratefully drank it down. She refilled it. He smiled charmingly, thanked her, and quaffed that one down almost as quickly. It was simply water, and he badly needed it. He bent down and aimed a kiss on her cheek. She blushed and giggled. What a delight she was, Lord Vader's former Master thought to himself. He wondered how she'd broken her leg.

Obi-Wan hadn't noticed, but while he was being so gently bathed, a long padded bench had been brought out and set down in the center of the harem's common area. Melynda had draped it with something silky, and motioned for Kenobi to come over to her.

The Jedi Master was beginning to feel just a little uneasy. The Dark Lord's Ladies had completely reversed their treatment of him, and he was sure that they were planning something. But he didn't know what. Only minutes ago, they all wanted to kill him. Now they were attending his every need like an honored guest.

In retrospect, there was no way he could have possibly imagined what was in store for him.

He walked over to where Melynda was standing, and she gestured gracefully to the bench. "Would you lie down here, please? Kelly is an accomplished masseuse. She will help you to relax a little more, and I will care for your hands and feet."

Obi-Wan was a Jedi Master, well-experienced in battle, both in leading an army and in single combat. He'd conducted intense negotiations of all kinds, on dozens of worlds. He'd been captured and tortured by vicious enemies, some of them Sith initiates, and his Jedi training had prepared him for all of that. But these women, these beautiful, seductive women…these concubines of Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. They genuinely frightened him. And what was worse, he didn't want to release his fear. He wanted to entertain it for a while. It made this incredible encounter with the Dark Lord's consorts that much more..interesting.

He turned around and looked at Kim and Heather, almost hoping for some kind of encouragement. They both were nodding, smiling. Kenobi found that he couldn't make himself move onto the bench. Mel looked at her two fellow consorts and beckoned to them.

Heather and Kim walked over, put their hands on his shoulders. The Jedi looked over at his lovely Amazon. Her eyes were deep, seductive pools that he was drowning in. Before he had time to think, her coral lips moved to press against his, and she kissed him slowly, sensuously. Kenobi moaned, opened his mouth slightly, in mute request for her to deepen her kiss. Her lips drank him in, her tongue twining around his. Obi-Wan moaned again, kissing her desperately. The fact that he was starting to make love to the gorgeous mistress of his captor, and that the Dark Lord might object to this, never entered his mind at all. At that point.

Kim was caressing his chest and back, kissing and feeling him with her soft fingers, moving down his body. He gasped as her hands fondled, caressed his penis. When Heather finally removed her lips from his, Kenobi captured Kim's in a passionate kiss. She returned it with equal enthusiasm. After that, he didn't resist when the ladies moved him over to lie on the silk-covered bench. Face down.

Kelly's sensitive, capable hands began with his shoulders. Melynda took one of his hands in both of hers and proceeded to massage it, then trim and file his fingernails. The stress and tension of the last several hours began to melt away. It was pure bliss. Obi-Wan Kenobi had never had an experience like this in his entire life.

That was what the girls were counting on.

He didn't think it strange when Mel finished by painting his finger- and toe-nails blood-red. He imagined it was some kind of quaint Terran custom. He was probably drifting off into a doze when the girls turned him over and Kim gently worked some kind of sweet-smelling compound into the skin of his face. Kenobi was definitely out when Kelly proceeded to make up his eyes. She did a beautiful job, her hands so gentle that he scarcely noticed their touch. The gold and sable shadow she chose would harmonize with his eye color very well, make them appear larger, and a more intense aqua. Kim applied the lip liner and lip color, then sealed its reddish tint for several hours. It wasn't coming off any time soon. No matter what the Jedi did with his mouth.

Melynda had some glittery body-powder that wouldn't wear off quickly. She dusted down his entire body with it. Once it set, it would take perhaps taking a day or so to come off completely.

Heather provided the finishing touch with burgundy streaks of temporary color for his hair, and a black velvet collar for his neck.

There was some urgent, whispered debate as to how to manage the cock harness. It proved to be a feat worthy of a brain surgeon to put it on him and adjust it, without waking him up, but Kim did it. She was, like they all were, highly motivated. The consorts of the Dark Lord were well-pleased with the end result. Standing together, clustered around him, they regarded their handsome victim.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was lying on his back, on the padded bench, completely naked and fast asleep. The Jedi Master looked like a male whore. The subtle shimmer of the golden glitter, above the bruising on his pale skin, made his body look like it had been ravished rather then brutalized. The effect was rather amazing. The subtle makeup, the collar and the harness, were perfect finishing touches. He looked…kept. Like the favored male concubine of a Sith lord. Just one more thing left to do.

Mel got the red velvet sashes out again, and the girls lashed him to the bench. It was time to wake him up now. The sexual torture was about to begin.

He heard a soft voice, seeming to come from far away. "Heather, do you want to start? I think he likes you the best," Melynda whispered.

Obi-Wan's eyes weren't open yet, but he caught a whiff of a musky, exotic perfume, and soft tendrils of a woman's hair brushed his shoulder. "Wake up, Obi-Wan. Wake up."

It was Heather. Kenobi opened his eyes. She was leaning over him. "Heather," he said softly, and reached up one hand to touch her. Or tried to. He found that he couldn't move.

He tried his other arm and his legs. All of them were tied to the bench. He tried to break the bonds, but it was impossible. The girls had slip-knotted them. The harder he pulled, the tighter they got. And from his position on the bench, he couldn't get any leverage. The Jedi knew it had all been too good to be true.

Graner was brought in by four stormtroopers, at blaster-point. He looked angry enough to chew titanium plating, but he was quiet about it. It didn't surprise him at all that the filthy Immortal was in the conference room as well, nor that he was restrained with binders on his hands, with the Dark Lord looming over him. That was as it should be. But why Troppert was such a peculiar shade of green, and why the Emperor examining him so suspiciously with his horrible yellow eyes, completely eluded the young doctor.

The Major knelt before his Emperor. Palpatine looked him over, sensing his thoughts as he regarded the officer. An abyss of ambition, clearly. Eager for promotion. A climber. Disciplined. Patient. Amoral. A bit perverted sexually. A great deal of pride, a considerable amount of hatred and anger. The Sith Master rather liked him. A pity he was going to have to be sacrificed for the greater glory of the Empire.

"Major Graner, the Immortal Karesh has made some very serious accusations against you," His Imperial Highness began. "I will require you to answer my questions completely and truthfully. You know you cannot deceive me. I would advise you not to try." The Emperor began to pace, slowly, in front of the medical officer.

"When did you first meet Karesh? Who introduced you?"

"Admiral Troppert introduced me to him, Your Highness. About three days ago."

"What did he tell you about him?"

Graner was feeling more than a little nervous. Troppert's harsh, hot glare was frying his insides. The Sith lord, standing dark and silent except for the drone of his respirator, was positively frightening in the intensity of the Dark Force about him. The Emperor terrified him anyway, as he did the entire Galaxy. "He mentioned that Karesh resembled a Jedi named Obi-Wan Kenobi, that this Jedi was an old friend of Lord Vader's, and that he was an Immortal. I hadn't actually met one before, but I knew that their race did not use speech to communicate, and that they were powerful psychics."

"Were you aware that Obi-Wan Kenobi was still alive?"

"I knew that he hadn't been found."

"That's not what I asked you."

Graner swallowed hard. "The answer is yes," he replied. Palpatine paused in his perambulations for a moment.

"Did you know of the antipathy between the Jedi and the Immortals?"

The young major frowned. "No. But I did know the reputation that the Immortals have throughout the Galaxy."

That was certainly a fair answer, thought his Imperial Highness. He nodded in agreement.

Encouraged, Graner continued. "No one has heard tales of any dealings with them for centuries. I thought that perhaps they left the Galaxy. I was very surprised when Admiral Troppert actually produced one, and brought him here. What a rare opportunity, I thought."

Troppert opened his mouth to speak, but immediately shut it again. It was the Emperor's interrogation. He should remain silent unless called upon.

"Opportunity for what?" The Ruler of the Galaxy probed further.

"To find out if what they say about them is true."

"What exactly have you heard?"

Graner was getting pretty uncomfortable, in his kneeling position, but there was no way he could rise without permission. It looked like it wasn't going to be forthcoming. "That they were untrustworthy, self-interested beings with pacifist tendencies, but who where exceedingly dangerous nevertheless."

