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TITLE: Harbinger
AUTHOR: Prophecy Girl (prophecygirl@sithdreams.net)
RATING: NC-17
CHARACTERS: Darth Vader, OFC, various characters of the OT
CATEGORY: Seduction, Angst

DISCLAIMER: I don't own him, and I've received no remuneration. I just like to play with him in kinky, kinky ways.

SUMMARY: A young Imperial office aboard the Death Star comes face to face with the Sith Lord, and old secrets are brought to light.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks, as always, to Alisha who is the coolest damn beta ever.

CHANDRILA, CHANDRILA SYSTEM, KINZUA SECTOR

Four year old Preitha was sitting curled at her father's feet when the soldiers came. Antath Skarin had been reading her favorite story from his datapad.

The stormtroopers blasted through the door, blowing the thin durasteel panel off its' hinges to send it crashing into the far wall; an unnecessary display of force, since the door had been unlocked to begin with. They rushed forward with the controlled speed of hardened warriors to grab Antath by the arms. One soldier hauled Preitha to her feet and held her with equal indifference, ignoring the tears of fear and confusion that were now sparkling in her eyes.

"We've secured them, Commander Motti," another `trooper spoke into his comlink.

"Where are they?" a voice asked.

Preitha heard the young soldier before she saw him.

Her father said nothing. He simply stared forward, unmoving.

"Where are they, citizen?" Motti demanded.

"I don't know, sir," Antath finally answered, casting a glance towards his daughter. He smiled weakly at her, attempting to sooth her.

"Three rebels were seen leaving this house," the young Commander snarled. "You have aided the rebellion, and you `will' tell me where they have gone! Or," he reached out a hand to stroke Preitha's hair, "I fear the innocent will be the ones who will suffer most."

"No!" Antath howled. "She doesn't know anything! She didn't even see them!"

"See who?" he asked with a smirk.

"Look, they came to me and asked for help. I told them I couldn't help them. I am loyal to the Empire! I swear it!"

"Tell me where they went," Motti said, his hand still resting casually atop Preitha's soft brown curls.

"I don't know," her father pleaded. "I… I gave them my airspeeder, just so they would leave us alone. I don't know where they went. They didn't tell me - I didn't want to know! Please, don't hurt her."

Motti smiled. "Tell me where they went."

"I don't know!" Antath cried.

"Yes," Motti mused, as he withdrew his blaster and aimed a single shot at Antath's heart. "I believe you."

-Eighteen Years Later-

DEATH STAR BATTLESTATION, CORUSCANT SECTOR

Preitha stalked the corridor outside Admiral Motti's quarters with animalistic impatience. He'd summoned her over an hour ago, and then had refused to admit her when she'd arrived. Her brown hair, still impossibly curly, was pulled into a stern bun at the nape of her neck. Her nose was regal and aquiline, and her green eyes were clear and calm. Her face was plain and free of make-up, such things were a luxury for the frivolous and unfocused. Preitha tugged at the hem of her uniform jacket, pulling the grey material until it snapped tightly against her neck. She was an attractive woman, but downplayed her beauty with a stern, no-nonsense countenance.

At long last, the door slid open and she entered the spacious apartments, making her way to the study. Motti was standing next to a conference table placed at the far end of the room. Grand Moff Tarkin was seated at its' head.

"…arriving in just a few days, Admiral," Tarkin was saying. "This will not help our aspirations in any way."

"Ah, Preitha!" Motti exclaimed, holding out his hands to her when she appeared in the doorway.

"Father," she said, placing her hands in his and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Grand Moff, I don't believe you've met my daughter, have you? She has just arrived from Imperial Center, having completed her Lieutenant training."

"A Lieutenant already?" Tarkin asked politely. "Most impressive, Admiral."

"She will surpass us both before long, I fear," he said with a smile. "Her cunning impresses me more with each passing day."

"I strive only to serve the Glory of the Empire, father," Preitha replied.

"The path to glory is at times, clouded, child," Tarkin told her cryptically.

"Then I shall also strive to uncloud it, Grand Moff," she answered with a lofty smile.

"Hm. And what do you think of our new weapon?" he asked, his hawkish features narrowing as he awaited her response.

"I find it quite large," she quipped. Motti hid a smile at her audacity. "The rebel alliance would be hard pressed to mount a suitable defense."

"How old are you, child?"

"Twenty-two, sir."

"Take your hair down," Tarkin ordered suddenly.

Preitha glanced over at her father, who nodded slightly. Reaching up, she pulled her hair free of the pins and clips that held it back and allowed it to fall down her back. The curls immediately spilled over her shoulders, softening the hard features of her face.

Tarkin turned to Motti. "You're right, Admiral. I believe she will do nicely."

Preitha again looked to Motti, clearly confused.

"We are expecting an important guest," he explained. "Grand Moff Tarkin and I need you to… distract him as best you can. There are certain dealings aboard this station that he might be unreceptive to."

"Who is this guest?"

Tarkin's face darkened as he supplied the answer. "The Sith Lord, Darth Vader."

Preitha blinked. "Vader? He's second in command to the Emperor!"

"Not aboard this station!" Tarkin barked sharply. "I am in charge here."

She lowered her head. "Forgive me, Grand Moff. But… how am I expected to distract a Sith Lord?"

Tarkin sneered. "You're a woman; a cunning one, if your father is to be believed. I'm confident you'll think of something."

Preitha's earliest memory was of her father teaching her how to use a blaster.

"I don't want to hurt anyone, Daddy," she'd told him, fingering the weapon gingerly.

"Preitha, what is the driving force of the Empire?" he'd asked.

"Fear," she'd responded obediently.

"And how do we instill fear?"

"By showing strength," she'd replied.

"Good girl ."

She didn't remember her mother at all. Motti had told her she'd died when Preitha was an infant, but hadn't told her the exact circumstances. As a young child, she'd asked about her mother often; what she'd looked like, how she'd smelled, what her favorite foods had been. Motti had always responded with vague, half-answers and she had eventually given up. She'd concluded that his reluctance to talk about her mother was because he found it too painful, and that the reason why he had not one holo of her, because he couldn't face what he'd lost.

Motti, whose rise to power was swift, had raised Preitha by himself, in his own militaristic style. He was ambitious, and ruthless too. It was his greatest wish that Preitha follow in his footsteps.

So far, she had.

At the age of sixteen she'd entered the Imperial Naval Academy. Her father had used a considerable amount of influence to secure her admittance, but it had been Preitha's own success and cunning that had spurred her rapid advancement through the ranks to become a Lieutenant at twenty-two. She'd been stationed on Imperial Center for most of her tenure to date, executing short, but fruitful missions, to other areas of the galaxy. Her forte was strategic reconnaissance and infiltration; finding small cells of rebel forces, and analyzing intelligence reports.

Though she communicated with her father often, she had shied away from offers to relocate to the Death Star; operating under her father's command was not a notion that appealed to her. She preferred to achieve success on her own, not under the shadow of the Admiral. But she'd received a direct order to report to Grand Moff Tarkin on the station and so, she'd packed up her few belongings and boarded the small transport shuttle that would take her to her father's domain - to what was being called the ultimate triumph of the Empire.

Now, it seemed that the entire purpose of her summons had been to act as a diversion for Motti's scheming aspirations. Her own achievements meant nothing. But the most infuriating piece of this new puzzle was Motti's apparent willingness to exploit her, his own daughter. She hadn't spent the last six years fighting for ground in a decidedly misogynistic Empire to be reduced to a female `distraction'.

Preitha was brooding in her private quarters – a luxury she'd been awarded based on familial relation, not rank – when her comlink erupted with the announcement that Vader's flagship, the Devastator, was approaching. She was expected to meet Tarkin and her father in the docking bay immediately. She pulled on her uniform jacket and took a deep breath, before stepping out into the corridor. She immediately glanced around with dismay, not having a clue where she was in relation to the main docking bay. The monstrous station was, in her opinion, an obscene labyrinth of passages and pathways.

Preitha let out a frustrated sigh as she surveyed the hallway. How anyone could navigate this station with any sense of direction was beyond her.

"Lost?" she heard a smug voice question behind her.

"No," she bristled, turning to face the voice.

"Lieutenant Motti, how satisfying to see you again," the man continued. He was slightly older than her, and handsome. A careful check of his uniform revealed he had not advanced in rank as swiftly as her.

"Ensign Krael," she smirked, "how have you enjoyed life since the Academy?"

"I've been aboard the Death Star for some time now," he replied. "We can't all rely upon famous fathers for our advancement, can we?"

Preitha's eyes narrowed in irritation. Krael had been her fiercest rival at the Academy, and even now he was convinced that she'd surpassed him, not by skill, but because of her father. "I'd choose your next words carefully, Ensign," she warned.

"Lieutenant!" her comlink burst to life, ending the conversation. "Lord Vader is preparing to dock now, where are you?"

She had time to throw one last, triumphant sneer over her shoulder at Krael's slack-jawed expression before hurrying down the corridor in what she fervently hoped was the right direction.

Preitha was by her father's side when the shuttle pulled into the hangar bay; watching as it glided to a skillfull halt on the glossy durasteel floor. She stood to the right of Admiral Motti, who was at the right hand of the Grand Moff. Double rows of armored stormtroopers flanked them on either side. The ship set down directly in front of Tarkin and the ramp extended to reveal an interior as starkly white as the smooth outer frame.

Strong legs encased in black armor appeared first, approaching with even, measured strides. The sound of footsteps was joined by the rhythmic cadence of synthesized breathing. The figure descended the ramp and black gave way to more, lustrous black. Preitha had seen holos of Lord Vader, but the likenesses had not done him justice. In person, he was an imposing figure.

It wasn't until her father's elbow jabbed sharply into her side that she realized she'd been staring with unabashed curiosity.

"Welcome aboard, Lord Vader," Tarkin greeted him with a stiff nod.

"Have you readied the interrogation cell as I requested?" Vader asked. His voice was a rich baritone; Preitha found it, coupled with his breathing cycle, oddly hypnotic.

"Yes," Motti answered.

"Good," Vader replied, turning to the Captain that had debarked the ship after him, "retrieve the Princess and secure her in the cellblock."

"Do you really think she'll reveal the location of the rebel base?" Tarkin did not attempt to hide his skepticism.

"I will `make' her reveal it," the Sith Lord replied.

The small group began to walk away from the shuttle and out of the hangar bay, with Lord Vader in the lead setting a swift pace. Preitha was forced to trot to keep up with him.

"Lord Vader, the Admiral and I have business we must attend to," Tarkin said. "The Lieutenant here will accompany you, and see to your needs."

The blask mask swiveled to regard Preitha. His features were completely hidden, and he said nothing to indicate his opinion of the arrangement. Preitha kept her gaze directed forward, mouth set into a firm, thin line.

Motti and Tarkin dropped back; Vader continued walking, and Preitha did the same, hands clasped behind her back. They continued in silence for some time, until she began to wonder if he even knew – or cared – that she was at his side.

"Well, Lieutenant, are you going to introduce yourself or simply trot along like a tauntaun beside me?" Vader finally asked.

She blinked and turned to look up at him with surprise. "I am Lieutenant Motti," she replied, silently cursing her father for not warning her that the man was such an asshole.

Vader laughed uproariously. "I assure you, Lieutenant, that the Admiral shares your sentiments about me."

Preitha did her best to hide her shock and mortification. The Imperial Academy was full of rumors about this mysterious, menacing figurehead of power, rumors she'd always assumed they were false. But if he could, in fact, read minds, she had to wonder what else was true. Perhaps the story about the bantha…

Vader's laughter renewed, and passing soldiers stopped to stare at them, stupefied. "A bantha?" he choked out. "Force, no."

Preitha smiled, blushing. "My Lord, I apologize."

He waved a gloved hand dismissively. "It's good to laugh, Lieutenant. I can't recall the last time I did. Can you?"

She thought for a moment and shook her head. "I can't, my Lord."

"No, I thought not," he quipped. "Not with Motti as your father."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"What is your function, Lieutenant?" he asked, serious again.

"Intelligence analysis, sire."

"Is that so?" He tipped his mask towards her. "Interesting."

"There are scores of intelligence officers within the Empire," she replied graciously.

"Yes, but none before me now, save you."

Preitha nodded professionally, trying desperately to ignore the stirring between her legs at his words. She couldn't fathom why she found this tall, brooding figure so attractive. But there was `something' undeniably alluring about him. How far away were the damn cellblocks anyway? It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep her imagination in check. Beyond that, the last time she'd had any physical contact with a man had been when she was in the Academy, and she and Krael had set aside their rivalry long enough to fuck like gizka inside one of the TIE simulators.

Vader chuckled, indicating that, to her horror, he'd again read her thoughts. "Why have you been sent with me, Lieutenant?" he asked suddenly, sparing her further indignity.

"I'm not privy to the reasons why, my Lord," she answered.

"I won't require your assistance," he said. "And I certainly don't need a chaperone."

"My Lord," she began, but was cut off when Vader's comlink beeped. He stopped and dug the tiny device from beneath the folds of his cloak.

"Yes, Grand Moff?"

"Lord Vader, I've just received news from the Emperor. Please join me in the main conference room immediately," Tarkin said.

Vader turned to Preitha, "Perfect timing. I will now tell your superiors that I have no need of your services. Come with me."

Tarkin was waiting for them at the door of the meeting room. He sent Preitha inside, citing the need to speak with Vader alone. She settled herself into an empty chair before the round, black table across from her father, who was already engaged in heated conversation with Commander Tagge. The men did not acknowledge her.

"Until this battle station is fully operation, we are vulnerable," Tagge stated. "The Rebel Alliance is too well equipped. They're far more dangerous than you realize."

Motti listened patiently, but Preitha saw the annoyance beneath his calm façade. "Dangerous to your fleet, Commander; `not' to this battle station."

"The Rebellion will continue to gain support in the Imperial Senate –" Tagge began excitedly; he did not notice Tarkin and Vader enter the room until he was interrupted.

"The Imperial Senate is no longer of any concern to us," Tarkin announced. "I have just received word that the Emperor has dissolved the Council permanently. The last remnants of the old Republic have been swept away," he took his seat to the right of Tagge, Vader remained standing behind him.

"But that's impossible!" Tagge exclaimed. "How will the Emperor maintain control without the bureaucracy?"

"The regional governors now have direct control over their territories," Tarkin explained calmly. "Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this battle station."

"And what of the rebellion?" Tagge was unconvinced. "If the rebels have obtained a complete technical readout of this station, it is possible, however unlikely, that they might find a weakness and exploit it."

"The plans you refer to will soon be back in our hands," Vader interjected.

"Any attack made by the rebels against this station would be a useless gesture," Motti stated, leaning towards Tagge and emphasizing his words with firm hand gestures, "no matter what technical data they've obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe. I suggest we use it."

"Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've constructed," Vader countered. "The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force."

Preitha looked anxiously from Vader to her father.

"Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader," her father responded bitterly. "Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the rebel's hidden fortress- "

Motti was cut off abruptly as Vader took a step towards him and held up his hand to form a fist.

"I find your lack of faith disturbing," Vader intoned calmly.

The other men watched in silence as Motti fought for air. It wasn't until Preitha stood and moved to help her father that Tarkin stepped in.

"Enough of this! Vader! Release him," Tarkin ordered.

"As you wish," the Sith Lord replied, turning away and dropping his hand.

The Admiral slumped forward; Preitha remained standing, prepared to go to his side if he needed her.

"This bickering is pointless," Tarkin continued. "Now, Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the rebel fortress by the time this station is operational. We will then crush the rebellion with one swift stroke."

Motti glared at Vader murderously.

"I will interrogate the Princess now," Vader stated. "Lieutenant Motti will accompany me and assist my efforts."

"Very good," Tarkin said. "This meeting is concluded."

Preitha ran to catch up with Vader as he left the conference room. "I thought you didn't require my services," she said.

"I didn't," he answered, "until your father chose to openly challenge me. As a result, I have altered my plans."

"My Lord," Preitha said, "I had nothing to do with my father's actions."

"I know," he answered curtly.

She fell silent, taking up the increasingly familiar pace at his side as he strode down the hallway. Again she found herself nearly jogging to keep up, and bit back a smile as she recalled his description of her the last time she'd fought to stay beside him.

"What do you know about the latest move of the rebel Alliance?" Vader asked after a time, breaking the silence that had not, in actually, been silent at all.

"Very little, my Lord," she said, wishing he'd slow down just a bit; she was beginning to sweat. "Really, only what I could discern from Commander Tagge's statements."

"And what is that?" he inquired patiently, not slowing his pace a bit, though he was surely aware of her discomfort.

"That the rebels have somehow obtained schematics to this facility. That they hope to analyze the plans, to find and exploit a weakness. And that you have captured someone who knows where these plans are now."

"The princess from Alderaan," he supplied. "Her father has been a traitor from the start, and it appears that she has adopted his cause, in kind."

"Where did you capture her?" Preitha asked.

"Aboard her ship, just outside orbit on Tatooine."

"The plans were not found on the ship…" she mused. "They must have dropped them onto the planet somehow."

"An escape pod," Vader confirmed.

"Empty?"

"With droids."

"Then she was trying to get to someone," she concluded. "A clever plan, actually. So the question we need her to answer isn't `where', but `whom'."

Vader had to admit, he was impressed. She was insightful and intelligent; and attractive, for that matter.

"But who can be found on Tatooine beside the Hutts, vagrants, and the occasional farmer?" she wondered aloud. "Which is probably exactly why this mysterious recipient is hiding there…"

"They could have simply been en route elsewhere," he offered, playing devil's advocate.

"To where? `From' where, for that matter? The Princess' home world is in the core. No," she decided. "Tatooine was the destination. What relation does that desert rock have to the Empire? That's what I don't understand."

Vader's shoulders stiffened. There `was' no connection, other than his own past. He wasn't about to explain `that'. To his knowledge, very few people in the galaxy were privy to the secret of his former identity. To most, Lord Vader was a figure steeped in mystery, the clenched fist of the Emperor; perhaps a droid, maybe a cyborg, but certainly not a former slave boy from Tatooine. Certainly not the shell of a fallen Jedi named Anakin Skywalker.

Preitha took his silence to mean he disagreed with her hypothesis. "What is your theory, my Lord?"

Her question jolted him out of his musings. "Your theory is a sound one, Lieutenant. I dispatched a battalion of stormtroopers to the surface of the planet to track down the droids."

"And?" she asked.

"And the droids have, somehow, evaded them thus far," Vader admitted bitterly. Acknowledging failure angered him.

"I have no doubt that your Lordship will recover the plans," she placated. In part because she sought to appease his obvious anger, but also because she believed it.

He smiled grimly behind his mask. Lord Vader did not like to lose. Each time the rebels evaded him, it only fueled his anger. It would make their inevitable downfall that much more painful… for them.

"When they fall, it'll be hard for them, and satisfying for us," Preitha said, mirroring his thoughts.

He was pleased to note an eagerness in her tone that matched his own. She was… interesting, this one. "That is the plan, Lieutenant," he told her.

They were nearing the lift that would take them directly to the cellblock level. By the time they stepped inside and were sealed behind the smooth black doors, Preitha was completely out of breath from the effort of keeping up with Vader's lengthy stride.

"Why do you wear your hair that way?" he asked her suddenly, face tilted down to gaze at her. She was short, the top of her head not even clearing his shoulders.

"What?" she asked, startled by the question. She looked up at him, one hand idly reaching up to finger the bun at the nape of her neck. "It's regulation, my Lord."

His only response was to nod slightly, and Preitha grew uncomfortable as he watched her. It was impossible to gauge his mood through the opaque cover of his mask.

The lift's arrival at its destination relieved her of her discomfort. The doors slid open, admitting the pair to the detention ward.

The prison Commander greeted them at the elevator. "Lord Vader, everything has been prepared as you requested."

"Very good. Ready the mind probe," he instructed. "Lieutenant Motti, you will now learn the importance of interrogation. Follow me."

Two black-clad soldiers led them down the hallway, past symmetrical holding cells. The corridor was too narrow for Preitha to walk beside Vader, so she fell into step behind him. The constant hum of the IT-O droid floating above her left shoulder resonated in her ears so she hesitated a moment, allowing the droid to drift ahead of her several paces.

The soldiers paused before a cell and the door slid open; they stepped inside, snapping to guarded attention on either side of the entrance. The room was small, the ceiling and floors glowing with the same ominous red luminance as the hallway.

The woman sitting calmly upon the uninviting bench was a sharp contrast to the portentous gloom of her surroundings. She was dressed entirely in white, brown hair curled into tight knots above her ears. Her face was soft and gentle, and she could not hide the traces of fear in her eyes at the sight of the Sith Lord.

"And now, your Highness," Vader announced, "we will discuss the location of your hidden rebel base."

Leia's eyes widened when she saw the probe float into the room. Preitha stepped in neatly behind it, and the door swooshed closed. The captive princess seemed not to notice her, she was watching the droid's steady approach, regarding the needle affixed to its' side with a panicked gaze.

The black orb stopped just short of reaching Leia, hovering patiently.

"Where is it, Princess?" he asked.

"Where's what?" she countered defiantly, tilting her head to regard Vader.

"It's not wise to play games with me," he warned.

"I am an Imperial Senator, you have no cause to hold me like this!"

"Didn't you hear, your Highness? The Senate has been dissolved by the Emperor," Vader revealed with relish.

"He wouldn't dare!" Leia exclaimed.

"It's done," he said. "And only a traitor would be foolish enough to challenge the Emperor's authority."

The princess faltered, clearly shaken by the news, her defiance fading as she returned her gaze to the waiting droid. Its' red eye regarded her with what, to Preitha, seemed almost like anticipation.

"Where is the rebel base? Where are the data tapes?"

Leia said nothing.

"The hard way, then," Vader concluded, waving the probe forward.

Leia inched away from the device as far as she could, pressing her back against the wall. Preitha watched the probe's advancement and couldn't prevent a wince when the needle positioned itself at Leia's temple, the sharp point dinting her pale flesh. She observed the needle's insertion into the sensitive skin, heard a low hiss as the truth serum was dispensed.

Preitha had taken two courses on interrogation technique at the Academy. The IT-O was the latest fad throughout the Empire. It was an effective piece of machinery, using repulsorlift technology,and equipped with various "information extraction" devices. The instructors had shown numerous holovids of actual interrogations, but Preitha had never seen an interrogator inject the serum directly into anyone's temple before. It was unnecessary. It was… sadistic.

I assure you, Lieutenant, it is necessary, Vader said, and it took her a moment to realize he had not spoken aloud, but rather in her mind.

She nodded slightly, watching the Princess as the drug began to take effect. Leia's pupils dilated, and she regarded the Sith Lord with a listless, blank gaze.

"Where are the Death Star plans?" Vader asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Leia replied.

"You dropped them onto Tatooine. Why?" he pressed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeated.

"Where is the rebel base?" he asked, switching gears.

"I'm a… Senator… diplomatic mission… Alderaan."

"You're lying," he stated flatly. "Where is the rebel base?"

"Don't know."

"I grow tired of this, Highness," Vader growled menacingly. "Where is it?"

"Don't know," she repeated. Her eyes drooped closed and then opened again.

He motioned to the IT-O unit. It promptly floated forward and injected Leia with a second dose of the truth serum. It was not uncommon to use multiple doses on unresponsive targets, but it was a delicate process – too little serum and the target would remain uncooperative, too much would render them unconscious, and could ultimately prove fatal.

"Where is the base?"

"Don't… know."

"WHERE IS IT?" he roared.

"Don't…"

"Again!" Vader instructed the droid. It drifted forward obediently to carry out the order.

"Lord Vader," Preitha interrupted, "I don't think she can handle any more."

"We'll see," he replied, motioning for the droid to continue.

It wasn't long before the third dosage took effect. Leia's hooded eyes were glassy, and a strand of drool trailed down her chin. Preitha realized how young she was – no more than twenty. The Princess let out a low, gurgling moan; her head lolled to one side and she fell still, slipping into unconsciousness.

Vader growled, enraged, and raised one clenched fist. The IT-O exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. Preitha turned away from the explosion, arms flying up to protect her face. A shard of durasteel grazed her bicep, cutting through the fabric of her uniform jacket and slicing her skin.

One of the soldiers by the door was less fortunate. A piece of shrapnel caught him in the eye and he slumped to the floor with a strangled cry.

Preitha shrank back against the wall, hoping to avoid becoming the target of Vader's fury. She did not drop her arms from her face until she felt a strong hand take hold of her, examining her wound.

"It's not bad," Vader told her.

"No," she answered.

"A bacta bandage should be sufficient to heal this," he continued, sounding slightly guilty.

"I'm fine, my Lord," she said, straightening to regard him.

"Come, Tarkin will want a report on our lack of progress," he said, leading her by the elbow to the door. "You were right, three doses was too much."

"There was no way to know that, sire. Two was not enough. You had no choice."

He nodded. "First we'll meet with Tarkin. Then we will see to this wound."

They found the Grand Moff in one of the operational command centers, deep in conversation with Commander Tagge. Preitha stayed back, out of the way of the men, and watched the conversation unfold.

"Her resistance to the mind probe is considerable; it may be some time before we can extract any information from her." Vader announced, pacing back and forth as he spoke.

"The final checkout is completed. All systems are operational. What course shall we set?" Motti asked, approaching the trio. He smiled at Preitha, and she saw a hint of triumph in his eyes at Vader's admission of failure.

"Perhaps she would respond to an alternative form of persuasion," Tarkin mused.

"What do you mean?" Vader asked defensively.

"I think it is time we demonstrated the full power of this station. Set your course for Alderaan," Tarkin instructed.

"With pleasure," Motti gloated, stalking off to carry out Tarkin's orders.

"It will be some time before we reach Alderaan," Vader said, speaking more to Preitha than to Tarkin or Tagge. "I will retire for a time."

"Very good, Lord Vader," Tarkin acquiesced.

Preitha hung back, pleased with the chance to be out from under the Sith Lord's watchful eye for a while; but as he swept past her his hand shot out and latched onto her elbow.

"The Lieutenant will accompany me," he said over his shoulder.

She threw a panicked glance in Tarkin's direction. The man merely nodded, hawkish features mutating into a perverse smile.

"That will be fine," he said complacently.

Vader's quarters were quite large; the receiving room alone was nearly three times the size of Preitha's single-room apartment. The walls were black, similar to those of the prison levels, and there were several oversized pieces of furniture upholstered in bantha leather dyed an equally dark shade. Globed sconces, affixed to the walls at regular intervals, bathed the space in soft light. One curved wall boasted a huge, floor-length viewport, which afforded them a generous view of space.

"Make yourself comfortable, Lieutenant," Vader said, gesturing to the sofa.

Comfort did not seem possible to Preitha at the moment; she'd heard the distinctive "click" of the door locking behind them and had noticed the encrypted access code scanner next to the door on the wall. She was truly alone with Lord Vader for the first time. There was no escape.

"If I wanted to harm you, I would have done so before now," he told her patiently. "You know that."

She nodded and took a seat on the corner of the couch, exhaling a deep, calming breath. She watched the Sith Lord walk to a control box set into the far wall and enter a lengthy code. The durasteel wall paneling to the left of the box slid upwards, revealing a waist high refrigerated compartment. Reaching into the recessed cubby, he withdrew a large syringe filled with a cloudy, nondescript liquid. Preitha's eyes widened and she couldn't prevent a gasp.

Vader seemed surprised by her reaction. "No, Lieutenant, this is for my own use," he explained, reading her thoughts. "It has been some time since I've had any nourishment."

"Can you remove it at all?" she asked, gesturing to his armor.

"Not here," he answered. The hand holding the syringe disappeared beneath the folds of his cloak. When it reappeared, the syringe was empty. He placed the needle back inside the compartment and the panel slid closed. "Are you hungry?" he asked awkwardly. "I don't have an autochef, but I could have something brought in."

She blinked at him. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"You haven't eaten," he stated matter-of-factly.

It was true, she hadn't eaten in two days, ever since she'd learned of her assignment, but she doubted she could digest anything at the moment, even if she cared to try. "I'm fine," she repeated.

"Am I truly `that' imposing, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"You are," she responded flatly, "and you know you are."

He sighed, and Preitha glimpsed a near-imperceptible shrug of his broad shoulders.

"We need to see to that cut," Vader said, changing the subject. Before she could protest he disappeared down a wide hallway opposite the room's entrance. He returned several moments later carrying a small tray of medical supplies.

"Remove your jacket," he ordered. At her hesitation he explained, "I need to clean the wound."

She complied, unbuttoning the stiff material and slipping the jacket off her shoulders. She winced when the cloth brushed against her torn flesh. Beneath the jacket she wore a plain black, sleeveless undershirt, also standard naval issue.

Vader took a seat beside her. She had the distinct impression that he was studying her upper body carefully. Preitha deliberately wore uniform jackets one size too small, trying to bind her breasts tight against her body in an attempt to appear as androgynous as possible. The undershirt was far less restrictive, and she was suddenly quite self-conscious.

"I can do it myself," she said, reaching for the antiseptic vial.

"I have no doubt," he replied, setting the tray down on the other side of the couch, out of her reach, "but I'd prefer to take care of it for you, since it's my fault."