"Dangerous in what way?"

The doctor wore a puzzled frown. "I really didn't know. That was why I was curious."

Palpatine was silent for a few moments, then returned to his chair and sat down. Curiosity was such an undesirable characteristic in an Imperial officer. It had led more than one ambitious young being to its death. Such a pity, such a waste.

"So you allowed a being that you thought was potentially dangerous to first examine my Apprentice, then to treat him?"

Graner grew pale. "I was under orders, Your Highness."

Excuses, excuses. This one wasn't even a new one. Even the filthy Jedi had used it. "Whose orders? Admiral Troppert's?"

"Yes, Highness."

"And who is the ultimate authority governing the health of Lord Vader?"

The young Imperial officer looked down at the floor. "You are." After a moment, he spoke again. "But Sir, Lord Vader is a Sith Lord. Surely he is more than capable than dealing with any kind of threat from one being, even if he was an Immortal."

Admiral Troppert, listening to all of this, was feeling faint. Not to mention furious. That gutter rat Graner had tried to shift blame for his stupidity and ineptitude onto him! After everything Troppert had done for him, all the times he'd promoted him ahead of schedule, the despicable gutless ingrate. But facts were facts. He had, as the head of the Imperial Medical Service, brought Karesh here, on this mission, and trusted his junior colleague to take care of matters in his absence. The responsibility was at least partially his.

The Emperor was speaking again. "My Apprentice was comatose the second time he was examined by Karesh. That Lord Vader could easily handle a hundred beings in mortal combat isn't a rationale for your lack of oversight or professionalism." Palpatine was starting to get really angry now. "Did you know that Obi-Wan Kenobi was aboard this ship, before the incident in the Infirmary?"

"No," asserted the Major. "I had no idea."

"Who did you think that was, whom you conducted to Lord Vader's room in the Infirmary?"

Graner blinked. "Karesh, of course."

"Dressed in a Jedi's robes?"

"How do I know what a Jedi looks like," the young officer replied contemptuously. "I'd never seen one before today."

His Imperial Highness sighed. This one was too young, too inexperienced, too insular, to be useful. He had just one more question to ask before he ended this little comedy. "Graner, have you formed an opinion as to why Immortals are rumored to be dangerous?"

"Yes," Major Graner said bitterly, glaring at Karesh.

"And what is it?"

"They are dangerous because they cannot be trusted. Betrayal is their weapon, and they use on everyone they come in contact with."

"I see," replied Palpatine. "Well, I'm glad you figured that out."

He raised one hand. From the fingers shot bolts of fierce white Force lightening, knocking Graner onto his back. He writhed on the floor, groaning in his pain.

"Graner, you are a fool. I will have no fools to serve me."

More Force lightening came from his hands, both of them this time. The major screamed, and after a minute, it was over. He was dead.

Then Palpatine turned to Admiral Troppert.

"Troppert, is there any reason why I should spare your life, after this demonstration of your gross incompetence?"

Heather looked down at her quarry, who looked up at her with an unreadable expression in his aquamarine eyes. She had to admit, he did look beautiful. For a traitor to her lord, a filthy rotten son of a bitch, who could never be forgiven for the bloody thing he did. He was going to suffer tonight, she thought as she smiled down at him. She knew just how to do it, and make the experience memorable.

Obi-Wan was considering using the Force to free himself when Heather hiked up her robe and straddled him. She opened the soft covering, to reveal the lush curves underneath. Kenobi blinked, inhaled sharply. Such beauty…

"Kim says you kiss like a virgin," the concubine told him as she leaned down on top of him, her lips very close to his. She noted to herself that they would have to gloss them before their lord returned. They looked a trifle dry. Might be the sealant. She gently kissed him, just a caress of his lips.

"I'm not…" He started to say, but Heather's lips cut him off. She kissed him much more passionately this time, a long, slow kiss. The Jedi was willing to respond, but if she would just free his hands…Kenobi opened his mouth to her kiss, and the warm seduction of her mouth overwhelmed his senses. Against he will, he was becoming aroused. When she stopped for a moment, he begged, "Please untie me. I want to touch you. Please."

His lovely Amazon sat up and shook her head, red curls dancing around her shoulders. "Oh, no, I couldn't do that," she explained patiently, as if to a child. "You must be still, stay tied up. We all want to love you, but Lord Vader will be furious if he finds out. He is very jealous. If we untie you, you won't be able to say to our lord that you had no choice when we made love to you. This way he will not punish you for what happens."

It somehow never managed to occur to Kenobi, before that moment, that his old Padawan might object to him making love to his concubines. Somewhere, deep down inside the Jedi Master, he found it difficult to believe that someone as maimed as Vader could possibly keep four beautiful women satisfied. Obi-Wan also imagined that he couldn't, as a Sith, be all that attached to them anyway. Where was the harm in a little casual lovemaking? As a Jedi, that was the only kind of sex he'd ever known.

He was to discover that he'd made a serious error. A very serious error.

Obi-Wan blinked his exotically made-up eyes a few times. "I hadn't thought of that…" he replied. "Maybe you shouldn't…"

Heather bent back down and covered his lips in a blistering kiss, caressing his chest as she did so. The Jedi groaned, opened his mouth to her. Gods, what a magnificent woman, he thought brokenly, sucking her tongue. Her hand reached down, and stroked his cock, within its velvet harness.

Kim bent down as well, began to caress him, kiss his body. Obi-Wan was groaning, almost incoherent. Heather got off him, and immediately Melynda got on, lifting her skirt as well and slowly removing the straps of her black negligee. The top slithered down, revealing her beautifully formed chest. Heather was caressing one ear with her tongue, kissing his jaw, licking it. Kim was sucking the tip of his penis, and the dark-haired beauty on top of him leaned forward and began to kiss him, teasing his carmine lips with her own. The Jedi gave a shuddering moan. The pleasure, the intense pleasure…

He was becoming so hard, so very hard. His hips tried to lift themselves of their own accord, but they could not. Between the bonds and the weight of Melynda, he was completely pinned.

Kelly moved her chair over and began to stroke his thighs, raking her nails along their tops. Pretty much every sensitive area of his body was being caressed, licked, kissed or sucked. It was more than he could take. "Stop," he pleaded when he could speak. His lovers ignored him.

His cock, within its velvet harness was getting harder and harder, precum beginning to pool. Kim and Kelly took turns licking it off. That aroused him even more. The drops of precum became a steady dribble. Obi-Wan was insensate with pleasure. And pain. Because he couldn't move. He couldn't come. The harness wouldn't permit it. He just got harder. And harder. And harder.

The agony was exquisite. Melynda sank her teeth into his shoulder and he screamed in both the pain and the pleasure. When Kim softly bit into the head of his penis, he writhed and shrieked.

The Jedi was close to cracking. He would have given anything to end the agony. Anything.

Within the Force, the Dark Lord felt the waves and waves of pain coming from his former Master. There was pleasure too, mixed in with the agony. He seemed to hear screaming, inside his mind. The Jedi had been reduced to animalistic cries of torment. The Sith felt himself begin to smile again, beneath the all-concealing breathmask. His Terran consorts. Treasures beyond price, beyond compare, beyond valuation. They were proving that there was nothing in the universe like them. He knew he could rely on them; they never disappointed him. His beauties. His jewels. His lovers. He wanted them, all of them. Right now.

He was eager to go to them, and witness their work. He would go immediately.

The Sith Apprentice excused himself from his Master, who impatiently waved him off.

"I'm your Master, not your proctor," he snapped, in a thoroughly vile humor. He disliked having to sacrifice a valued servant of the State, for purely political and bureaucratic reasons. It took all the enjoyment out of the act of killing. But these things had to be done sometimes. "Go and deal with the Jedi. I know you can't keep your mind out of your harem right now. You're useless to me here. Go and see what your concubines are up to and then report back to me."

The stormtroopers were taking Graner's body away. The Immortal turned to leave. The Galactic Ruler held up his hand to stop him. Then he turned to the head of his Medical Service.

"Troppert, don't just stand there gaping at me like a mentally deficient Hutt. If you have nothing to say for yourself, then remove your carcass from my sight. I'll decide what to do with you later."

Admiral Troppert bowed reverently and left the Emperor's presence: pale, trembling and sweating with fear. Good, thought Palpatine, as he watched him go. The only good minion was a terrified minion, and this one was a pretty good minion right now.