She pursed her lips, but kept silent, allowing him to lift her arm and examine the cut. She found his touch surprisingly gentle.

"The wound is deeper than I realized," he said, using the antiseptic to wash away the dried blood.

"It doesn't hurt at all," she told him, puzzled.

"No, I saw to that," he muttered, applying an even layer of bacta salve to the bandage.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, placing the bandage over the wound.

"No, I'd like to know what you meant," she pressed, flexing her arm gingerly.

Without warning, Vader reached a hand up and tugged at the clips holding her hair in place, pulling it free. Corkscrew tresses spilled over her shoulders.

"Much better," he said, threading his fingers through her curls and giving them a gentle tug.

She froze, desperately trying to ignore the pleasant sensation, concentrating instead on the transparisteel viewport across the room. Her sigh of relief at his withdrawal was cut short when she felt one gloved finger trace a gentle path down her cheek, then circle her chin to tilt her face in his direction. Preitha tried to rationalize his actions, telling herself they were not necessarily advances of a sexual nature.

"It has been some time," he told her softly, "since I have had a woman."

Or, perhaps they were.

"They are," he confirmed with a chuckle.

"My Lord," she stammered, "there are a number of pleasure slaves aboard the station, I would be happy to – "

"I don't `want' a whore," he interrupted. His hand drifted lower to run along the ridge of her collarbone.

"But, my Lord," she protested.

"You would give yourself to an ensign, one who hates you and longs for your ruin, but not to me?" he asked bitterly. "Even when this is what you were summoned here to do? Even when it's what you want?"

He knew.

"Of course I know," he said, softening his tone once more and tracing lazy patterns down her arm that sent shivers up her spine.

Resisting him would be far easier if she didn't want him so badly, she thought before she could stop herself.

"Then why resist at all? Why fight me, Preitha?" Vader asked, running the fingertips of his other hand across her lower lip. He seemed content to simply study her; waiting patiently but persistently until she either gave in, or was driven mad. His index finger now traced the curve of her upper lip, the tiny cleft that led to her nose. "All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will."

He knew she wouldn't.

She raised one hand tentatively, stopping short of touching his chest. He nodded his invitation and she set her palm against his chest plate, running her fingers along the hard grooves and contours. Then she reached up to trace the angled curve of his mask. He matched her movements, exploring her face the same way. The synthesized exhalation of his breath was warm on her fingers. She tried to look beyond the opaque eye sockets of his mask to see his face, to study his eyes.

"Blue," he told her, answering the unspoken question.

"Blue," she repeated and, on impulse, she leaned forward to lay her head against his chest. Preitha closed her eyes and listened to the soothing rhythm of his breathing, marveling that his chest did not rise and fall in time.

Vader was momentarily startled by the gesture. Gradually he brought his arms up and circled her shoulders, holding her close. One hand idly stroked her hair. Yes, he wanted her, but this was… nice. He couldn't recall the last time he'd held a woman in his arms this way. Padme, he realized, had been the last person to ever trust him. Nearly twenty years ago.

Gods, had it really been that long?

Preitha allowed the cycle of his breath to lull her, relax her. She let her eyes close and hovered there, on the edge of slumber, contented. It seemed impossible, through the layers of armor, but she quite distinctly heard a second rhythm as she drifted to sleep – his heartbeat.

"You are human, after all," she mumbled.

Preitha woke to the heady scent of leather in her nostrils, and strong hands stroking her hair. She felt safe and content as her mind slowly swam back up to consciousness. When she realized that the sensations were connected to the Sith Lord, however, she stiffened and pulled away with a start.

"My Lord, I apologize," she said awkwardly.

"For what?"

"For acting improperly," she replied, extracting herself from his arms and reaching for her uniform jacket.

Vader caught her hand and held it, running his thumb across her palm. "Nothing improper occured, Lieutenant," he told her. "I find your presence quite soothing. But it is good that you're awake; we're approaching Alderaan."

A glance toward the viewport confirmed his words – a tiny, aqua-colored orb was just visible in the distance. He released her hand while she donned her jacket, then he led her to the door, and out into the cramped hallway beyond. There were a handful of petty officers milling about. They turned to observe Vader and Preitha's emergence with unabashed curiosity. Preitha realized with horror that she had not repined her hair.

"Shit!" she breathed, moving to fix it.

"No," Vader said, catching her arm. "Leave it."

"People will talk," she whispered.

"Let them."

They made their way to the control room in silence. Preitha kept her gaze forward; ignoring anyone they passed along the way. Vader deposited her in the small room and left to retrieve the captive princess. Tarkin stood before the viewscreen, surveying Alderaan with calm calculation.

"I see you are progressing with Vader," he noted without turning around.

"Yes, Grand Moff," she answered, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

"Do not be so foolish as to grow attached to him, Lieutenant," he cautioned. "Remember whom you serve in this affair."

"The Empire."

"Me!" he stated forcefully. "Understand?"

She nodded and turned away to hide her frown. From anyone else, such words would be considered treasonous.

Admiral Motti entered the room and, with a bow to Tarkin and a smile for Preitha, announced - "We've entered the Alderaan system."

Tarkin's reply was cut off as Vader reappeared. The Sith Lord was preceded by two stormtroopers escorting the petite princess. Leia's hands were tightly bound before her.

"Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash," Leia spat. "I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board."

Preitha hid a smile beneath her hand. She had no love for the rebel princess, but could not help but admire the younger woman's boldness and wit.

Tarkin chuckled softly. "Charming to the last," he commented, grasping her chin in his fingers. "You don't know how hard I found it, signing the order to terminate your life."

"I'm surprised you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself!" she countered.

Tarkin dismissed the jab. "Princess Leia, before your execution I would like you to be my guest at a ceremony that will make this battle station operational. No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now."

Leia remained defiant. "The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers."

"Not after we demonstrate the power of this station." The Grand Moff raised one finger menacingly. "In a way, you have determined the choice of the planet that'll be destroyed first. Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the rebel base, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power…" though his expression did not change, Preitha knew he was relishing the cruelty of his announcement, "on your home planet of Alderaan."

For the first time, Leia showed emotion. "No! Alderaan is peaceful! We have no weapons, you can't possibly-"

"You would prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system!"

Leia set her jaw and glared at him with quiet fury.

"I grow tired of asking this," Tarkin said, waving one hand, "so it'll be the last time. Where is the rebel base?"

The princess hesitated, faltered. Preitha expected her to stand her ground. But when the navigational team announced the approach of Alderaan, she relented. "Dantooine," she whispered, lowering her head in defeat. "They're on Dantooine."

Tarkin sneered triumphantly. "There. You see, Lord Vader? She can be reasonable." He turned to Admiral Motti, "Continue with the operation. You may fire when ready."

"What?!" Leia shrieked.

"You're far too trusting. Dantooine is too remote to make an effective demonstration. But don't worry, we will deal with your rebel friends soon enough."

"No!" Leia begged. She leaned towards Tarkin desperately and one of Vader's strong hands clamped down on her shoulder, pulling her back to his chest.

Preitha felt no sympathy for the princess. She was a traitor; the rebels were a malignant, cancerous threat to the peace and security of the Empire, and she hated them, them and everything they represented. The planet Alderaan had always been a thorn in the Empire's side with its' not-so-subtle defiance, promoted under the auspices of free speech and peaceful demonstration.

No, Preitha thought as she watched the tiny planet shatter, she wouldn't mourn them.

"How can you stand here so contented?" Leia asked, gaze fixed steadily on the Lieutenant.

Preitha was momentarily taken aback at having been singled out. "Alderaan prescribed its' own fate," she answered after a pause, and saw her father's grin of approval. More importantly, Vader nodded slightly; he too, it would seem, approved of her words.

"One day you may need your soul, Lieutenant," Leia spat bitterly as the `troopers led her away. "What will you do when you discover you don't have one?"

Preitha forced a smile. "Pity you won't have the chance to see for yourself, Princess."

"Come," Vader said, extending a hand to Preitha once the captive was gone.

She moved to join him but was stopped by her father stepping into her path.

"I need a word with you," Motti said.

"Later, Admiral," Vader growled.

"I would speak to my daughter `now', Lord Vader," Motti insisted.

"Wait outside, Lieutenant," the Sith Lord ordered calmly.

Preitha nodded and retreated to the hallway with a sigh.

"How quickly you forget, Admiral," Vader said once she was gone, "that you gave her to me."

"You misunderstand your position aboard this station," Motti said, looking to Tarkin for support.

The Grand Moff remained silent. Motti was growing arrogant and stupid, and needed to be put in his place; he would not intervene.

"She will report to you when, and if, I can spare her, Admiral Motti," Vader stated, turning to the door. "Besides," he threw over his shoulder as he exited, "we both know she's not really your daughter."

"What now, my Lord?" Preitha asked Vader as he emerged from the control room. She assumed her familiar place at his side, deducing from his mannerisms that he had won the battle for her attention. She recognized their destination immediately as they retraced their steps back to his quarters.

"How much do you remember of your childhood," he asked suddenly.

The question startled her. What could possibly be interesting about `that'?

"I'd like to know," Vader prompted.

"I grew up in the Imperial Navy," she said with a shrug. "My mother died when I was an infant. Wherever my father went, I followed. It's all I've ever known. He taught me to shoot a blaster when I was six. I had my first TIE sim when I was eight, could run the gauntlet by the time I was eleven."

"The gauntlet?" Vader asked.

"It's what students at the Academy call the simulation of the Raxus Prime battle," she supplied.

"That's one of the final tests for graduation."

"Yes," she confirmed.

"And what is your life like now?"

"Now? Now I serve the glory of the Empire," she recited.

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "I'm growing quite fond of your innocence, Lieutenant."

Again he caught her off guard; she got the impression he found it highly amusing to shock her with seemingly out of character remarks.

The thought prompted another chuckle from the Sith Lord. "I admire your loyalty. And the fact that you do not seem to be frightened of me."

"Intimidated, yes," she conceded. "Frightened, no."

"I wonder, though, how do you know your faith in the Empire is not misplaced?"

"What?"

"You've never challenged any of your father's teachings. How do you know that the path you follow is the right one?"

She considered this for a moment. "I suppose I don't. But… well, what other choice is there? Join the rebels? They seek to bring democracy back to the galaxy; they are disillusioned idealists. A democratic system may appear preferable in theory, but it fails in practice. No," she concluded, "this is the only way."

Vader smiled behind his mask. He was beginning to like this one. "I see why you've advanced so quickly, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, my Lord," she answered quietly.

When they entered his quarters, Preitha lingered at the door, waiting for instruction. Vader noticed her hesitation as he unhooked his heavy cloak and draped it across a chair.

"Your one flaw is that you can't seem to think for yourself," he commented bluntly.

"That's something they don't teach at the Academy, my Lord," she answered, unperturbed. "All we need to know is how to follow orders, not how to give them."

He grunted. "I see we're training strong leaders then."

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter how high one rises, we all answer to the Emperor, and we're not being trained to replace `him', after all. That position is reserved for you, is it not?"

Again Vader smiled. Yes, he did like this one quite a lot. She was loyal, much like he had once been. And, despite her obvious intelligence, she was far less arrogant than most; certainly less than he had been. She was also unabashedly honest. His Master would call her foolish, but Vader found it refreshing. Throughout his questioning of her she had not once thought to lie to him.

"The Emperor," he said, choosing his words carefully, "has no need of a successor at this time."

"Of course not," she answered, finally moving to sit.

"No, come here," he instructed, standing just in front of the hallway that led to the rest of his quarters.

"Why?" she blurted out, not moving.

"Because I've asked you to."

She walked towards him hesitantly, thinking back to his advances from earlier in the day. If he pressed her, would she deny him? Probably not. But if she had a choice, well, she simply didn't feel ready.

The first door on the right side of the hallway led into Vader's study. The door slid open to reveal a richly decorated room with a large, wooden desk at one end, and several deep chairs meant for visitors. The walls were decorated with bas relief carvings of large, hooded figures, many with lightsabers in hand.

Set on the smooth, polished desktop were several potted plants. Each plant was tall, with a greenish stalk roughly the diameter of Preitha's forearm, and they all boasted exotic, brightly colored flowers. On one plant she counted five differently colored blossoms, boasting hues from pink, to blue, to vibrant orange, with two unusual shades somewhere in between.

"They're very pretty," she said, running one finger across the silky petals of a bright blue blossom. "What are they?"

"They're from your homeworld," Vader explained.

"I don't even know what world I'm from, my Lord," Preitha said, puzzled. "I was never allowed to ask my father."

"You're from Chandrila," he told her. "These flowers are grown near Lake Sah'ot."

"Chandrila…" she repeated slowly. "I don't know much about it, except that it's in the core."

"The Bormea-Kizua sector," he confirmed.

"Governor Weizel, then," she said, attempting to mentally catalogue her knowledge of the world. "An agricultural world, politically liberal, possible ties to the Rebel Alliance," she looked up, startled, "no wonder my father doesn't speak of it."

"Moff Seerdon is a Chandrilan," Vader said, "did you know that?"

"No," Preitha shook her head. "So," she asked, again fingering the soft petals, "do you always keep flowers hidden in your quarters?"

Vader chuckled. "I requested them yesterday, actually."

"For me?" she inquired, raising her gaze to his masked face.

"For you," he confirmed, brushing a gloved hand across her cheek.

"But how did you know where I was born?"

"Your father was kind enough to provide the information," he said, giving her face a lingering caress.

"By `provide', you mean - had available in his mind for you to read, don't you?" She wasn't angry or accusing, merely curious. She did not pull away from his touch.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Then you know about my mother," she mused. "You know what happened to her."

He hesitated. She `would' have to ask that. Damn.

"My Lord, if you know anything about her at all," she pressed eagerly. "Please tell me."

"Now is not the time for this discussion, Preitha," he said finally. "The subject is far more complicated than you realize."

"But, my Lord, please-" she said again. The shrill chime of Vader's comlink interrupted her

Vader sighed and activated the comm, grateful for the reprieve.

"Lord Vader," General Tagge's voice was filled with nervous energy, "it seems we have company."

"Who?" Vader asked.

"The ship we've been looking for," came the reply. "The one that escaped our forces in Mos Eisley. It seems they've come to us. Grand Moff Tarkin wishes to see you right away. You're to bring the Lieutenant with you."

"Well," Preitha said with resignation, "it seems you're off the hook, my Lord." She was no mind reader, but neither was she a fool.

"I 'will' tell you what I know," Vader replied, clasping her hand with both of his and giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze. "You have my word on it."

She looked to the floor. "Yes, my Lord," she mumbled, unconvinced. Being so close to knowing about her mother was almost worse than knowing nothing at all. For the first time, she'd felt as if answers were within her grasp. Her father had made her promises, too; 'when you're older', 'when you've finished your studies', 'when you're ready'. Whatever he thought he was protecting her from... she didn't care. She simply wanted to 'know'.

Vader released her hand and took hold of her chin, tilting her head up to meet his masked gaze. "I have no desire to add to the lies and betrayal you've suffered, little one. You deserve answers, and you will have them…in time. I've given my word and I'll keep it, but you have to trust me."

She nodded and forced a smile. Why was he being so kind to her? Why would he care that she'd spent her entire life searching for answers? He was Lord Vader; known for being cruel, hard, and ruthless. But the man she'd come to know was different. He made her promises, gave her gifts, held her while she slept... this was not the man she'd expected, and yet...

A gloved finger came to rest on her lips, silencing her thoughts. "Don't disillusion yourself. I 'am' ruthless. I've done things you can't imagine. I don't want to frighten you. I have no intention of unleashing that cruelty upon you, but you must never forget who I am."

She nodded again, with more conviction. If he didn't keep his promise, after all, she'd be no worse off than she had been before, and hope was an intangible thing with a startlingly short memory. It never took long to renew itself after it had been stripped away.

"We should report to Tarkin," she said, glancing at the chronometer on the study wall. "I got the impression he's rather anxious to discuss strategy with you, my Lord."

Vader grunted. "That," he said bitterly, "or use the opportunity to rub in my face, yet again, the chain of command aboard this obnoxious device."

"It is curious," Preitha mused aloud, "that the Emperor has given Tarkin complete autonomy here."

He shook his head and waved the door open with one hand. "I'm experiencing déjà vu," he commented, leading her to the door. "Is this what your life is like, always being summoned?"

Preitha smiled, ignoring the obvious fact that Vader, too, had orders to follow. "I don't mind it. Some are meant to lead, others to follow."

"True," he conceded, "but I'm not convinced you `are' a follower."

"I'm going to start blushing if you keep this up," she ventured with a laugh.

"Well then, teaching you how to accept a comliment will have to be next on my agenda," he replied sternly. Despite the strict tone, she could tell he was smiling.

"I look forward to it, my Lord."

The longer Tarkin spoke, the less Preitha listened. She allowed her thoughts to wander away from the discussion of rebels and strategies - did the man ever speak of anything else? - and followed the current of her meandering consciousness. Any other time she would have found the discussion exhilarating, a chance to prove her skill at anticipating enemy strategy. Today, however, she was inexorably bored; she couldn't seem to think of anything other than Lord Vader, who stood next to Tarkin with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, exuding raw power in almost-visible waves. She found herself cursing the fact that they had been interrupted yet again in Vader's quarters.

The Sith Lord laughed within her mind, picking up on her thoughts. -=Patience,=- he told her. -=There will be time for you and I.=-

She looked down at the smooth black surface of the conference table to hide her face as she felt her cheeks redden. Thank the gods no one else in the room could read minds.

-=Indeed, you are lucky to be surrounded by Force-blind fools,=- he said, resting his hands casually on the chair in front of him.

The door slid open, disturbing their silent conversation and turning Preitha's attention back to the meeting.

"Our scout ships have reached Dantooine," the officer announced. "They found the remains of a rebel base, but they estimate that it has been deserted for some time. They are now conducting an extensive search of the surrounding systems."

"She lied. She lied to us!" Tarkin exclaimed angrily, standing.

"I told you she would never consciously betray the rebellion," Vader responded, allowing a hint of triumph to seep into his voice. He may have failed in his interrogation of the Princess, but at least there was comfort in the fact that the Grand Moff's methods had proven equally fruitless.

"Terminate her," Tarkin ordered. "Immediately!"

"Is that wise, sir?" Preitha asked. "What about the freighter that Commander Tagge spoke of?"

"We don't know much yet. We only have preliminary sightings of the vessel dropping out of hyperspace. Once it is in range we will capture it and see exactly who is on board, and why," he said.

"The Commander indicated that the ship may have come from Tatooine," she pressed.

"Possibly," his eyes narrowed. He already had to suffer Vader's questioning; now this one was challenging him as well?

"Until we know for certain, Grand Moff, Princess Leia is the best lead we have in finding the rebel base."

"We will wait for the ship to move within range of the tractor beam. The order to execute that harlot of a princess, however, stands."

More waiting? Preitha marveled at how Tarkin had ever won the Emperor's favor; he was, quite clearly, an idiot.

-=Not an idiot,=- Vader told her, -=but a fool.=-

Close enough, as far as she was concerned. Either failing was typically fatal within the ranks of the Empire and yet, this one had risen nearly to the top.

-=He's cunning, and hides his failures well.=-

Tarkin was speaking again, unaware that neither member of his audience was listening. "-to track them down, Lord Vader," he finished, brandishing an index finger in his customary fashion.

The intercom buzzed, cutting off the Sith Lord's reply.

"Yes?"

"We've captured a freighter entering the remains of the Alderaan system. Its' markings match those of a ship that blasted its' way out of Mos Eisley."

Vader cast a knowing look at Preitha. "They must be trying to return the stolen plans to the Princess," he said. "She may yet be of some use to us."

"To what end?" Tarkin challenged. "We have the ship; if the rebels are indeed trying to reach the princess we will soon have them as well."

"But they have proven unexpectedly resourceful thus far," Preitha countered. "We `should' use the Princess."

"As what?" the older man questioned. The Lieutenant was growing bold under Vader's care. It was most unbecoming.

"As bait," Vader supplied. Preitha was right; the man 'was' an idiot.

"Bait?" Tarkin laughed. "I believe you are overestimating our rebel adversaries."

Preitha thought the Grand Moff sounded quite a bit like her father at the moment. Overestimation or not, they had managed to outsmart the Empire at every turn thus far.

"Careful," Vader said, voicing her thoughts, "you sound like your friend the Admiral."

"Fine," Tarkin scoffed. "Indulge yourself, Lord Vader. The Lieutenant will go check on our prisoner, and you will go investigate this ship."

"As you wish," Vader said, making no attempt to conceal his sarcasm.

"Very good then," Tarkin said. "You are dismissed."

Preitha found the Princess in the hallway of the detention ward, being led to the execution chamber. She was outwardly calm and gave no indication of worry over her current situation. She could have been strolling to the casino for a game of djarek, for all the casual observer could tell.

"Oh wonderful, Leia said, rolling her eyes when she noticed the Lieutenant. "Vader's pet kath hound come to see me off?"

"Merely ensuring that your execution goes smoothly, Princess," Preitha responded. If that was how the Princess wanted to play it, then she'd make her sweat a bit before delivering the news of her salvation.

"You were the runt of the litter, weren't you?" Leia continued, unfazed.

Preitha ignored the comment and waved ahead to the maintenance officer posted outside the chamber's door. He scrambled off to prepare a toxic cocktail, which would be fed into the vents of the chamber. According to the holovids she'd seen of this particular fashion of execution, the gas first burned off ones skin before eroding the lungs and other organs from the inside out. The victim essentially decayed internally and externally, all at once, and all while still very much alive.

"If you have any messages you would like passed on to your family, Princess, I would consider delivering them for you. That is, if you have any family left, of course," the Lieutenant told her. " 'Do' you have any family now? Or were they all destroyed along with Alderaan?"

"You bitch," Leia swore, her calm façade cracking at the mention of her destroyed homeworld. "You make me sick; you and everything you stand for!"

"I assure you the sentiment is mutual," Preitha answered with a smile. The door in front of them slid open, revealing a narrow hallway with two pathways in close proximity. One led to the gas chamber, the other to a viewing and control room. "Take her in," she ordered the 'troopers. "Princess, it has been a pleasure."

She walked into the control room and stood with her arms crossed, watching the holovid feed on the central monitor as the soldiers pushed Leia into the other room and left, sealing the door shut behind them. This wasn't wise, she told herself, playing such games of petty revenge. It was... cruel.

Preitha had never thought of herself as cruel before. She'd never reveled in any of the destruction caused by the Empire, merely regarding it with calm rationality. This prank she was playing on the Princess, it was unlike her.

"Lieutenant," the tech said, "I thought we had orders 'not' to carry out the execution?"

"You do," she replied. "You aren't going to terminate the captive, you're just going to humble her a bit."

"I... what should I do then?"

"Nothing. Just watch."

The Princess stood calmly in the center of the chamber at first, staring defiantly at nothing. After several minutes had passed, however, her gaze began to shift back and forth, surveying the room. Preitha saw her open her mouth and draw in a deep, ragged breath, then close her eyes for a few moments before opening them once more.

"Lieutenant?" the tech ventured.

"Wait!" she barked sharply, not looking away from the console.

Leia repeated the routine: looked around, took a breath, shut her eyes. Did her shoulders shudder this time? It was difficult to tell.

After the third time, though, Preitha was certain. The younger woman was trembling. Soon thereafter, she began to cry.

"Good," Preitha said. "Unlock the door now. I'll go inform the prisoner of her good fortune."

The trip to the chamber door was short, but she made certain to take her time. When the panel slid open she saw the princess huddled against the wall on her knees, sobbing softly. She looked so very young at that moment, all of her defiant sarcasm gone. Despite herself, Preitha felt a rush of regret at the cruel trick she'd just executed.

"Princess," she stated flatly.

The other woman raised her head to regard her, eyes wet and gleaming with tears.

"These soldiers will escort you back to your cell now."

"What?" Leia sniffed, wiping at her cheeks.

"Your execution has been postponed," Preitha explained.

"Why?" Leia asked, suspicion returning as she quickly recovered from her momentary collapse.

"Return the Princess to her accommodations," Preitha told the `troopers as she walked away; it was time to report back to Tarkin. Perhaps her deception was not so petty after all. If the passengers aboard the mysterious freighter were searching for the Princess, it didn't appear she was aware of it.

Vader was right. She would still be useful.

"Lieutenant Motti, please join us." Tarkin gestured to a chair before the now-familiar conference table. Her father was there, along with Commander Tagge. They were seated at evenly-spaced intervals around the table, with Tarkin in the center.

"Have you seen the Princess?" her father asked.

"Yes," Preitha replied, taking the seat directly to his right. "She is secure in her cell, puzzling over the postponement of her execution. If the rebels `have' come to rescue her, she seems to be ignorant of their plan."

"How do you know?" Tagge asked. He was a nervous man by nature and, like Vader, he doubted the all-encompassing power of the Death Star. If the rebels were smart enough to steal the schematics to the battle station chances were good, in his opinion, that they would be able to destroy it, too.

"It was quite obvious, Commander," she replied evasively. She doubted that any of the men would disapprove of her prank on the Princess, given their unabashed distaste for the petite woman, but the truth was that `she' did not approve of it and was, in fact, quite ashamed of what she'd done.

"And what of Vader?" her father asked, regarding her through narrowed eyes.

"What of him?" she countered, hoping that she did not sound as defensive as she felt at the mention of the Dark Lord.

"What does he know of our plans?"

"I would assume nothing. The topic never came up," she answered, "and since `I' don't know anything, that's all I can say on the matter."

"Well then, what `have' you discussed?" the Commander interjected. Pitting the girl against Vader had been foolish. He didn't like it.

"Nothing of consequence," she replied.

"You're lying," Tarkin stated flatly.

"Am I?" Now she was openly defensive, and her voice was taking on the acidic tone it assumed when she was angry.

"Don't tell me you would side with that…that `machine' over me," her father exclaimed, slamming a fist down onto the table with a resounding "crack". "He's hired muscle; a disillusioned idiot, clinging to a disillusioned religion. After all I've done for you, you would betray me for `him'?"

Commander Tagge blanched at the outburst, his skin paling to a sickly green pallor as his eyes darted from Motti to Preitha and back again.

"Where is my mother?" she asked abruptly, ignoring Motti's outburst.

The Admiral paused. Realization spread across his features. "Is that what he's promised you then? Information? You stupid girl."

"Are you going to tell me?" she pressed, ignoring the comment. "Or shall I go back to Chandrila and see what I can find there?"

Motti started, eyes widening in shock. He'd realized that Vader knew the truth, of course; the Sith Lord had not been at all subtle during their last confrontation, but how much had he told Preitha? And how in the Corellian hells had he known in the first place? It had all been taken care of eighteen years ago, every detail. The house blown to dust with a permacrete detonator, all records of her original parentage destroyed, every soldier who had been present that day killed with his own blaster. Motti himself was the only living person with any knowledge of what had happened.

But Vader knew. Beyond all possibilities, he knew. The Admiral wondered how far his enemy would go with information as damaging as that.

"You stupid girl," he repeated finally.

"It is of no consequence," Tarkin told him, his voice calm and measured, as always. "Her job was to distract Vader and keep him out of our affairs. She has done so."

"You have no idea what he's done, Wilhuff!" Motti hissed under his breath.

"Nor do I care. I'd advise you to stop and think about this for a moment, and bite your tongue before you say any more. In fact, I believe you have a report to finalize on the destruction of Alderaan, do you not?"

"Nearly completed," Motti said, but he had not turned away from his daughter. He was staring at her with quiet fury.

"Then go complete it," the Grand Moff ordered. "The Emperor is waiting for that information. I should not have to remind you of such things."

"You," the Admiral said, pointing a finger at Preitha as he rose to his feet, "I will deal with later." He stalked from the room with a pasty-faced Tagge in tow.

Preitha slowly let out her breath. She heard the measured footsteps that signaled Vader's approach soon after the angry slap of her father's boots had retreated. His timing, she thought, was either perfect or abhorrent. She could not decide which.

"Lord Vader, what news do you have?" Tarkin asked by way of greeting.

"The `troopers have found no one aboard the freighter, but I assure you they are here." Vader stood at the head of the table, thumbs hooked into his belt. Preitha found his presence to be calming. The cycle of his breathing soothed her, and relieved some of her anger.

"Who?"

"Rebels. Three of them, I believe. Do you remember General Kenobi?" the Sith Lord asked, and one hand clenched reflexively into a fist at the name.

"Kenobi? He has been missing since the end of the Clone Wars, why would he reveal himself now?" Tarkin asked, clearly surprised.

"He is here," Vader stated.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi? What makes you think so?" the older man was unconvinced. Preitha was not familiar with the name. Whomever it was seemed to stir a great deal of anger within the Sith Lord.

"A tremor in the Force. The last time I felt it was in the presence of my old master."

"Surely he must be dead by now," the Grand Moff argued, rising from his chair to pace the room.

"Don't underestimate the power of the Force."

"The Jedi are extinct; their fire has gone out of the Universe. You, my friend, are all that's left of their religion." Tarkin moved back to his seat to answer an incoming call. "Yes?"

"We have an emergency alert in Detention Block AA-23," the relay officer announced.