"Karesh, you stay," ordered his Imperial Highness.

Kenobi was drowning in desire, in agony. The women would break off their lovemaking, give him a chance to breathe, for the pain to subside a little, and then start up again. Every time they did that, the pain got worse. As did the pleasure. But some part of him sensed his former Apprentice's approach.

"He's coming," Obi-Wan gasped to his lovely torturers, breathing hard.

The women immediately stopped what they were doing. Melynda climbed off him at once, and Heather leaned over to quickly slick his lips with some kind of glossy substance. Then they hurried inside their quarters, the doors closing behind them. Kim took a last look at their victim before going inside. She smiled with pleasure at what she saw.

Perfect. Utterly and completely perfect. They'd succeeded brilliantly.

The Sith came down the dimly lit hallway, connecting his bedroom to the harem, walking rapidly. He sensed absolutely nothing; the activity had ceased, all was quiet, except for the Jedi's pain-racked body. It was keening, trembling through the Force. That was a little strange, that all the torture broke off so suddenly.

He strode into the common area. The fountain plashed softly in the background. No sign of his Ladies. The large room wasn't empty, though. The Jedi lay on a long padded bench. Tied to all four legs of it. Lord Vader moved closer.

The Jedi was panting as if he'd been running for miles. His skin was pale beneath the shimmering golden powder covering his body. His hair had been streaked, tinted with a darker color, and it lay pooled against the softness of the bench. His lips, full, bruised, glossy, beckoned. But most of all, Obi-Wan's super-engorged penis standing straight up in a black velvet harness, captured the Dark Lord's attention.

Vader found himself coming closer still. Kenobi saw that he was there, and turned his head to look over at his old Padawan. His great aqua eyes pleaded. The Sith saw that his ladies had applied some kind of color to them, which made them appear larger, bluer. They shimmered with tears. He was in terrible pain.

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker groaned, involuntarily. Gods. What had his Ladies done? They'd exceeded every expectation, hope and wish. As he regarded his former Master, he realized that they'd read him better than he knew. They understood only too well the complexity of his feelings for Kenobi. And they hadn't helped him one damn bit. In fact, the Jedi, lying there like a sacrifice on an altar, wasn't trussed up like that to make things easier for the Dark Lord. It was, in fact, a taunt. A challenge. It was a rebuke as much as it was a gift. A rebuke for using them to do what he could not. A gift that was both exquisite in its beauty and seductiveness, and explosive in its consequences, if he reached out to take it. Obi-Wan was irresistible, lashed to his bier. The Sith wasn't even going to try to deny himself. It would have been pointless.

Reaching down, he ran a gloved hand through Kenobi's hair. The Jedi moaned, looked at him. His pain was exquisite. He was so beautiful in his agony. Lord Vader didn't want it to end too soon. He wanted to enjoy this magnificent opportunity, to taste to the full the suffering of his former Master.

Both of his hands began to caress Obi-Wan's body, enjoying it's taunt pallor, enhanced by the subtle shimmer of gold. The Jedi shuddered. A single tear dropped down his cheek. Part of it was pain. Part of it was pleasure. Kenobi was taking pleasure in his touch. Against his will. Completely against his will. The Dark Lord was so happy he almost cried himself.

Stepping it up a notch, Vader removed one of his gloves. Slowly, carefully, he placed one metal finger into the Jedi's mouth. Kenobi's tongue wrapped itself around the durasteel digit, and he began to suck it. Sensuously. After a few moments, the Sith took his finger out of Obi-Wan's mouth and ran it slowly down his cheek, along his neck, down his chest. His former Master whimpered. The Dark Lord removed his other glove, stuck both of them in his belt, then proceeded to rake his fingers down the Jedi's thighs.

Kenobi moaned, gasped, in transports of agony. He hurt so badly, so badly, but gods, it was incredible. As he looked above him, at the black breathmask that hid the face of his former Padawan, he began to pant again.

Obi-Wan began to feel shame, at having his former Apprentice see him like this. But another part of him wanted him to keep touching him. To end his pain. He thought of Anakin's face, behind the mask, the full rosy lips. They'd kissed him. He wanted them to kiss him again. And…and…

Vader read his former Master's thoughts, his desire, his need. For a moment, he hesitated.

"Why are you stopping?" Kenobi asked him, out of breath, anguished. "Isn't this what you want?"

The Sith didn't answer his question. Instead, he stood up and put his gloves back on.

"My Ladies have returned to their quarters. I know you refrained from freeing yourself before, because you didn't want to risk damage to them in any way, but that is no longer a concern. You can release yourself now."

Obi-Wan raised his head and looked up at him, perplexed. "You mean that you don't want to revenge yourself on me, here, now?"

Lord Vader, beneath his mask, gave a small, highly superior smile. "I will choose the time. And the place. And the method. I will not have it forced on me by my consorts, who should know better."

"Better than what?" While the Jedi was somewhat relieved that he wasn't going to be tortured and killed—at least, not right now—he did feel somewhat confused.

"You must realize that what was done to you was not done entirely out of a desire to placate me. They were also trying to send me a message," The Dark Apprentice rumbled quietly.

The Jedi's head flopped down back down on the bench. "What message? They wanted you to have your vengeance. And if you would not take it, they would take some of their own. That's the only message I got."

The Sith stuck his thumbs into his belt. "They don't want you here, Kenobi. Doing this to you lets me know that they will not tolerate it. Moreover, they are telling me that if I desire revenge, I should kill you and be done with it."

Kenobi frowned. "How did they know that you threatened me with joining your harem?"

"It's obvious, Obi-Wan. Look at yourself." Then he realized that his old Master had no way of knowing what he looked like. "You look like a male whore," he said, and sent Kenobi a mental image.

Vader's old Master saw the image projected to him, and gasped. Gods. The concubines of the Dark Lord had gone further with their treatment of him than he imagined. But he had to admit, the effect was very sexy. If one were inclined to appreciate that sort of thing.

"They must have thought you were serious about keeping me here," the Jedi said, snapping his bonds on his hands and sitting up.

"I was," the Dark Lord asserted calmly.

Kenobi looked up at him. His former Apprentice had indeed been sincere. As near as Obi-Wan could tell, he still was. Involuntarily, he shivered. He snapped the bonds on his feet next, and sat up. And groaned. He was still in such pain. His fingers fumbled with the harness, but couldn't quite get it off. The circulation in his hands and arms had been diminished for most of the last hour, and it was taking a little time to come back.

The Sith saw him struggling with the unfamiliar contraption, and smiled broadly. That had to be difficult, given how much pain he was in, and how sensitive he was. He was probably too reluctant to use the Force to tear it off. Vader started to chuckle again. The sight of his old Master, trying to manage a complex device imprisoning his balls, was hilarious.

"Ready to give up?" asked his old Apprentice. He was starting to laugh now.

Obi-Wan glared at him, then began to smile. It was a completely ridiculous position to be in, after all. For a Jedi Master.

"Want me to help you?"

Kenobi was ready to surrender. "Please," he said, pushing back his tinted hair from his forehead.

The Emperor's Apprentice removed his helmet and breathmask, disconnected his vocoder. It would be easier to see that way. The man who was Anakin Skywalker walked over and got down on one knee, bending to his task. The harness arrangement was one he hadn't seen before. It wasn't all that easy to see where one began to take it off.

As the Sith's gloved fingers worked at the clasps, his former master considered his options. His situation was still precarious. Vader didn't want to let him go. His concubines didn't want him to stay. Kenobi didn't want to be caught in the middle. He knew he wasn't out of danger yet; the emotional situation was still highly explosive. But he thought he knew of a way that he could leave the harem alive, and perhaps leave the ship as well. If his former Padawan would credit his reasoning, that is. It was worth a try.

"My lord," he said softly, "given what your Ladies went through to create this, er, opportunity for you, don't you think we're wasting one right now?"

The Sith was frowning over his task, not really paying attention. "What are you talking about?"

"Your Ladies have presumed to tell you who can have in your harem, and whom you cannot, as well as when and how to take your revenge on your old Master. Don't you think, as their Lord, it's up to you to demonstrate to them who is Master in this household?"

Lord Vader seized that point very readily. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, looking up.

The sapphire blue eyes were bright and interested. Kenobi smiled into them fondly. His old Padawan was so delightfully predictable.

"Why don't you give them something to consider? They must be dying of curiosity right about now."

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker smiled naughtily. He looked so like the boy Obi-Wan had loved and trained, it gripped the Jedi's heart cruelly to see the expression. As much as he enjoyed seeing it again.

"What a good idea, Jedi Master," Darth Vader told Kenobi, smirking conspiratorially. "Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought you were."

Helping him to stand, the Dark Lord moved him over to the fountain. The Sith stepped in, helped Obi-Wan in after him. Vader flipped his cape back, then got behind his old Master, and placed one gloved hand on the harness, the other on the Jedi's engorged member. Kenobi threw his head back. His old Apprentice began to kiss his neck, caress him, moaning his name over and over. The Jedi kissed Vader's cheeks and lips, ran his fingers through his hair.

All four doors to Ladies' quarters flew open at once. Overcome by curiosity, they crept out, one at a time, beginning with Kelly. The sight that greeted them was shocking. Their Sith lord was kissing and caressing the Jedi, stroking Kenobi's penis, moaning things they couldn't hear but that sounded so intimate, every last one of them were insanely jealous. What they were actually saying to each other, though, was a lot less interesting than they imagined.

Vader: Here they come. Kiss me, Obi-Wan. They're looking.

Obi-Wan: I am kissing you.

Vader: You kiss like a virgin. Haven't you had sex before?

Obi-Wan: I think I've never been so insulted in my whole life.

Vader: Good.

Obi-Wan: Would you please concentrate on your work? This harness is killing me.

Vader: You concentrate on yours. Open your mouth. (after a moment) I can't get at these fasteners. I'm going to have to rip it off.

Obi-Wan: Alright, but don't tell me before you do it. Just do it. Kiss me hard, so they don't hear me yell.

Vader: Don't be such a coward. I thought you were a Jedi Master.

Obi-Wan: Jedi training doesn't quite cover this.

Vader: Hush, they're coming closer.

The Emperor's Apprentice licked Kenobi's ear and bit the lobe gently. The Jedi moaned again. Lord Vader turned Obi-Wan around to face him and they kissed passionately. One of the Sith's hands tore the harness off, and none of his ladies heard Obi-Wan's agonized cry. They thought he was moaning in ecstasy. Lord Vader then drew his former Master even closer, and gripped his freed organ, began stroking it towards climax. Obi-Wan was extremely aroused, but he was having trouble coming. He'd been prevented for so long, was so over-stimulated, it just wasn't happening.

Heather was watching them in horrified fascination. Kelly was overwhelmed with lust; this was completely hot, as she knew it would be. Kim and Melynda didn't know what to think. They weren't sure they liked it, but they did know one thing: their Lord was enjoying this way too much. So was the Jedi.

"I can't come," Obi-Wan whispered desperately, "I don't know what's wrong."

The Dark Lord turned him around, so that he was in back of his old Master, one arm around his waist. With the other hand, he continued his firm stroking, but whispered gently in Kenobi's ear, kissing it, nibbling at it in between sentences.

`What if I like you this way?' the Sith said to him. `What if I can't get enough of your pain? What if I want to feel you like this, all the time?' Kenobi's agony was wonderful. Its sepia energies were ambrosia to him, the white-hot torment feeding his Darkness within. It was glorious.

The Jedi closed his eyes and shuddered. His whole body was trembling. There would be damage soon, Vader knew, if this wasn't ended. The Sith sighed. Playtime was over. For now.

`Relax against me;' The Dark Lord sent mentally, kissing him, stroking him. `Don't fight it. Admit you need me, that you want this. Come for me. Show me that you love me. Come for me. Please.'

The Jedi let loose then. The shuddering tide of his climax seemed to go on and on. Vader held him until it was over, kissing his neck, caressing him. At first the Jedi couldn't stand, so the Sith held onto him for a little while longer. The fountain splashed softly, and that was the only sound in the room.

His ladies gawked. He thought they got the message. Just one more thing left to do.

"Obi-Wan, take the passageway to my quarters," he directed, kissing his lover a last time. "There is a `fresher adjoining my bedroom. Please make use of it."

Kenobi, looking exhausted but satisfied, stepped out of the fountain and strode past the startled ladies. Stopping only to pick up his clothes, he walked out of the harem.

Lord Vader waited for his concubines to collect their wits before saying what he wanted to say to them. Silently he stepped out of the fountain and walked over to where his helmet, breathmask and vocoder were lying. Putting them back on again, he restarted his life support system and waited a little longer. Still nothing. They were looking at each other, but not at him. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"So, my Ladies, have you nothing to say to me?"

Melynda opened her mouth to speak, but forcing the words out was difficult.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" she asked, sounding both sharp and critical.

"Yes, I think it was," replied her lord, in a tone that let them all know that the question was well out of line.

"Do you intend to keep him here?" Heather asked, not at all deterred by an arrogant tone of voice. She wouldn't have taken it from any lover, Sith or not. Gods knew her husband wouldn't have gotten away with shit like that. Who the hell did he think he was?

"I am not answerable to you for whom I keep as a lover. You will remember this in future, and not inquire into matters that do not concern you."

The lovely redhead blinked her eyes rapidly. She wasn't expecting a reply like that. It felt like a sharp rap across the knuckles. He had a point, though. She'd accepted the life of a Sith Lord's concubine, and that meant checking her jealousies at the door. As long as her needs were being taken care of, she had no right to complain. Looking at him: tall, dark, commanding, mysterious, sexy, she considered. Well, maybe it was okay to let it slide. This one time.

`Thank you, child," she seemed to hear him whisper, inside her mind. An unseen hand tweaked one of her curls.

"I thought it was hot," Kelly put in, wheeling her chair closer to her lord. "How do you feel about threesomes?"

Beneath the mask, Lord Vader grinned broadly. Brash young kitten. Beautiful sexy kitten. Sexy, sexy, kitten. That was why he kept her near him, no question about it.

"I'll think about it, little one," he replied indulgently. A Force-hand ruffed her hair gently.

"Are you mad at us, for what we did?" This from the lovely Kim, who was looking very concerned.

"No, my dear," the Dark Lord assured her, "I am not mad at you." How could he be mad at her? She was far too beautiful in that blue knit gown, slit up to mid-thigh.

"Were you pleased? Did we live up to expectations?" asked Melynda, voice dripping with sarcasm. His Dark Side gift was not at all amused at the turn events had taken, and she was never easily mollified.

"I think you know the answer to that," the Sith replied.

The dark-haired beauty was getting angry now. Lord Vader loved it when she was angry.

Her almond-shaped eyes shot blue fire at him. He sneered at her fury, behind his breathmask. She sensed it, and it inflamed her wrath even more. "What I want to know," he asked, his tone insulting, "is whose idea was it to make Kenobi look like a whore and then sexually torture him?"

He already knew, of course. "It was mine," Melynda snapped. She crossed her arms and tossed her head, and glared at him. Her red-painted lips twisted scornfully. The Jedi had it coming, and it had been her extreme pleasure to give it to him. Kenobi was a whore in every way: a whore to his government, a whore to his Order, a whore to his morals and a whore to his profession. She just made sure he looked like one. And felt like one. And was used like one. Melynda was just sorry that he hadn't been fucked up the ass like one. But that was hardly her fault.

Lord Darth Vader walked up to his Dark Side gift. He looked her up and down. Then he slapped her, hard, right to the ground. "Sith Bitch," he said, clearly and distinctly, looking down from his two-meter height. "Get up. The floor is no place for you, at any time. You will remember that. Consider that your first instruction in the protocols of the Order."

He turned to go, looked back at his Melynda over his shoulder one last time. She was crying, but she was getting up. She wasn't hurt. Her lip was a little cut, and it was bleeding, but she wasn't hurt. And was crying because she was happy.

Her lord called her a Sith, in front of all of them. He proved how much he loved her. She had her love token.

The Dark Lord left his harem without another word.

Everyone was gone from the conference room near the landing bay, besides His Imperial Highness and the Immortal, Karesh.

Palpatine gestured with one finger. The binders came off the deathless being's hands. He let them drop to the floor.

"I didn't tell you to bring the real Kenobi here, Karesh."

"No, Your Highness," he pathed.

"That was an awful risk you took."

"Yes, Highness."