"The Princess?" Tarkin queried, casting a glance in Vader's direction. "Put all sections on alert."

"Obi-Wan `is' here," Vader insisted. "The Force is with him."

"If you're right, he must not be allowed to escape."

"Escape is not his plan. I must face him, alone." Vader turned and swept out of the room. His black cape billowed behind him as Preitha watched his retreat, puzzled and somewhat disappointed that he had not acknowledged her. She very much wished she knew who this "Kenobi" was.

-=An old enemy, and an even older friend,=- Vader pathed to her. -=This is something I must do. I will come for you when I am able.=-

"I don't like it," Tarkin said, more to himself than to Preitha. "They should not have gotten to the Detention Blocks, whoever they are. They should not have made it off their ship at all."

They sat in silence for some time, listening to the chatter of the `troopers as they searched the hallways; Tarkin had ordered that their communication be patched in so that he could monitor their progress. His face contorted when he heard that they had escaped the Detention Block.

"We think they may be splitting up, they may be on levels five and six now, sir," one soldier reported.

"The Princess?"

"Is with them, sir."

"I want them found. Now! I will hold each of you personally responsible for this failure!" Tarkin barked.

Preitha was growing restless. It was stupid for her to sit here and do nothing. "What would you have me do, Grand Moff?" she asked finally.

"Oh, you," he said. He seemed to have forgotten her presence entirely. "You are dismissed, I suppose," he waved one hand. "Go to your quarters and wait. And I do hope for your sake, Lieutenant, that your father's display of foolishness is not a family trait."

She was about to protest – rebels were running around the station and she was being sent to her room? – but Preitha thought better of it and quietly left. Tarkin did not acknowledge her retreat.

The hallways were crawling with stormtroopers, each marching with blaster rifles at the ready; some speaking swiftly and nervously into their helmets, others searching every nook and passageway of the station. Preitha hugged the wall closest to her to avoid them, thinking to herself that it was no wonder the rebels had managed to avoid detection, with so many soldiers crashing around like rabid dewbacks.

Once back in her small room she stretched out on her bed and closed her eyes. It was a standard issue bed, little more than an oversized cot, but she had slept on them all her life, and the stiff cottonweave material did not bother her. She was exhausted, she realized and so, with nothing better to do, she allowed herself to drift into sleep.

Preitha woke to the sound of her door sliding open. She sat upright, instantly alert.

Vader stood in the doorway.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked, pushing her hair back from her face and rubbing her eyes.

"Not long," he told her.

"Come in, my Lord, please," she gestured to the sparse, uninviting space.

He stepped into the room, waving the door closed behind him. She sensed something different in his stance; he seemed agitated.

"A bit restless," he confessed, dropping his considerable bulk down beside her on the bed. He unhooked his cape and tossed it to the floor beside him.

"They escaped, didn't they?" She pulled her legs beneath her, watching him carefully.

"The ones that I allowed to escape did, yes." He had his hands resting loosely on his knees, fingers splayed. "But not before a homing device was hidden aboard their vessel; they will lead us directly to the rebel base."

"And the one you spoke of, Kenobi?"

"Dead by my hand," he revealed.

"Just as you said he would be."

"Indeed."

He sighed.

"It was not as satisfying as you'd hoped?" she ventured.

"It was not, no," he confirmed, reaching up to trace her cheek with one finger. "I'd waited so long for vengeance…" he sighed again. "Tell me, when you coupled with the ensign, Krael, why did you do it?"

She shook her head and blinked. Why in the hells was he asking her `that'? If he'd wanted to change the subject, there were other topics he could have chosen.

"You hate him," Vader stated.

"Yes," she conceded.

"Then why?"

"I… don't know, my Lord. Perhaps it was battle lust." She shrugged and looked down at her hands, ashamed. "It was a mistake, either way." So that was why Vader hadn't touched her.

"No," he said, surprised. "You did not desire me, that's why."

Oh. Is that what he thought? "And if I said that I do now?"

"Do you?" his fingers were threading through her hair, caressing the base of her skull languorously.

"You can read my thoughts, you already know the answer."

"Ahh, but I want to hear you say it," he replied.

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Yes, I desire you."

"Good girl," he said, bringing his other hand up to brush across her breasts.

Preitha's eyes remained closed, lips parted, and Vader cursed the restrictions of his mask; he wanted to kiss her, to feel her skin against his own. It was a shame he could not properly enjoy her here, but he refused to wait any longer, not when she was offering herself to him in such an innocent way. Dimming the lights with a touch of the Force, he unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off her shoulders, running his fingertips down the soft flesh of her arms and sending delicious shivers racing up her spine.

His caresses were feathersoft, and her skin came alive everywhere he touched. His fingers were electric. He moved to the curve of her breasts again, brushing across her nipples. They hardened instantly at his touch. It was as if the light cloth of her undershirt weren't even there. His other hand drifted lower to run along her thigh; stroking her through the fabric of her uniform pants. Each time he came closer, but stopped just short of the growing heat between her legs. Her breath was coming in soft, shallow gasps. Preitha held onto his shoulder to remain upright.

"You're going to drive me mad," she finally gasped.

"Am I?" he chuckled. "I want you to enjoy this as much as I plan to. I'm afraid the restrictions of my armor won't allow me to accomplish this entirely by the book, but I intend to do my best," he explained.

"Earlier you said there was a place…"

"Yes, I have a meditation pod in my quarters." He was tracing concentric circles over her right breast now, each one maddeningly slow, and each smaller than the last. "But we are en-route to the rebel base now. There isn't time. Would you prefer to wait?"

"No," she said with a half-moan, clutching his shoulders tighter. "Gods, no more waiting."

Again he chuckled. "I'm at your complete disposal, little one."

At `her' disposal? Surely that was sarcasm; he had her half out of her mind with lust and he'd barely touched her. She would do anything he asked. If he told her to join the Rebellion, she would.

Vader laughed at her thoughts. "What would you have me do, my Lady?"

She blushed crimson at the term. She'd never been called a "lady" before. It was… nice. His right hand was still poised over her breast and she covered it with her own, pressing down. He took the hint and squeezed the flesh through the thin material of her sleeveless shirt, pinching her erect nipple and then pulling at the sensitive nub. She sighed and arched her back.

"You're a passionate one," he murmured, turning his attention to her other breast and giving it the same treatment.

Vader used the Force to pull off her pants and shirt while easing her down on the bed. He drew back to observe her, his eyes sweeping over her naked form, drinking her in. His cock swelled, straining against his codpiece. She was so willing, so completely open to him. The way she responded to his touch was a powerful aphrodisiac. Preitha spread her legs apart and reached for his free hand, pushing it against her damp pubic curls.

He gently traced the length of her slit, running one finger through the soft chestnut locks. Her entire body trembled when he parted her folds and brushed against her clit; once, twice, before slipping a single finger inside her slick heat. She let out a long, low moan and rotated her hips, grinding against his hand.

"What would you have me do?" he asked again, pushing a second finger into her and pumping them at a slow, leisurely pace.

"More," was all she could manage. She was writhing against his hand making soft, whimpering sounds. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard anything quite so sexy.

"Are you sure, little one?" he asked with a grin.

"Gods, yes, please," she begged. She was fumbling clumsily with his armor, attempting to figure out where, and how, to remove it.

The smile widened and he reached down to snap off his codpiece and toss it aside. Instantly her fingers found his prick, closing eagerly over the hard, smooth flesh. Preitha fisted him gently. As her palm passed over the silken mushroom head she felt a drop of liquid seep out of the teardrop-shaped opening.

"Please," she repeated. Her tongue snaked out and licked at her lips.

"As you wish," he said, reaching down to cover her hand with his.

Together they guided him to her entrance. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist and brought her free arm up to wrap around his broad shoulder. He was careful not to rest all of his weight on her, she seemed so tiny.

They groaned in unison when he entered her, relishing the feeling of flesh inside flesh for the first time. She was soft, Vader thought to himself, as soft as he was hard; human in all the ways that he was not.

Preitha pushed her hips forward, trying to take more of him into her, but he held her still, taking his time, savouring the intimacy. When he was completely buried within her he froze. His eyes drifted shut as the sensations washed over him. Then he slowly withdrew until all but the head of his cock remained. After an eternity he repeated the process.

The third time he withdrew from her he increased his pace, allowing his prick to sink back into her in one swift, fluid motion. She let out a choked cry of surprise at the sudden fullness, her eyes flying open.

"Keep them open," he rumbled. "I want to look at you."

She obeyed, staring into the black expanse of his mask as he pulled back and then slid home once more. She noticed that the cycle of his breathing had increased slightly. One gloved hand came up to stroke her face and she mirrored the gesture with her own hand, tracing the lines of his mask, the curve of his helmet.

His pace increased in calculated, barely noticeable increments. Preitha came to realize that he was still completely in control, as much as she was not. She decided to test him, and the next time he pulled out of her she concentrated on squeezing the muscles of her channel around him.

Vader groaned and began to thrust harder, faster. Encouraged, she repeated the gesture. His breathing cycle sped up again.

"How clever of you, little one," he said. She smiled at him sweetly. He increased his pace again, pounding against her. "Is this what you want?"

She moaned and bit her lip, careful to keep her eyes open as he'd instructed. He moved faster, and then faster still; leather smacked against flesh in a frenzied rhythm. Her pleasure began to build, crescendoing until it was a constant rumble within her abdomen. Preitha threw both arms around his neck, clutching him desperately. She was making low, keening sounds. Sounds somewhere between whimpers and gasps of pleasure.

Vader's control began to slip when he felt the first ripples of her climax tear through her. He had monitored her thoughts throughout their lovemaking session; now he opened himself up to her emotions, allowed her pleasure to wash over him. He gathered her in his arms and held her close against his chest, stroking her hair as his own orgasm overwhelmed him.

He eased her back down to the bed and rolled away from her onto his side, then pulled her back to rest against his chest. Preitha sighed softly, contented.

"I knew you would please me, little one," he purred, passing a hand through her hair.

"Was it worth the wait?" she asked dreamily.

"It certainly was," Vader replied.

DEATH STAR BATTLESTATION, GORDIN REACH, YAVIN SYSTEM

Had Preitha been given a choice, she would have elected to lie in Vader's arms for the rest of eternity. She wasn't sure how long she actually did stay there, drifting between sleep and waking, listening to his breathing and her own heartbeat. She could still feel his fingers on her skin, could feel him moving within her, and she wanted to savor the sensations for as long as he would let her remain with him. She knew that all too soon they would be summoned by Tarkin, and they would go back to being soldiers instead of people… instead of lovers.

Vader was silent save for his breathing cycle. He was deep in thought as he held her tightly against his chest. He still did not understand the seemingly universal attraction to his armored form, but women wanted him, it was undeniable. His master had drilled into his brain the notion that sex was nothing more than another way to gain power. To conquer even one was a victory, and patience was as potent as action. Sidious had not risen to absolute power swiftly, he had been patient, watching from the shadows as his plans took root, grew and festered. Dominance came from submission and without one, there could not be the other. The Emperor's ascent to power hadn't only been accomplished in the political arena; a large portion of it was consummated in the bedrooms of influential Republic Senators – both male and female. Vader's own tastes did not extend beyond interest in the fairer sex and, fortunately for him, Palpatine had never forced him to indulge in what the older man referred to as "the purest of passions". He'd had many women in the last twenty years; a number of them senators or high-ranking society members of various worlds, but the encounters had been fleeting and insignificant. A means to an end only.

Was it different with this one? Perhaps. With other women he'd bedded, he'd been eager to cast them aside after he'd taken what he wanted. That wasn't the case with Preitha. He couldn't think of anything he `wanted' from her other than her presence. Maybe it was her, thus far, unwavering trust in him that he found so compelling.

He `was' guilty of some manipulation in his quest to get her into his bed; the flowers, the bits of information. But he was Sith, and after twenty years of basking in the power of the Dark Side, he didn't think he was capable of acting without manipulating, without dominating. It was as much a part of him as his synthesized lungs and mechanical limbs.

Vader sighed and pulled his companion closer. No, he did not wish to cast her aside, nor did he want anything from her more than her company. It was premature to speculate on the reasons for this growing attachment and, in truth, he preferred not to think on it at all. For now, he would simply enjoy her presence, and worry about the rest later.

They remained that way for some time, and it became clear to Preitha that Vader was not going to disturb her. She was happy to realize that he seemed as content as she was. Finally, though, she spoke.

"My Lord," she said with a sigh, "we're nearing Yavin, aren't we?"

"We're in the system," he confirmed.

"I'm surprised Tarkin hasn't commed for you yet."

"He probably has," Vader admitted with a wry grin. "I turned it off."

"You… turned it off??" she asked incredulously, turning in his arms to gaze at him with disbelief.

"Well," he shrugged, "I was busy." He gave her an affectionate squeeze.

"They're going to be rather angry if they've tried to contact you, don't you think?"

"Most likely," he chuckled. She was also smiling. "But that's never bothered me before."

They found Tarkin, Motti, and Tagge in the Command Center, monitoring the viewscreen as it displayed the station's progression towards the rebel base. The Death Star Triumvirate, as they were often called by the crew, were scattered throughout the room; their positions, ironically and unintentionally, forming a perfectly proportioned triangle.

"I tried to contact you, Lord Vader," Tarkin snapped.

"Indeed?" Vader feigned surprise, walking over to stand by the Grand Moff.

Preitha headed to where her father was standing against the far wall, intending to apologize for her earlier behavior. He was her father, after all, and though she did not agree with his actions at times, she did love him.

Motti took one look at her and knew what had transpired – her hair was tousled, her uniform rumpled, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth whenever she thought no one was looking. He grabbed her roughly by the upper arm and pulled her close, causing her to wince as her wound reopened beneath the bandage.

"You smell like a whore," he spat.

"Don't do this, father. Please," she whispered, glancing around to see how many others were witnessing the exchange. There was nothing worse than gossiping Imperial soldiers. She was already anticipating her fair share as a result of her association with Lord Vader.

"You are a whore and a traitor, child. You make me regret so many things," he hissed with such vehemence that Preitha flinched.

She took an involuntary step backwards and attempted to pull free of her father's grasp. If she had to walk away from him to end the confrontation, she would. A second glance around the room revealed the Sith Lord watching the exchange carefully, black mask cocked slightly to one side. He seemed to be weighing the repercussions of intervening. Preitha shook her head, silently willing him to remain where he was. It would be better if she handled this herself.

-=It's beyond that now,=- he stated as he moved towards them.

"Admiral," Vader growled, coming to stand behind Preitha. He did not touch her, but his stance was both protective and possessive. He made it clear that he would not warn the other man twice. "This is neither the time, nor the place, if ever there was one."