"You sensed that I wanted to find out the true nature of my Apprentice's feelings towards his old Master. You achieved that goal admirably. I appreciate initiative, when it's successful, but I don't suggest you make a habit of it. If you had failed, the cost would have been high. I might not be able to take your life, but I could have you killed, painfully, every two hours, for the next twenty years."

Karesh knew it. But he also knew that he would not fail in this task. Still, Palpatine was a dangerous employer. The quicker he could get out from under his service to the Emperor, the better off he would be. Looking over at the floor near him, he saw what looked like his garments, torn into pieces and flung down randomly. He wondered if the crystals were still in the pocket of his robe, and if it was going to be possible for him to retrieve them. The Jedi might still want them. They were his, after all.

The Ruler of the Galaxy saw where Karesh's gaze was directed, read his thoughts, and got up from his chair. Walking over to where the shredded garments were lying, he picked them up and put them on the table. Reaching inside the pocket of the torn robe, he took out the five yellowish crystals that were inside it.

"Are these yours?"

The beautiful immortal shook his head. "Kenobi's," he pathed.

The Emperor peered at them curiously. "What are they? They can't be wealth. No Jedi would be interested in wealth. These don't look valuable as gems. Surely they can have no sentimental value. The Jedi avoid sentiment as well. One of the only things they have in common with Sith."

Karesh shrugged. "Some kind of crystallized substance. They seemed important to him. Could be an exotic pharmaceutical for all I know," The being lied smoothly.

"You're lying to me," accused Palpatine.

"Why should I lie?" asked the Immortal. "They aren't valuable, except to Kenobi. Who really cares what a disgraced Jedi carries in his pockets?"

That was true enough. His Imperial Highness looked at the crystals for a moment, and then held out his hand. "Here, take them. Give them back to him."

The Immortal's eyebrows shot up. "You're going to let him live?"

"Lord Vader will kill him, when he's ready, and not before," the Sith Master explained. "This exercise has taught me that Kenobi is still important to my Apprentice, and he is not ready to let go of him. Until he is, I want the Jedi to suffer in exile. Never knowing when the day will come, when his old friend will come for him. Never being sure if the day will come. Or what he will do to him, when the time comes. Take him back to where you found him, Karesh. And don't tell me where that was."

The beautiful being bowed respectfully. "Very well, Highness."

Palpatine sighed. "I knew your story about there being an assassin on board, trying to kill Lord Vader, was garbage. Graner was innocent. He was a thoughtless fool, though, and I do not suffer fools in my service. I killed to back up your lies today, you stupid careless bastard. Don't make me do it again."

"No, my lord," the Immortal pathed humbly in reply. "May I go now?"

The Emperor waved him off, bored and irritable. This whole incident had taken up far, far too much of his time already.

Karesh bowed, pocketed the crystals that were the tears of the Sith Lord, Darth Vader, and returned to his ship. To wait for his passenger.

The Jedi Master took his time in the `fresher. The powder never did come off completely. The hair tint and the make-up did,however, and he was relieved about that. Dressing again in the uniform of the security captain, he left the `fresher and went into Lord Vader's large main room, to wait for him. He was already there when Kenobi came out.

"You're leaving then, Obi-Wan," the Dark Lord observed, his voice perfectly flat through the vocoder. He stood there, in his quarters, his thumbs stuck in his belt. The great armor-weave cape spread itself across his broad shoulders and draped elegantly over his upper arms. The garb of a Sith Lord became Darth Vader. This was what he was. His former Jedi Master had finally accepted it. That didn't make this any easier, though.

"Yes," replied Kenobi. He opened his mouth to continue, but no words came out. So he closed it again.

"You will accompany Karesh to the Immortal's home-world?" Obi-Wan didn't need to know that he'd had a homing beacon affixed to the out-worlder's ship an hour ago.

"No. I will return to exile, where I belong."

Very slippery, thought the Dark Apprentice. "Where?" he demanded.

"It's better that you don't know," the Jedi said gently.

Fine, Vader sneered internally. Be coy about it if you want, but you're never leaving Imperial control. Ever.

"I do not forgive you, Kenobi," the Sith told him firmly. "I will never forgive you."

"I do not ask your pardon, Lord Vader." Obi-Wan straightened his tunic. He wished he could have his old clothes back. They could be mended, even if they were cut in half. He didn't have multiple sets of them anymore, and he hated the uniform he was wearing.

"We will meet again, you and I." It was a perfectly confident statement of fact.

The Jedi smiled broadly. "I am sure of it."

It seemed like a good note for him to depart on, so he turned to go. But he did want to say one thing before he went. "Your Terrans love you very much," he told him.

"I know," replied the Sith.

Obi-Wan wanted to say something more, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound ridiculous, coming from him. A Jedi was in no position to give commentary on the subject of paramours. With a slight smile of farewell, he headed towards the great double doors of Vader's quarters.

He had taken maybe three or four steps when the Dark Lord called him back. "Stop," he commanded imperiously.

The Jedi halted, turned towards him. Vader walked over to where he stood. The black-gloved hands removed his helmet and breathmask apparatus, tucked it under his arm, and once more Obi-Wan looked on the face of Anakin Skywalker. His blue-green eyes looked hard, accusatory.

"Would it have been so difficult, to remain here?" he demanded.

Kenobi frowned. It was the same frown that the Dark Lord always got from his old Master whenever he asked an impertinent question. Darth Vader hated that frown. "I can't." He was pensive for a few seconds. "I'm just not…able to. I hope you can understand that."

One of the Sith's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?" he asked mockingly. "Your kisses gave me no indication that you would find it unpleasant."

"They were done for effect. They weren't voluntary," the Jedi replied. Did he need to say it? Surely that had been obvious.

"Don't lie to me, Kenobi."

Was it a lie? And if it was, did it matter? The Jedi Master spread his hands. "What do you want from me?" he asked. The question was sad, regretful.

"I might ask you the same question," his old Apprentice shot back angrily. "Why did you come here? Why did you return to me, pretending to be Karesh, resurrecting memories that were better off dead?"

"Because you deserved better than from me than I was able to give you," Kenobi answered. "I wanted you to know that, to believe it-- that I feel regret for having failed you."

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker crossed his arms over his chest. "And what else?" he prompted.

"I wanted you to know that I loved you. That I always did." Here he paused. This was extremely difficult for him to say. "That I still do."

"As what?" The Sith wasn't going to make it easy for him. He was nailing him right to the wall.

"I loved you as a friend. As a brother." The words seemed so inadequate, considering how badly his heart had been broken, yet what would any of that mean now to the Dark Lord, sworn enemy of his Order? The man who vowed to have his blood, and that of every Jedi still alive. Who had murdered not a few of them already.

"And what are we now?"

"I don't have a word for it, Anakin," the Jedi answered, trying to hold onto his patience with both hands, as it began to slide away from him. "If I say that I love you, isn't that enough?"

"Don't call me Anakin," Vader snapped irritably. "That name has no meaning for me anymore. If it's only Skywalker that you love, then spare me your declarations. I don't want to hear them. Words are not enough, Kenobi. They never were."

His old Master's shoulders slumped. If it was in Obi-Wan to feel defeated, he did then. "Will you let me go?" he asked, so softly that the Dark Lord wasn't sure he heard correctly.

"Do you really want me to?" Lord Vader answered equally softly. His sapphire eyes looked at him, their expression unreadable.

Kenobi couldn't answer. He stared down at his feet, shifting them uncomfortably.

The Lord of the Sith whirled around with a graceful swirl of black and walked towards his bedroom. "Come with me, Jedi," he ordered. "I have something to show you."

Obi-Wan did not want to go. He thought about refusing, but decided not to. The Dark Apprentice could force him. He probably would. Lord Vader's former Master followed him to the heavy bedroom doors, which looked more like airlock doors to Kenobi. As soon as he walked in, they closed behind him with a bang. The room was dominated by a huge bed. There was little else in it. Along one wall was a set of controls. The great black figure that was the Lord of the Sith stood next to them.

"I want you to see what your love did, Obi-Wan. If you attempt to leave before I'm finished, I will kill you. If you hide your face, I will break your neck. If you refuse to look, I will force your eyes open. Is that understood?"

The Jedi could tell he meant it. He nodded. Vader pressed a few controls in sequence, and at once a great rush of air was blasted into the room. It was pressurized at three times normal atmospheric pressure, highly oxygenated, filtered and purified. It took about two and a half minutes to fill the entire room with the air mixture. When the cycle was complete, it shut itself off. The silence was deafening.

Without a single word, the Dark Lord laid down his helmet and breathmask, and proceeded to remove his cape and armor. The boots and lifesuit came next. Kenobi wanted to avert his eyes, but he dared not. He made himself look at the ruin that was the body of his friend, his brother. The being he loved more than any other. He didn't want to. But he did.

Obi-Wan couldn't imagine how his old Apprentice could have survived. How he could manage to still be alive, given how badly he was maimed. The fact that his face and head had been restored to their previous condition made looking at the rest of him that much harder. His chest had terrible surgical scars, which Kenobi did not expect to see. When he turned to put his clothing down, the Jedi Master saw that his back had even worse damage, even more horrible scarring. That all of his limbs were prosthetic, a fact of which he was only too well aware, caused his gut to twist into hard knots. The sight of the Sith Lord, without his protective, all-concealing outer layers, was horrendous; the violence of the injuries to his body made Obi-Wan ill to look at them.

He never intended this, never. The Jedi expected Anakin Skywalker to die that day on Mustafar, for the suffering to be over. He wanted him to die, intended him to die. He had not. Obi-Wan hadn't killed him outright because some part of him didn't want him dead; it loved him too much. But this love hadn't been enough to show either pity or mercy, to a dying man who he'd cherished above all others. In contravention of every value he cultivated as a Jedi, he'd withheld even basic decency from his old Apprentice—which he was entitled, no matter what the Sith had done.

What did that say about him? About the love he wanted to share now? About what that love meant?

"You see why I can't let you go, Obi-Wan," the Dark Lord told him. "The Sith I am, you made. You may be the greatest practical Sith Master I will ever know. Palpatine could not have done what you did, there on Mustafar. He doesn't love me nearly enough for that. I suspect he does not love me at all.

"You say you love me, and you always have," he spoke quietly to Kenobi, taking a step closer to him on his silver and gold feet. "I have tried to understand this, but so far I cannot. If your love transformed me, made me what I am, then show me again how a Jedi reates a Sith. Some of my human parts still remain; your work is only half-done, Jedi. Some of Anakin Skywalker still lives. Finish the job. Finish the job, Obi-Wan, for I swear to you that you are not leaving this room until you do."

The Jedi Master felt utterly cold, absolutely sick, inside himself. "You want me to put an end to your life?" he asked, horrified. Completely disbelieving.

"Is that what it would take, to destroy forever the Anakin Skywalker you cherished but left to burn, out of this love you say you have? Is that how you would make me perfect, a complete Sith?"

"I don't want him to die," whispered Obi-Wan. It was a very quiet, very tormented, very desperate wail.

The Sith Lord crossed his mechanical arms over his ravaged chest, stared down at his old Master from two meters of prosthetically-augmented height. His eyes were turning yellow. "That didn't stop you before. What's different now? You still say you love me. Do you love me any less now? Or is it that you love me more?"

There was a very long pause from the Jedi Master. "Perhaps I don't love you at all," Kenobi observed.

Finally. Finally. He admitted it. Vader's yellow eyes watched his former Master, as he grappled with himself. With his Jedi delusions and his Jedi sensibilities. Kenobi's emotions were dark, confused, while he mentally and spiritually squirmed. He'd never seen Obi-Wan in such a state. It pleased the Dark Lord mightily.

Then the Jedi Master took him completely by surprise.

"I hate you," he said, slowly. Quietly. And apparently, sincerely.

Lord Vader's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"I. Hate. You."

Fucking Jedi. What the hell was this?

"You hate me?" The Sith was completely disbelieving. "You lie," he snarled, taking another step nearer, fingers twitching in their eagerness to curl around his old Master's throat. The Jedi did not hate him. He couldn't. It was impossible. He was not allowed to. It was trespass on the heart of the Sith Lord, Darth Vader.

"No," Kenobi replied evenly. "I hate you. I think I must have hated you for a long time, and didn't know it. I hate you," he repeated. And he glared at Lord Darth Vader.

The Sith had never seen his old Master express hatred, or anger, in his whole life. It did things to him. Amazing things.

"Prove it, Jedi." The Dark Lord was absolutely furious. How. Dare. He. Toy. With. Him.

"Alright," said he. "I'm not going. I'm staying."

"**WHAT?**"

"I'm staying," Obi-Wan repeated. His azure eyes had a hard glitter. "I want to hate you, want you to feel my hatred for you, eery day of your life. In your arms. In your bed." Here he paused, took a step nearer to Lord Vader, his old Apprentice. "I hate you," he repeated, aquamarine eyes flashing fire, "and I'm going to fuck you up so bad you'll wish you were dead.

"I hate you," Obi-Wan said again, slowly and distinctly. "Let me show you how much."

Kenobi raised one hand and, using the Force, violently flung Vader onto his own bed. Total shock kept the Sith from reacting. Force bonds pinned him down on it. Obi-Wan stripped off his tunic, threw it on the floor. Traces of the golden glitter shimmered on his pale torso. As he approached the bed, the Sith's eyes glowed reptilian yellow as he battled against the Force that was holding him. He'd almost freed himself when the Jedi leaped on top of him, knees on his chest, pinning him again. Kenobi reached down with one hand and hit him hard, right in the face. Twice. Three times. Then he grabbed the Dark Lord's chin in the punishing grip of one calloused hand, turned it so he could look him in the eyes.

"Palpatine doesn't hate you enough to do this," Obi-Wan snarled, "He doesn't hate you like I do; he never will," Kenobi said, voice dripping with malice. It didn't even sound like the Jedi. This was a voice Vader had never heard, not even in his dreams.

Glaring down at him, Kenobi's other hand reached down to grasp the Dark Lord's organ. It was hard, aroused, almost fully erect. He made his touch a deadly insult. "Who's your Master now, eh?" he sneered. "Does the Emperor get you hard? Does he? Do you want him here, between your legs? Can he make you want this?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi bent down, turned his old Padawan's face to one side, and kissed the Sith's neck slowly, wetly. Seductively. He licked it with his long tongue, then sank his teeth into the pale column, sucking at the bite at the same time. Vader hissed like an enraged animal. The most obscene Sith curse he knew, he growled at his former Master.

The yellow eyes of Dark Vader were glazed with desire.

The Jedi was tapping boundary energies in the Force, between the Dark and the Light. It was an exceedingly dangerous place to linger, and it took more discipline, more sheer physical ability, than he knew he really had, to do it. He couldn't keep this up for long. But he didn't have to. He would do this for the man who had been his brother. Because there was literally nowhere he would not go for the man who had been Anakin Skywalker, nothing he would not do. Including letting him go. Including giving him up. Including letting him be the Sith he was. If that's what it took. If Darth Vader needed this to live, then he would have it. From his old Master. And no one else. And. No. One. Else.

The Darkness of what Vader was feeling was well beyond anything he'd ever experienced in his life. It was incredible. The power of it astonished him. Using this surge of Dark power, he got one durasteel hand free and with it, gripped the Jedi's neck in a stranglehold. The Sith pinned him to the bed and straddled him.

From Obi-Wan's position, two yellow eyes glowed with such Dark Hatred that it rivaled even the Sith Emperor's. His own aqua ones were defiant, triumphant.

"You filthy, despicable Jedi," he hissed malevolently, tightening his grip in ecstasies of rage and hate. "How. Dare. You. Taunt. Me.

"I will not have you as my whore. You've shown me that you don't have the strength to stay here and love me. You'll never know the power you need to hate me. You are nothing. You're not a Jedi. You're not a man. Now pick up your clothes and get off my ship. If I ever see you again, you will die. That's a promise."

The Dark Lord got off his old Master, and Kenobi slid off the bed silently. As he bent to pick up his clothes, he looked at his old Apprentice one more time.

The Sith dressed quickly. The helmet and breathmask were replaced. The visage of Anakin Skywalker was forever hidden from Obi-Wan's view. No words were spoken as he opened the doors of his bedroom. The Jedi walked out of Lord Vader's quarters, tugging the hated uniform of the Empire down around his pale, gold-dusted body.

23:00 Hours East Docking Bay No. 607, Executor

Karesh was waiting for him in the command center on his ship. As soon as Kenobi strapped himself into his flight chair, the Immortal maneuvered his ship out of the landing bay, and they left the control fields of the Executor. The onboard navigation computers began calculating the first of several lightspeed jumps.