"One of these days, Lord Vader, you may regret your actions here," Motti said, but there was resignation in his voice. He dropped his hand and released his daughter, allowing her to back away from him even further.

"I could say the same to you, Admiral," Vader replied.

"Orbiting the planet at maximum velocity," the Navigational Officer announced over the Command Center's intercom. "The moon with the rebel base will be in range in thirty minutes."

The viewscreen display changed to show the Death Star's plotted course around Yavin as the schematics program predicted rotation, speed, and trajectory. The argument was abandoned, forgotten. Everyone turned to regard the display with anticipation, and apprehension.

Vader took Preitha's hand and settled it into the crook of his elbow, then pulled her with him to stand behind Tarkin. She felt a wave of emotion pass through her at the unspoken acknowledgment.

"This will be a day long remembered," the Sith Lord announced. "It has seen the end of Kenobi, and will soon see the end of the Rebellion."

Preitha grinned triumphantly beside him. It was a grand day indeed. Neither she nor Vader noticed the uncertainty in Tarkin's expression.

"Finally, this nightmare will end," Tagge stated.

"Your flair for over-dramatization is growing old, Commander," Motti commented dryly, drawing a stern look of reproval from Tarkin. This infighting between the three of them was getting worse.

"Forgive me, sirs, but I don't believe we're out of the woods yet," the Navigational Officer said, rising from his chair to face Tarkin.

"How so, Captain?"

"The rebels seem to have anticipated our arrival; we've picked up a battalion of fighters approaching the station in attack formation," he elaborated.

Tarkin sighed. It was as he'd expected, the rebels were going to put up a fight. "Vader, go see to the details of this final attack," he said. With his hands behind his back, he turned once again to face the viewscreen.

The Sith Lord nodded and led Preitha to the door. One day, when `he' was Emperor, Tarkin would regret his high-handedness. One day, Vader would crush his windpipe – slowly.

"Yes, do, Lord Vader," Motti called after the pair. "And take your whore with you."

Preitha whirled around and glared at her father, but Vader did not slow his pace.

-=Let it go… =- he pathed to her, -=…for now.=-

The Admiral would regret many things as well. In time.

Against all odds, the rebels were doing surprisingly well in their assault. They were using X and Y-Wings; small crafts that were able to get closer to the Death Star than anyone had anticipated. Blasts rocked the station repeatedly as it was hit by enemy fire. The rebel ships moved with a purpose. Though they had not made much progress, they were still alive. That, in and of itself, was a success of sorts.

"Are we in trouble?" Preitha asked as they strode down the corridor. She had to steady herself against his massive form when another blast of laser fire jolted them off-balance.

"No," Vader replied confidently. Stormtroopers were marching in purposeful lines down the hallways, mobilizing and enacting their defense strategy protocols. It seemed like useless posturing to Preitha; the rebels were not boarding the station. Whatever their intentions, the enemy planned to achieve it without leaving the comfort of their spacecrafts.

The deck Lieutenant approached Vader nervously. Preitha knew from experience that the lower ranking officers often drew straws to determine which of them would be responsible for delivering bad news to their superiors. "We count thirty rebel ships, Lord Vader. But they are so small they're evading our turbo lasers."

Vader seemed unfazed. "We'll have to destroy them ship to ship. Get the crews to their fighters."

A shower of sparks and shrapnel exploded in the hallway as the station was rocked by another blast. Soldiers stumbled and clambered to maintain their balance as the structure tilted from the impact and then righted itself once again.

"And myself, my Lord?" Preitha asked as they swept down the long corridor. She anticipated being sent to her room yet again, and was prepared to feel useless for the second time that day.

"This would be a fine chance to prove yourself, little one. Suit up."

"You're going to put me in a fighter?" She blinked, not sure she'd heard him correctly.

"You bragged about your skills earlier," he teased.

"Well, I…" she trailed off. She `could' fly, and she knew it.

"I'm going to make you my left wingman," he revealed, giving her arm a squeeze. "Unless, of course, you'd rather not?"

She beamed at him. "Nonsense, I'm honored. It's just… well, I haven't done much real flying, just sims. I never really expected to have the chance."

"Yes, I know. But whatever my personal opinion of you, I would not have you by my side if I wasn't confident in your abilities."

She nodded and swallowed hard. Finally, she thought to herself, a chance to actually `do' something useful. For once she wouldn't just be watching.

"Stay in formation and follow all of my commands," he said.

She nodded again. There were only thirty rebel ships, and over two dozen Imperial squadrons had already been deployed. The fight would be brief, but not without danger. The Rebel Alliance was rumored to have some of the best pilots in the galaxy amongst their ranks.

They made their way to the TIE hangar where Vader ushered Preitha towards the equipment room to be outfitted with a flight suit. Other pilots were milling about, and a few gave her distinctly acidic looks when they realized she would be flying; they were an exclusive bunch, who did not think very highly of their non-risk taking counterparts. Two deck hands scurried to help her into the bulky attire, and a series of clicks and hisses preceded a rush of concentrated, breathable air. The suit was restrictive, but necessary, and not unlike Vader's own armor, she noted wryly. It was a self-contained unit, complete with an oxygen supply tank strapped to her back, and dual air tubes that hooked to the sides of her helmet.

She felt top-heavy with the thick durasteel helmet; and took a few moments to adjust her balance to accommodate for the added weight of the equipment. It had been at least a year since she'd donned the gear – most instructors at the Academy insisted that a flight suit be worn, even in the simulators, but the supervisor for her Lieutenant training had not required it.

"Several fighters have broken off from the main group," Vader announced, entering the room. He pointed to Preitha and another suited pilot. "Come with me."

The deck hands escorted her out into the launch bay behind the Sith Lord, leading her to a spare fighter. She saw Vader climb into his own modified craft just ahead of her. He paused a moment, seemed to hold her gaze, before turning away and sinking down into the cockpit.

Preitha took one final look around the interior of the battlestation, and did the same.

The TIE fighters raced down the release chute and launched into the black expanse of space outside the Death Star. Preitha savored the momentary sensation of weightlessness, before she engaged her forward thrusters to push her away from the docking bay. The small craft seemed to float amongst the stars.

"Do you copy, Black Two?" Vader's deep baritone echoed through her earpiece.

"I copy, Black Leader," she answered into the mouthpiece set into her helmet, scanning the technical readout of her display panels. Everything was in order and, to her relief, exactly as she remembered it. Still, her hands trembled when she gripped the control yoke. She silently willed her legs to quit shaking as her feet came to rest over the foot pedal switches.

"Remember your training," he told her. "Stick close, and listen for my commands."

She assumed position to the left of, and slightly behind, the Sith Lord's fighter. Vader banked hard to the right and Preitha followed, circling around the spherical structure of the station as if in orbit around it, tracking the path of the rebel fighters.

Off in the distance, a small, three-ship squad of Y-Wings was racing above and across the terrain of the station, weaving in and out of sight. They were moving in tight formation, expertly dodging blasts from the turbo lasers affixed to the external surface of the Death Star. They were quite skilled, Preitha noted.

"Stay in attack formation," Vader told them curtly. He sounded every bit a warrior at the moment, every bit a Sith Lord.

Preitha maintained the distance behind Vader's craft, but allowed her fighter to drift wide to the left, so that she would have an easier time targeting any enemy ships who might attempt to take aim at the Sith Lord. They lifted above the surface of the structure, pulling back to pinpoint the exact location of the Y-Wing squadron.

The TIEs were closing in on the rebel ships at a frightening speed. The enemy crafts swung back and forth as they traveled, making it difficult to lock onto their position. Suddenly, the Y-Wing formation dropped down `into' one of the canyons that covered the Death Star's surface.

"I'll take them myself," Vader announced. "Cover me."

"Yes, sir," Black Three replied, staying close to Vader's right flank.

The space was narrow, Preitha saw, barely wide enough for the three TIEs to stay in attack formation. The Imperial fighters dropped neatly and swiftly into the cramped space behind the Y-Wings.

-=You're doing very well, little one,=- he told her silently. -=Your father would be pleased, were he not such an idiot.=-

Preitha winced. She did `not' want to think about her father right now. She was saved the necessity when, without warning, Vader fired his laser cannons at the Y-Wing closest to him. The enemy craft exploded in a brilliant flash.

The trio of TIEs raced past the floating debris of the destroyed craft, still in close pursuit of the remaining two rebel ships. Several moments passed before another burst of fire erupted from Vader's laser cannons. The leading Y-Wing was demolished in the same fashion as its' companion.

"Close up formation," Vader barked sharply.

"Let me take this one, Black Leader," Preitha said boldly, readying her targeting computer, and tracking the side-to-side movements of the remaining Y-Wing.

"Acceptable, Black Two," was Vader's reply as he moved his craft slightly to the right to give her more room.

Preitha sucked in a deep, nervous breath and held it, thumbs hovering over the controls for her laser cannons until the targeting computer of her TIE beeped repeatedly, indicating that it had locked onto the enemy craft. She did not release her breath until she saw one, bright green beam of light strike the Y-Wing's left engine port, shattering it. The craft lost control and spiraled rapidly downward to the surface of the Death Star.

"Well done," Vader commended. "Circle around and prepare for the next wave."

The Lieutenant pulled hard on the yoke, drawing it in towards her body to propell the craft upwards. The three fighters soared away from the trench in a broad arc, looping above the Death Star in a maneuver that Preitha used to love practicing at the Academy – one that had caused several of her compatriots serious bouts of motion sickness.

The X-Wings were already in the trench, when the TIEs came back down to skim the surface of the station. Again they dropped into the narrow passageway and, with lightning speed, closed the distance to the rebel fighters.

"Close up formation," the Sith Lord cautioned a second time as they re-entered the narrow trench.

Vader expertly dispatched the right wingman and the trio swept through the debris without slowing their pace.

"I have him, my Lord," Preitha said. As her targeting computer locked onto the left wingman she fired, destroying the craft with a stream of blaster energy.

They were nearing the end of the trench. She saw the remaining X-Wing fire a proton torpedo directly at the wall, and then pull up and out of the canyon. She didn't have time to wonder at the rebels' intentions; she followed Vader's fighter out of the furrow, still on the tail of the enemy craft. After several moments of pursuit Vader fired, destroying the small ship.

"Another wave of them coming in, sir," Black Three announced. "What the hell are they up to?"

They repeated the same looping arc as before and dropped in behind the latest group of fighters. Black Three locked onto the right wingman and fired.

The craft took the hit, but did not explode. After a moment it lifted out of the trench and pulled away.

"Let him go," Vader instructed. "Stay on the leader."

The remaining rebel wingman slowed his pace, allowing some distance between his craft and that of the squad leader. The TIEs caught it easily, and Vader destroyed the X-Wing without hesitation.

"I'm on the leader," Vader announced, increasing his speed to catch up with the remaining ship. He allowed a smile to creep across his features; he still loved to fly, though he did not have many opportunities to do so anymore.

The Sith Lord's smile faded as they drew closer to the lone X-Wing. There was something different about this last fighter, he could not quite tell what. The rebel was a talented pilot, but there was nothing extraordinary about his technique. Vader reached out through the Force, searching… ah, there it was. He'd been so intently focused on the battle that he had not noticed it before.

"The Force is strong with this one," he murmured aloud.

Suddenly, this mission had become far more dangerous. There was a chance, however small, that this Force-Sensitive rebel would succeed. His thoughts shifted to Preitha, flying quite capably on his left flank. If he allowed her to continue at his side, he was putting her at great risk. All of his other pilots were expendable; she was not. Vader realized he was faced with a choice.

"Black Two, break formation," he instructed. Then he switched channels and ordered another pilot to come in and replace her.

"I didn't copy, Black Leader," Preitha's voice came back. She had, though. She just didn't particularly like the order.

"Break formation, Lieutenant," he told her again.

"Why?" she blurted out, hurt. She thought she'd been doing quite well.

"I'm giving you an order," he barked. "Get out of here!"

Preitha realized there was no sense in arguing with him further, so she didn't, she simply lifted her craft up and away, intending to circle around and land back in the hangar bay.

-=No!=- Vader's voice echoed in her mind. -=Get as far away from here as you can.=-

What in the hells was he talking about? `Why?'

-=Get to Courosant, however you can,=- he told her. -=I will come for you.=-

She didn't understand what was happening and silently begged him to explain.

Instead of an explanation, Preitha heard a startled yell through her earpiece. She scanned the stars outside her window, craning her neck to spot Vader's ship. In the space where Black Three had been, there now floated the sparking, smoking wreckage of a destroyed TIE fighter.

She watched in horror as her replacement lost control and went sailing into the trench wall. The repercussive wave sent Vader's ship into a deadly upward spin, away from the Death Star.

Realization dawned. Preitha knew why he had been so adamant about her removal from the fight.

The rebels were going to win.

YAVIN SYSTEM, GORDIN REACH, OUTER RIM

Preitha stared at her nav-computer and frowned. She cursed under her breath silently, before looking up at the seemingly endless expanse of galaxy around her. She cursed again, this time aloud, with an impressive, colorful string of Abyssinian profanity that she’d picked up from a fellow student at the Academy whose parents had been smugglers on the Outer Rim. She’d never learned the complete translation of the phrases, but did know that they referenced several unflattering orifices, a bantha, someone’s mother, and a cannok with something akin to herpes. Her father had heard her use it once, and had smacked her so hard that her ears had rung for days afterward.

Her father.

Had he, by some twist of fate, made it safely off the Death Star before its’ destruction? Was he out here, lost and desperate, just as she was? Was he too reliving their final confrontation? Preitha had not seen any shuttles or small crafts depart from the station before it exploded, but it had all happened so fast. It was impossible to know if anyone else had survived. Still, something inside her ‘knew’ that her father was dead.

She could still see the brilliant flash of light as the station had shattered; it had been such a quiet, simple thing. Watching, horrified, through the transparisteel windows of the small fighter craft, she’d expected to hear the screams of the countless soldiers still inside. She’d expected something… more.

Her anger at Motti’s behavior had evaporated to be replaced by a deep-seated, searing regret. His last words to her had been to call her a whore. He was the only family she’d ever known; and he’d died hating her. She knew, at that moment, how Princess Leia had felt to watch Alderaan’s obliteration.

Now, Lord Vader was her only hope of discovering who she was, and who her mother had been. Whatever secrets her father had kept had died with him.

She didn’t know if Vader had survived the blast. She’d seen his craft thrown clear of the fuel trench prior to the explosion, but had he been flung far enough away to be safe? She’d barely been out of range to avoid serious damage herself. As soon as Preitha had realized that the rebels were going to succeed, she’d angled her craft away from the Death Star, racing away from the station with a desperation that nearly transformed into blind panic.