Obi-Wan sat in the co-pilot's chair, without moving or speaking. The look on his face was one of absolute and complete emotional devastation.

He did what he had to do, but he didn't imagine that it would hurt so badly. He'd maimed and almost killed his closest friend on Mustafar, and that was bad enough. His heart had been broken, his soul scarred and embittered. On the Executor he'd murdered the remaining emotional bond between himself and what was left of Anakin Skywalker. He didn't know if he could survive this.

Karesh looked at him. He didn't need to telepath the thought that now Kenobi understood how it felt to be Lord Darth Vader. The Jedi already knew. Anakin Skywalker had burned on Mustafar; Kenobi now burned on the Immortal's ship, as it hurtled into the cold black night of galactic space.

It was time to put the fire out, before it consumed any more of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master. It was time to save what could be saved.

"You did the only thing possible, Obi-Wan," Karesh pathed kindly, “and I know what it cost you to do it. But I have to tell you, you left the job half-done again."

That didn't get a reaction from the man next to him for several minutes. "More?" Kenobi finally asked weakly, his voice faltering. "What more should I have done? I've given all I had left to give."

"Exactly," replied his companion mentally. "That's it exactly. What you needed to do was to take a little bit back. Now you will have to face him again, and agree to receive it, before there can be peace."

The Jedi covered his face with his hands. "I don't understand." He said softly. It was almost a moan.

"The mysteries of love are difficult to comprehend," the deathless being sent. "Immortals understand this better than most. Simply put, you loved the man you trained and fought with, but could not express it. That was half the problem. The other half was that you were never able to receive Anakin Skywalker's love for you, which was just as powerful as yours was for him. Now you've rejected Darth Vader's. He can't accept your love now, until you can accept his. If you had been able to take even a small part of Vader's love for you, he could have existed in peace for the rest of his life.

"Kenobi, the Jedi taught you to reject love in any but its highest and purest form. The Sith's love for you is neither high nor pure, but Anakin Skywalker's love for you was very much higher and purer than that—and you rejected it completely. Love that is forced to live rejected and excluded within sight of its object burns and maims, Kenobi. You now have personal knowledge of this. You need to accept a portion of the love Darth Vader can give to you, or your pride and his hate will kill you both."

23:00 Hours Command Bridge, Executor

The command crew of the Executor tracked the homing beacon's signal attentively, in obedience to the orders they received earlier from Lord Vader.

They didn't know that, a short time before the Immortal's ship left the landing bay, its captain removed the tracking device. It was placed on another ship, an Imperial shuttle, also awaiting takeoff clearance within the hour. That ship was bound for an obscure world, far outside the galaxy.

It was going to Terra. It was a drone, unmanned. The perfect decoy. Almost.

23:00 Hours Executive Residence Decks, Executor

Lord Vader stalked the corridors of his ship like demon wanders the confines of its hell. He prowled its decks like a wounded animal in a large, dark cage. He wasn't going anywhere. He had nowhere left to go.

23:00 Hours Infirmary Office Wing, Executor

Admiral Troppert was sorting through the mess that had been Graner's effects in his private Infirmary office, when he came across the Jedi's sliced clothing and lightsaber. He wondered what to do with them. No doubt the traitor Kenobi was dead by now. Well, perhaps the Sith would like to have these items as a trophy, or souvenir. The doctor certainly had no use for them.

He looked at his locator board. The Dark Lord was not in his quarters. The head of the Imperial Medical Service sent for a service droid. Giving it the garments and saber, he instructed the robot to deliver them to Lord Vader's quarters and leave them inside the meditation sphere. Then it was to erase the recording of who ordered the items to be left, the fact that it delivered them there, and all record of their existence.

As the droid glided off, Troppert wondered if the war would ever end.

23:00 Hours Admiral Ozzel's Private Bridge Office (Vacated), Executor

The Emperor of the Galaxy decided not to make a big ceremony around his departure from the Executor. He had matters requiring his attention on Coruscant, and things had pretty much straightened themselves out on the Empire's premier warship. He had Ozzel ready his ship and crew, and was just raising his hand to the intercom to summon his Apprentice when he felt it.

A level of hatred, rage, and pain that he hadn't felt from Lord Vader since right after Mustafar. It didn't feel like Vader was in any physical danger this time. But he'd be willing to bet good credit that it had something to do with Kenobi.

The Jedi was no doubt doing it to him again.

Palpatine's lips curved themselves into a slow, self-satisfied smile. The Force-damned traitorous Jedi Master was worth more than his weight in diamonds, platinum and spice put together. Obi-Wan Kenobi was more essential to him alive then he ever would be dead, and now he knew that he would need to take some pains to ensure that the Jedi stayed alive. For as long as his Apprentice needed a reason to push the limits of his hate and anger, into the farthest reaches of the Dark Side that he could go. It appeared that no one could push him farther, faster, than his old Master. The Sith Emperor would have to ensure that Kenobi was the very last Jedi ever to be found, and the very last one to die. By his pupil's own hand, of course.

His death would be exquisite. The Emperor closed his eyes in ecstastic contemplation of that sublime moment. He could almost sense it, seem to feel it, through the power of the Dark Side. Yes. Yes. Exquisite.

Moving his hand once more over the intercom, His Imperial Highness figured he had enough time to pour a little rocket fuel on the fires of Lord Vader's rage before he left, and then freeze it for posterity. Just time enough to give him a little reminder of who his Master was, what he was doing here, and why it was important for Darth Vader to remember what being a Sith was all about. Why he'd chosen this path. Why it had been the wisest and best choice he could have made.

Why Palpatine was the Master, would always be the Master, and Vader the Apprentice.

Why Kenobi had been nothing compared to him. Nothing at all.

23:07 Hours TIE Fighter Maintenance Bays, Executor

The Dark Lord was striding through the blackness of the maintenance bays, at the bottom of the ship. At that hour, were was almost nothing going on. The fact that they were deserted made it the perfect place for the Sith Apprentice to be at this time.

He was trying to sort out his rage, his pain, but he could not. As he strode past the ranks of parked ships, his fists clenched and unclenched rapidly. Their unforgiving metal fingers were unconscious of the fact that they were digging into the soft leather of his gloves, shredding them. The metal grids that made up the deck shook as one heavy booted foot hit them in unmerciful succession. The rattle of the decks beneath him echoed the creaking of the girders of his control. His Master was going to be leaving the ship in about thirteen minutes. Darth Vader was wishing the Emperor's shuttle would explode into flames right after take off when the call came in on his comlink.

Palpatine wanted to see him. A perfect ending, to a perfect day. Vader's feelings were a jumbled mess, his mind and heart in torment, but one thing was very clear to him.

He wanted to rape something. His Master wasn't at all what he had in mind. The being he wanted most to ravage was traveling to the bolt-hole of his exile, at the speed of light, at this very moment. He was probably gone forever.

That was simply unacceptable.

Kenobi had to take his punishment. The Jedi almost murdered him, mutilated his body already. Now he tried to kill him once more. His old Master wanted his soul this time. But it was not for sale, rent or lease. It had already been given. Then taken away. Now he didn't own it anymore.

The Emperor's Apprentice should have raped his old Master on that conference room table when he had the chance. He should have raped Obi-Wan while he was tied to that bench in his harem. He should have raped Kenobi in his bedroom, on his bed, between his legs. While he kissed, licked and bit his long elegant neck. He should have raped him then. He should have. He should. And then, when he was done, blood and cum flowing down his legs, the Sith would have turned him over. And sucked the Jedi's cock tenderly and lovingly, until Obi-Wan screamed his name. Over and over again. He would finally break him, with the pleasure he would give to him, after the pain. Sweet, sweet surrender, to the Dark Lord. Who had always been his, and always would be.

And then he would take him again. And again. Obi-Wan.

Lord Darth Vader howled in anguish, and banged both fists into the nearest TIE fighter's wings. They went right through the first several layers of titanium shielding, and made two huge dents into them. The Emperor's Apprentice then proceeded to try to tear the wing off, further shredding his gloves, when his comlink went off again. He shrieked, once more, in agony.

The cry of the Sith Apprentice was terrible to hear, as it reflected itself off two hundred metal bodies of TIE fighters, off the painted metal walls and supports, and off the metal grid floors of the pitch-black bay.