She assumed the Emperor had a contingency plan now that his most effective weapon was destroyed, but still, the loss of the Death Star was a major blow to the Empire’s power structure. Tarkin’s vision of ruling the galaxy through fear of the massive weapon would never be realized. If the rebels were as clever as they seemed to be, and if they moved swiftly, they had the chance to mount a serious attack against the Empire.

But Preitha had other, more immediate concerns than the security of the Empire. Sooner or later she would run out of both fuel and oxygen. Unlike Lord Vader’s starcraft, the TIE fighter in which she now sat lacked a hyperdrive, limiting her destination options to planets in system. And to top it all off, her port steering rocket was misfiring, no doubt damaged in the shock-wave after the Death Star exploded.

She was, quite simply, fucked.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. Panicking would only worsen her situation. Whether she liked it or not, Preitha was on her own. She opened her eyes again and looked back to the nav-computer. There weren’t many options. In fact, she seemed to have just one - land on Yavin 4. It was a suicidal maneuver, but she had no other choice.

“There has to be another way,” she said aloud.

“You’re out of options, you idiot girl,” she answered herself, sounding very much like her father.

If she wanted to survive, she could not waste time on inner debate. She’d already spent nearly half a day drifting out here, trying to flesh out a plan.

And she did want to survive, if only to see the Rebel Alliance destroyed. She felt the anger and hate well up within her at the thought of the rebels. Preitha wondered what they were doing now. Were they celebrating on Yavin 4, passing out awards of valor and bravery? Were they smiling and laughing while the wreckage of the Death Star floated silently above them? Had they cheered when her father died?

More than ever, Preitha hated the Alliance. All of her rage and despair had to go somewhere, and it was going to go to them.

The fighter’s proximity sensors chimed shrilly, breaking her reverie. She glanced at the radar screen and swore again. A rebel X-Wing was approaching at breakneck speed. What the hell was an X-Wing doing out here?

The craft drew closer and Preitha reached for the control yoke, thumbs hovering over the laser cannon buttons.

The X-Wing blew past her without any acknowledgement. He had to have seen her. She looped upward and kicked her thrusters into gear, intending to drop down behind the enemy ship, dogfight style. It was a risky maneuver given the TIE’s current malfunctions.

Halfway through the downward loop, she fired. Preitha just might be able to take him by surprise; he’d given no indication that he knew, or cared, about her presence thus far.

She missed.

“Shit!” she breathed, resisting the urge to punch her display screen.

The X-Wing reacted instantly, snap-rolling into a dive and then a twist, avoiding the second blast from Preitha’s weaponry. She held the control yoke in a white-knuckled grip and stayed on the rebel’s tail, firing repeatedly. Again the other ship evaded her, but it slowed its’ pace, allowing her to close some of the distance between them, before banking hard to the left.

The TIE’s damaged steering rockets preventing her from following the X-Wing’s path.

“You son of a bitch!” she yelled with desperation. He was going to fire now, shoot her down, and it would be finished.

But the other craft didn’t fire. Preitha took advantage of the pilot’s hesitation and looped around to the right; she didn’t understand why the rebel hadn’t fired on her, but she wasn’t about to give him a second chance.

It wasn’t until the right wing of the rebel craft connected with the solar panels of her TIE that she realized the other pilot had to be insane. He’d connected with her ‘deliberately’.

The impact of the crash pushed the two ships apart and sent them both spiraling into the gravitational pull of Yavin 4.

YAVIN 4, YAVIN SYSTEM, GORDIN REACH

There wasn’t much Preitha could do to control her descent into the moon’s atmosphere. She was able to engage her reverse thrusters, but that slowed the craft down only slightly. The jungle-like landscape of Yavin 4 rushed towards her, and she yanked the control yoke to the right, angling towards what appeared to be a lake. If she could cushion her landing, she ‘might’ survive.

She managed to level out the craft just enough to avoid slamming head-first into the water. The TIE skimmed across the surface for several yards before dropping into murky blackness.

Preitha fumbled clumsily at the dials to the left of the control yoke for the emergency ejection knob. When she finally found it, she yanked the knob. The pilot’s seat launched out of the cockpit, arcing up out of the water before dropping back in. She pressed the release buttons on the chair, pulling herself free of the bulky contraption.

The shoreline was, fortunately, not far, and Preitha kicked her way towards it wearily, pulling herself through the mud onto the foggy bank. She closed her eyes and took a moment to rest before shakily standing, and surveying her surroundings. It was then that she saw the X-Wing suspended in the trees far to her right.

It was impossible to tell, at that distance, if the other pilot was still inside the craft, if he had survived. She decided to approach with caution and investigate. Preitha moved through the trees, concentrating on her footing, trying to avoid as many twigs and branches as she could.

Several meters away from the downed rebel ship stood its’ pilot, a young man with sandy-blond hair. She watched him throw his flight helmet at the ground angrily, and begin to walk away from the craft.

Preitha drew her blaster and aimed an unsteady shot at the rebel. She wasn’t excellent with a blaster on a good day, and she was currently seeing double from the impact of the crash. Regardless, if she didn’t take him out now, the rebel might get away and report her presence to his friends back at base. That would definitely not help her situation.

She brought her free hand up to steady her grip on the weapon and fired. Dirt and rock erupted in a dusty haze, obscuring her vision of the enemy, making it difficult to tell if she’d dropped the man or not.

She began to move towards the dust cloud. If she was lucky, she’d at least wounded him. That being the case, she’d finish him off now, slowly – she’d treat this rebel as if ‘he’ was the one who’d destroyed the Death Star, even though chances were good that he wasn’t.

Preitha kept her weapon drawn, her finger hovering alertly over the trigger As the dust settled slightly, she saw the tattered remains of an orange flight suit on the ground.

‘I got you, you fucker’, she thought triumphantly, moving in closer still.

The attack caught her off guard – the rebel pilot swung out of the tree and planted a hard, two-footed kick in the square of her back, cracking the oxygen tanks against her spine. The air flew out of her and she let out a strangled cry, pitching forward face-first into the dirt.

Preitha struggled to flip onto her back, still clutching her blaster. The man was on her before she could take aim, pinning her down with his left hand while reaching for her blaster with his right.

Her enemy let out a triumphant whoop as he got a firm grip on her weapon and pulled it out of her grasp. In doing so, however, he’d taken his weight off of her body. She took advantage of the opportunity and launched herself at him, relying on the sheer bulk of her suited form to knock her opponent down.

It worked. The rebel was knocked off his feet and sent flying backwards into the filth of the lake, with Preitha not far behind. The pair went head-first into the water; the blaster tumbled out of the man’s hand and sank down into the mud, useless. Preitha’s helmet and oxygen tanks were still operating, and she smiled when the idea came to her.

She locked her arms around her adversary, clinging to him, and waited. Eventually the rebel would run out of air and drown. No blasters involved. Vader would be proud of her, she thought.

But the other pilot was clever as well. He reached up and wrapped a fist around one of her air tubes. The fierce yank tore the synthesized material in half. It happened too swiftly for Preitha to react, and murky water quickly filled her helmet, rushing down her throat before she could close her mouth.

The shock of water in her lungs paralyzed her. She went limp, drifting slowly towards the soothing blackness of unconsciousness. Preitha was vaguely aware of the rebel pilot grasping the back of her flight suit and dragging her upward, out of the lake.

The man pulled her towards the shore, shouting angrily about people whose names she didn’t recognize, yelling at her about the deaths caused by the Empire.

“You Imperials know all about killing!” he raged. “You and your kind did in Aunt Beru, Uncle Owen, and Ben!”

She choked, forcing water out of her body and sucking hungrily at the air.

“Well, I’ll show you ‘I’ know all about it too!” the rebel continued, dropping her unceremoniously onto the bank of the lake. With one eye slitted open, she watched the rebel reach for a large branch, brandishing it like a club.

Preitha let out an involuntary moan, and her helmet slipped off into the grass, revealing her face to her enemy. The young man paused, looking at her with shock. He dropped the branch and bent to study her.

“No…” he stated softly. “I… never thought beyond the glory, the adventure.” He cupped her cheek. “But ‘this’ is part of it, too! The enemy’s not just armor or a spacecraft. They live, they breathe… like you! Kill when it can be avoided… and you’re no better than ‘them’ at their worst!”

“Just finish it,” she spat, breathing hard.

“No,” the blond-haired man decided, standing. “There’s been enough killing today.”

“So you’d kill an entire station of people, but you can’t stomach it face to face? Coward,” she seethed, regaining some of her strength through anger.

“I… had to,” he said. “If I hadn’t, they would have killed us.”

“You want to talk about family?” she asked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “My father was on that station. He was the only family I’ve ever had! If you’re looking for vengeance for your family, you’ve already taken it - from me.”

“I guess we’re even, then.”

“Somehow I don’t find that comforting,” she responded.

“No,” he agreed. “Neither do I.”

A loud, whistle-like beep interrupted their conversation, and they directed their attentions towards the approaching airspeeder. Preitha counted four passengers – two droids, one male, and one petite, brown-haired female…

Princess Leia.

“There, gang,” the man said, pointing towards the soiled pair, “… one slightly soiled medal winner! Heat sensors led us to Artoo, kid... the sound of fighting got us to you!”

The protocol droid chimed in, “When you didn’t return I alerted the Princess, sir. Thank the Maker you aren’t seriously harmed.”

The craft slowed to a stop just short of the pair, and its’ passengers piled out, moving towards them.

Leia’s eyes widened when she looked down at Preitha, recognizing her immediately.

“You!” she exclaimed, drawing her blaster and leveling it at the downed Lieutenant.

“Leia, what are you doing?” the pilot asked.

“Do you know who this is, Luke?” Leia asked with a scowl. “This is Vader’s personal lapdog! She was there when he interrogated me, and there when they put me into the execution chamber!”

The one called Luke considered this. After a pause he shook his head. “She’s an unarmed opponent. The Empire would kill her without hesitation if she were one of us, but if we do the same, we’re no better than what we’re fighting.”

“She stood there and watched my home planet be destroyed; she watched my father die!”

“And you watched the death of hers,” Luke stated calmly.

'What?” Leia asked.

“Her father was on the Death Star,” he explained. “There’s been enough killing for one day.”

The Princess’s scowl deepened, then her features relaxed and she sighed, holstering her blaster.

“What do you propose we do with her, Luke?” Leia’s companion asked.

“I guess we take her back to the base with us, Han. What other choice do we have?”

"There is absolutely no way I'm going back to the rebel base with you," Preitha stated, regarding Luke with a cool, level gaze. "Leave me out here in the jungle to die, or just put a blaster bolt through my skull right now."

"Works for me," Leia quipped, again reaching for the weapon strapped to her hip.

"Take it easy, sister," the older man said, reaching for Leia's arm. "You take it easy too, for that matter," he continued, pointing at Preitha, who was still lying on the ground. "The kid may be right for once."

"I highly doubt the Empire would pay a reward for ‘her’, Han," Leia said, giving him a stern frown.

Han affected his most convincing, most innocent look of surprise; which was not very convincing or innocent at all.

"She's right," Preitha stated flatly. "I'm just a Lieutenant; the Empire isn't likely to pay a ransom for even its' highest ranking officers. It certainly won’t pay anything for me. My father might have, but..."

"What about Vader?" Leia asked.

"I highly doubt it," Preitha replied, pursing her lips into a thin line. The Princess was trying to figure out if Vader was still alive, and if Preitha knew anything about where he might be. Even if she had known anything, she'd have sooner died than tell 'them'.

Luke bent down and offered her his hand. "Look, we can't just leave you out here."

Leia snorted, but kept silent.

Preitha looked from Luke to Han to Leia and back again, before accepting the outstretched arm. She stumbled as he pulled her to her feet, and he instinctively slipped an arm around her waist.

It wasn't every day that she crash landed a TIE, fought a rebel hand-to-hand, and then nearly drowned in a lake. The whole affair had been rather clumsy and embarrassing on her part, and not much more than dumb luck had allowed Preitha to survive. Her aversion to violent combat had been what had led to her to choose Intelligence Analysis within the Imperial Navy in the first place. She thought she might vomit at the thought of a rebel touching her, but the truth was she couldn't stand on her own just yet.

"Thanks," she mumbled without enthusiasm, allowing him to lead her unsteady form to the waiting airspeeder. He helped her into a seat and unceremoniously dropped down beside her, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"I'm Luke, by the way," he announced, giving her a lopsided grin. "Luke Skywalker. It seems you already know Leia. That scoundrel there is Han."

Han flashed her a winning smile and lifted two fingers to his temple in a mock salute. He took the seat behind the wheel of the speeder, with the two droids beside him. Leia sat down on the other side of Luke in the rear.

"I am See Threepio, human-cyborg relations," the protocol droid announced grandly. "And this," he gestured to the astromech droid, "is Artoo Detoo."

Artoo whistled sharply.

Preitha said nothing.

"So do 'you' have a name?" Han asked finally, powering up the 'speeder.

She glared at him. Their congeniality was only fueling her anger.

"Look, I can't see how it would hurt to tell us your name," Luke prodded.

"Preitha," she said finally. "Preitha Motti."

"Motti?" Leia gasped, recognizing the name instantly.

"That's right."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Preitha," Luke interjected before Leia could say anything else. He raked one, dirt-covered hand through his hair and grinned again. "I'm, uh... sorry I tried to kill you."

"Yea, well I'm just sorry I failed to kill you."

"Listen, sweetheart, you really do need to calm down," Han said, shouting over the noise of the 'speeder as it lurched forward and began to race over the boggy landscape. "If it wasn't for Luke and me, her Worshipfulness here would have shot you between the eyes."

"And if it wasn't for 'Luke', I'd have never crash-landed on this shithole in the first place," she countered.

The astromech droid let out a series of excited whistles and beeps, its' metal dome glinting in the light.

"Artoo says, Madame," Threepio translated, "that you would have landed on this moon eventually, anyway. Your craft did not have a hyperdrive, and there is nowhere else for you to go in this system. He also wonders why you remained in space for so long after the battle?"

Preitha glowered. "Tell that little trash compactor to mind his business."

Artoo responded with a mournful “dwooo”.

"I can't understand why you two don't get along, Princess," Han said, gesturing first to Leia and then to Preitha. "You're both so friendly, so personable. Hell, you could be twins."

"Don't compare me to 'her'," the two women replied in unison.

"I rest my case," he announced and rolled his eyes.

Leia had wanted to lock Preitha in a cell in their detention block, in a neural restraint field. As it happened, though, the Massassi Temple that served as the rebel base didn't have a detention block, and so they had placed her in a small bedroom, with four guards posted outside the door. Luke had argued that a restraint field was unnecessary - there was no place to run to, after all - and that she'd been through enough for one day. It was apparent to Preitha that he was still feeling more than a little guilty about nearly bludgeoning her to death with a log.