The entire bulk of the great Imperial ship trembled in response.

23:11 Hours Admiral Ozzel's Private Bridge Office (Vacated), Executor

Palpatine felt the Executor shudder, with the power of the Dark Side of the Force. His young protégé was out of control, below decks. Well, maybe the Emperor should do something he didn't do very often, but was now going to do twice in one day. He would go to his Apprentice. Sometimes that was what it meant, to be a Master.

23:22 Hours TIE Fighter Maintenance Bays, Executor

His Imperial Majesty walked slowly, on his cane, along the decks of the maintenance bay. It was very dark, but the rage and pain coming from Lord Vader was as bright and hot as a planetary sun. While it was highly gratifying, and warmed the Sith Master, it was also a little dangerous. His Apprentice could burn himself out that way. Control was critical, in managing Dark Side energies. It would not do for Vader to keep this tantrum going. Time to rein it in. Even as he respected the power of the passion that drove it.

Perhaps Darth Vader would be a Master one day, he reflected as he grew closer to where his Apprentice was. Palpatine hadn't been sure it could be possible, after his horrific injuries at Mustafar. It seemed he was strong enough after all. If he could harness those energies of his into productive avenues, he just might. Not while Palpatine still lived, of course.

At last the yellow eyes of the Sith Master found Lord Vader. He was standing next to the wreckage of a brand-new TIE fighter. That he'd apparently taken it completely apart with his bare durasteel hands.

23:24 Hours TIE Fighter Maintenance Bays, Executor

The Sith Apprentice was panting with his exertions. His respirator was working very hard to keep up. The fact that it was laboring, that he needed to be on one in the first place, enraged him all over again. He was almost ready to rip off the helmet and breathmask when he caught sight of his Master, approaching in the darkness.

His Master? Down here? What was he doing down here?

"I sensed that you needed to talk to me, Lord Vader," the Emperor said genially, in answer to his thoughts.

Crawl around in his emotions and mock him more like, Vader sneered to himself.

"Only when required so to do, my young friend. I'm not your tormentor, I'm not your mother, and I'm not your proctor. I'm your Master. It's a little like being your boss, but a good deal more invasive. As you well know. But there are some things I do not deign to meddle with."

"Like what?"

"Do you want a list?" Palpatine was being very good humored about the whole thing. That made his Apprentice a little bit nervous.

"Yes," replied the Dark Lord.

The Emperor smiled his nasty smile. "Well, I'm not going to give you one." The rather small cloaked and hooded figure found a seat on a smashed engine core.

"Come, I'm a busy man," said he, leaning on his cane. "I have time to help you, but not to give lists or pat you on the back and say, `there, there.' Obviously you've had another encounter with Kenobi, one that didn't go as you hoped. I can't say I'm surprised. Despite what you might think, I'm not omniscient. Tell me what happened."

Lord Darth Vader looked down at his Master and did something he never did before. "No," he told him flatly. As if it was a completely outrageous request. From his Master, to whom he owed absolute, unquestioned obedience and loyalty.

"I could have you killed for your disobedience," Palpatine observed pleasantly.

"I don't think so," sneered his Apprentice. Let him try it. He'd just get a lot of dead assassins.

"I could kill you myself," the Emperor replied conversationally.

"Go ahead," Vader challenged.

"That must have been quite a meeting you had with him," His Imperial Highness observed, looking up at the Dark Lord. "Very intense. Very emotional. And very private. He obviously rejected you again. On multiple levels. Including sexual ones. Am I right?"

"You always are," stated Darth Vader. The tone was so insolent, it took Palpatine's breath away. When it came back, it made a slight hissing sound. Now he was really, deeply angry.

And that was good, very good. There was give and take in every successful relationship, and thank the Force, Lord Vader could give as well as take.

The Emperor stood up, brushed down his black robe. "I didn't come down here to have you mouth off to me in that particularly irritating and condescending way you have."

"What did you come down here for?" The Sith Apprentice was feeling it now. He loved a good fight. Gods knew he was spoiling for one.

Palpatine just smiled. It was moments like these that made the Sith Order the most fulfilling and worthwhile one in the Universe. "I came down here to rape you, then suck your cock until you scream my name, then rape you again. And again. Shall we get on with it?"

23:46 Hours North Docking Bay No. 1, Executor

The Emperor's ship took off from its landing bay, a little bit late, but not very much. Lord Vader was there to see him off. Ozzel and Troppert were there as well. All of them had their orders.

Ozzel was to call off his mission to Dantooine, and return to their previous position. The Rebels were attacking Outer Rim targets once more, and additional support was needed. The silly middle-aged political-appointee felt very superior about the whole thing. It was just what he warned about, and finally Palpatine had seen reason. He supposed Lord Vader was owed some of the credit. That thought put something of a damper on the smugness of his thoughts, but not a lot. Ozzel believed in taking every opportunity to take credit wherever it was lying, whether or not it was strictly due him. One didn't rise to Admiral of the Imperial Star Fleet through false modesty.

Troppert was ordered to find Karesh. It had already been discovered that the homing beacon had been removed from the Immortal's ship and transferred to another ship, a drone going to Terra to pick up the Sith Lord's new consort. The head of the Imperial Medical Service had no leads, no trail to follow, no indication of where to begin looking, but the Emperor had told him that it was not his problem. He expected results, not excuses. Troppert bowed his assent, and internally cringed. When he was supposed to find the time to practice medicine, he had no idea. And if he would ever live to see retirement was getting further in doubt every minute of every day.

The Emperor's Apprentice was instructed to recall that his disappointed love for his old Master, while amusing in some ways and certainly a powerful Dark Side motivation, was not the reason he'd accepted Apprenticeship in the Sith Order:

There is no peace, there is anger.
There is no fear, there is power.
There is no death, there is immortality.
There is no weakness, there is the Dark Side.
I am the Heart of Darkness.
I know no fear,
But rather I instill it in my enemies.
I am the destoyer of worlds.
I know the power of the Dark Side.
I am the fire of hate.
All the Universe bows before me.
I pledge myself to the Darkness.
For I have found true life,
In the death of the light.

Lord Vader was also ordered, when Karesh was found, to then track down Obi-Wan Kenobi through the Immortal. And then do to Jedi…well… what Palpatine had just done to him. And after that, he should bring Kenobi to the Emperor's throne room. Not the whole Jedi, of course. Just his head. On a silver platter.

23:55 Hours Lord Darth Vader's Quarters, Executor

The Sith Apprentice entered his quarters and went immediately into his meditation sphere. There were chores related to his medical condition that needed to be done before he could sleep. It was late. He was tired. He was hurting so bad, the pain didn't even register any more. On any level.

The upper half of the sphere lifted itself up at his approach, and as Vader stepped into it, he saw them.

Obi-Wan's robes and lightsaber. Lying on his chair.

He couldn't feel anything anymore. Without thinking about it first, without knowing what he was doing, he picked them up, carried them into his bedroom and put them into a storage drawer. The Dark Lord had very few personal possessions, very few. It came from having no sentiment, no charity, no love, no family. No light. Only Darkness. The Darkness was everything, it was the beginning, the source of all. Even the Light, which he hated. The Light was borne out of Darkness, an aberrant deformity of the Truth of the Dark. Darkness was the only Truth there was. But the Darkness hid, too. Kenobi's possessions would hide in this drawer until the end of time.

Darth Vader locked the storage drawer and broke off the lock. Then he went into his meditation sphere and prepared for sleep.

24:00 Hours Meditation Sphere, Lord Vader's Quarters, Executor.

The dialysis machine was cleaning his blood. He'd already taken his nutritional supplement drink. There was considerable damage to his lower torso that it would take the nano-tech healers quite a while to cleanse, mend and heal. Perhaps he would sleep there tonight. He would feel better in the morning.

The Sith's head dropped down on his chest. His shining golden brown curls tumbled forward over his cheeks and forehead. His beautiful sapphire eyes closed, their long lashes fanning out over his pale cheeks. The full rosy lips relaxed, his brow was peaceful. Palpatine had not bothered to try to look at his face down there at the Maintenance Bay; he did not know how beautiful it was now.

Anakin Skwalker slept. And dreamed. Of Padme. Of his mother. Of his home. Of Obi-Wan. The Darkness had no power at all over his dreams.

END

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