First she'd been taken to meet General Dodonna, the commander of the rebel base. He'd asked her a few, simple questions; which Preitha had responded to with vehement sarcasm. Then he’d ordered that she be taken back to her quarters and allowed to bathe, rest, and eat while he met with the other rebel leaders about her.

The four uniformed soldiers who would become her keepers, led her through the winding passages of the ziggurat temple to her room. A small refresher was set off to the side, through a narrow hall, and Preitha put it to use as soon as the door had closed and locked behind her escorts. She set the water to the hottest temperature she could stand, and scrubbed her skin until it was mottled red, attempting to rid herself of the crusted mud, and pungent lake-water.

A small stack of threadbare towels had been left for her, and a fresh change of clothes sat on the bed in a neat pile. The dress was a simple, robe-like affair in a drab,brownish color - probably one of Leia's, she concluded. She hadn’t seen any other women amongst the rebels thus far.

All in all, the accommodations inside the rebel base were no more primitive than the barracks she'd become accustomed to in the Imperial Navy. In fact, the bed was an actual bed, not just a portable cot, with a deep mattress and thick, rycrit blankets.

She was investigating the rest of the tiny room, paying particular attention to the small port-hole style windows, when there was a sharp rap at the door.

 "Yea?" she called, rather surprised that whoever had knocked was bothering to ask for permission at all.

The heavy door slid open to reveal Luke. He'd also visited the 'fresher, judging by his still-wet hair, and had changed into casual clothes. He stood holding a tray of plates, and flashed her an awkward grin as his eyes found hers.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, lifting the tray of food slightly and gesturing towards the interior of her room. "Can I come in?"

Preitha shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. She watched him set the tray down on the bed - the only furniture in the room - and begin lifting away the plate covers.

"So you were one of the pilots in the battle over the Death Star, right?" Luke asked, sitting cross-legged on the corner of the bed.

Preitha nodded, eyeing him warily.

"What happened? I mean, how come you survived?"

"I got lucky," she scowled, rolling her eyes at the irony. "From a certain point of view, anyway."

"You must be pretty good behind the controls of a fighter then."

She shook her head. "Really, it was just luck. I'm not a pilot." Despite herself, she was warming up to the kid. He was just so damn 'sincere'.

"Was your father an officer, too?" Luke reached for a manza chip. snatching it off her plate without waiting for permission, and popping it into his mouth.

"Admiral."

"An Admiral?" his eyes widened.

"'The' Admiral," she sighed. "One of the ones in charge of the station."

"So that's why Leia recognized your name."

"Yea, I guess."

"Seriously, you should eat something." He pointed to the other end of the bed and reached for another manza chip. "Have a seat before I end up stealing it 'all'."

Preitha sighed again and dropped her cross-armed stance, moving to sit as far away from him as possible. She picked up a bright blue legume of some kind and nibbled on it tentatively. 'Not half bad,' she thought, and she really ‘was’ hungry.

"Did you grow up in the Navy? Around your father?"

"Yes. I pretty much spent my entire childhood on one ship or another." She confirmed, grabbing another vegetable.

"Where's your mother?" Luke asked suddenly.

"She died when I was little."

 "So did mine. My father, too. I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle on Tatooine," he revealed.

'Tatooine?' She almost choked on her food. Things were clicking into place. "So you were the one she was looking for on Tatooine."

"Huh? Me?" Luke looked surprised. "No, I sort of ended up involved in all of this by accident. Leia was looking for old Ben Kenobi."

'Kenobi. The one Vader fought and killed on the Death Star.' She stayed silent, pretending not to recognize the name.

"Imperial soldiers killed my family," he continued, "I guess while they were looking for Ben. I had nothing left there anymore, so I just kinda... tagged along when offered the opportunity."

"It's a risky existence, though, being a rebel."

"I suppose," he shrugged. "But from what I hear it's risky to be a part of the Empire, too. Even as far out as Tatooine we'd hear stories."

“There’s always going to be a group of people who want change, no matter what the current power structure is. Do you think that your Republic would be unopposed if you were to topple the Empire? Can you honestly say there’d be absolute peace?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not.”

“Don’t lie to yourself. Whatever you do - don’t lie to yourself. I’m sure you think that you’re doing what’s best, but don’t tell yourself things will be perfect if you win. There’s no such thing as perfect.”

"You could always join us, you know," he offered. "The Rebellion."

"Not a fucking chance," she spat, dropping the half-eaten vegetable back onto the tray. "Just because we had a ten minute conversation doesn't mean I agree with your point of view. Besides, don't you still want to find the Imperials who killed your Aunt and Uncle?"

He closed his eyes for a moment. "I suppose part of me does."

"So, what makes you think I wouldn't want to find and kill the rebel pilot that destroyed the Death Star? The one responsible for my father?"

Luke froze.

"Do you know who it was?" she asked. "Do you know who did it?"

After a pause he shook his head.

"Really? I think you do."

"I'm just a soldier, and a new one at that," he shook his head again. "You probably know more about what happened in that battle than I do."

"You're a shitty liar, Luke," she concluded, but she dropped the subject anyway. He seemed to like her, and he just might be her only way of getting back to Imperial Center.

They sat in silence for some time, picking apart the tray of food. Eventually Luke opened his mouth to speak, looked at her for a long moment, and shut it again.

The door slid open. Threepio shuffled into the room and paused, cocking his head at them. “Master Luke, Princess Leia has asked that I come find you. General Dodonna wishes to speak with you now.”

“I just want to get back,” Preitha said. “I don’t know what use I could be to the rebellion. I don’t know any government or military secrets, and I’m not important enough to be used as a bargaining chip. I’m dead weight here, Luke. It’s not as if I can hinder your cause in any way. I haven’t learned any rebel secrets either, and the Empire already knows about this base.”

He seemed to consider this. “I honestly don’t know what they plan to do with you. But you do have a point.”

“Just tell them what I’ve said, then. When you move your base – and you have to soon, if you want to avoid a fleet of Star Destroyers bombing you into oblivion – just let me go my way. I’ll go my way, and you’ll go yours.”

“I’ll tell them,” Luke sighed, as he stood and followed Threepio out of the room.

An hour later, Preitha was taken back in front of General Dodonna. Leia was there, scowling as usual, as was Luke, and several other men she didn’t recognize. Threepio stood off to one side, but Han and the astromech droid, Artoo, were not present.

She could tell from the faces of the rebel officers that they had not been convinced by whatever pleading Luke had done on her behalf. She took a seat in front of them, feeling very much like she had during her evaluations at the Naval Academy, where she’d faced the intense scrutiny of an entire panel of Imperial officers.

“If we were to let you leave,” one bearded, middle-aged man began, “where would you go?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she replied. “As long as you don’t tell me where you’re going to relocate, I can’t harm your so-called operation in any way. And as I told Luke, there’s nothing to be gained by keeping me here. I don’t ‘know’ anything that could help you, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”

“Spoken like a true Imperialist,” Leia interjected.

“You of all people should understand my position here. After all, did you tell us anything when you were held captive on the Death Star? Did you betray your own beliefs?”

“My beliefs are nothing like yours; and you can’t possibly compare your treatment at our hands to mine at yours, can you?”

“Don’t blame me because you’ve made yourself an outcast, ‘Princess’.” Preitha spat the word as if it were physically painful to utter. “Just because you can’t ever set foot on Imperial Center doesn’t mean that I should be barred from doing so.”

“Why is it, Lieutenant, that you want so desperately to return to Couroscant?” the General asked.

“Where else would I go? To visit my father? Oh, right, you blew him up,” she narrowed her eyes and looked at them each in turn.

“The loss of life in that battle was regrettable,” Dodonna stated, “but necessary. In times of war we must – “

“War?” Preitha forced a laugh. “This isn’t ‘war’, this is treason.”

Leia’s scowl deepened and Luke lowered his gaze to the floor, tracing an invisible pattern in the tile with the toe of his boot. It seemed to bother him that Preitha refused to accept the Rebellion’s point of view. It seemed to bother him a lot.

“It is the position of this Alliance, Lieutenant, that the Emperor is the one who committed treason twenty years ago when he destroyed the democratic state of the galaxy,” the General said. “Consider yourself lucky to have never experienced the oppressive nature of the Empire first hand, as many of us have.”

“What is your goal here, sir?” she asked. “To convert me to your way of thinking? Not going to happen. So kill me, or let me go, but either way I’m done talking.”

The older man sighed wearily. “Take her back to her room, then,” he said to the guards.

Preitha went willingly, and somewhat gratefully. She was tired. Perhaps if she got some rest she would be able to analyze her situation in a new light, and come up with a plan for escape.

Once back in her room, she pulled back the thick blankets of her bed and climbed inside, drawing the covers up to her chin. Her thoughts flashed to Vader. The last time she’d slept she’d been tightly nestled into his arms, and thoroughly contented.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously, trying to wipe his image from her mind. She didn’t want to think about Vader now, not when she was stuck here, in the belly of the beast, and her dark lover was Force only knew where.

Time passed. Still she remained awake, studying the patterns of light that tracked across the ceiling as the guards’ searchlights swept the grounds of the temple at regular intervals.

She was exhausted, but Preitha fought the urge to sleep, because whenever she started to dream, she imagined herself back on the Death Star… back with him. She’d never thought of herself as a weak woman, but perhaps her father had been right; perhaps she was a fool. Perhaps Lord Vader was her weakness.

The “whoosh” of the door opening jarred her from her thoughts and she sat bolt upright, hands reaching out blindly in the darkness for something – anything – that could be used as a weapon.

“Take it easy, it’s just me,” the shadowy figure said. After a few seconds the sweep of the spotlights illuminated Luke’s blond haired figure.

Preitha relaxed, flopping back onto the bed with a sigh.

“Come for more arm-twisting?” she asked sullenly, avoiding his gaze.

“No. I do hope that one day you’ll change your mind about us, about me, but you’ll have to come to that conclusion on your own.”

“Then what is it that you want?”

He sighed and brought one hand up to rub his eyelids. “The guard shifts are changing in ten minutes. To be honest, it’s not a very organized affair. The hangar will be empty; there won’t be anyone to stop you from taking one of the X-Wings. You’d be in hyperspace before they even knew you were gone.”

Her head snapped up and she gaped at him. “Are you helping me to escape?”

“No. I’m just not stopping you.”

“Why? Why would you help me?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Your friends don’t think so.” She eyed him curiously. Surely his guilt over that afternoon didn’t run ‘that’ deep; there had to be something else…

“Maybe not, but I do.”

“If they find out you helped me…”

Luke flashed his lopsided grin. “I won’t tell them if you won’t.”

Preitha bit her lip and looked at him sadly. Another piece clicked into place in her mind. She actually liked Luke, she didn’t ‘want’ it to be true; but it was the only explanation that made sense. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

There was a lengthy, pregnant pause. “You need to get going, if you want to avoid the guards,” he said finally, extending a hand to her.

She took it.

Together they stepped into the stone hallway. Preitha saw her four guards slumped haphazardly against the wall, out cold.

“You knocked out the guards?” she asked incredulously.

“Nah, you did.” The grin was back in full force, and this time he winked at her. “I’m not even here.”

She shook her head and smiled. Together they crept down the corridors, sticking to the shadows clinging to the cold stone walls. They saw only one guard, and he was crouched in a corner with his back to them, smoking a death stick. Preitha rolled her eyes.

“Nice security you got here,” she whispered.

“Shh!” he rebuked, squeezing her hand. He pulled her further down the hallway lest the renegade guard decide to investigate the small noise.

Eventually they came to a wide junction, with numerous passages leading off in varying directions. Luke pulled her back into a small alcove.

“Ok,” he whispered. “This is the main passageway here. Take that hall, second from the left; go straight through two junctions, and then take a right at the third one. It’ll lead you straight to the hangar. We keep all the ships fueled and ready to go, in case we have to high tail it out of here. You won’t have an astromech, but you should be okay without one.”

Preitha glanced down the corridor, then back to her companion. “Luke, I… thank you.”

He pressed a small blaster into her palm, briefly tracing the curves of her fingers before pulling away. “Just in case.”

“Get your people out of here, Luke. Do it tomorrow.”

Luke nodded. “Take care of yourself, Preitha.” He turned and walked back in the direction from which they’d come, fading into the shadows. Then he was gone.

She had to move fast. She hadn’t kept strict track of the time, but she knew that her window of opportunity had to be closing. With a final glance in the direction Luke had gone, she turned and ran down the hallway as fast as she could. She kept the blaster drawn and held tight at her waist.

‘What the hell kind of operation is this with ‘no’ guards by the hangar?’ she wondered. ‘Unless it’s a trap…’

Could it be a trap? Preitha supposed it was possible. The rebel leaders could have orchestrated the ruse in order to follow her. If that was the case, though, they were going to be disappointed. She really ‘was’ going to Imperial Center; and she really ‘didn’t´ know anything. She’d take the risk.

The hangar spread out in front of her – rows of X and Y-Wings lined up neatly in parallel columns. She jogged down the first row and selected the ship closest to the open hangar bay doors. A ladder was already set into place near the craft, and a helmet and flight suit lay on the seat inside. She climbed in and straddled the cockpit of the X-Wing long enough to kick the ladder with one foot. The durasteel structure wobbled and clanged as it moved backward, but seemed to end up far enough away.

Preitha dropped into the cockpit and donned the helmet before settling in to orient herself with the control panel.

The controls of the X-Wing differed from those of a TIE, but everything Preitha needed to use seemed to be clearly marked, and relatively user-friendly. She didn’t plan on doing any crack flying or dog-fighting. All she needed was a hyperdrive and a working nav-computer.

She powered up the craft, belted herself into the seat, and performed a rudimentary (and inexperienced) check of her flight systems. Everything appeared to be in order. Preitha took a deep breath, eased the craft forward, then out of the hangar, before lifting up and into the humid air of the moon. When she was at a safe enough altitude she fueled her thrusters and increased her speed until she burst up out of the atmosphere, into open space.

She kept one eye on her proximity sensor, expecting a squadron of rebel crafts to appear behind her at any moment. They never came. Preitha circled the moon once to make sure she was comfortable with the controls before examining the nav-computer.

When the coordinates for the hyperspace route were locked in, the display panel chimed, indicating that calculations had been complete and it was safe to make the jump. Preitha took one final look at the receding glow of Yavin 4 before engaging the hyperdrive. Flecks of distant stars morphed into a blur of lined light.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She’d be in Core space within hours. It was finally over.

Preitha dozed fitfully until a shrill beep woke her, signaling that the craft was preparing to drop out of hyperspace. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed two fingers to each of her temples, hoping to massage away the headache that had arrived as she’d slept.

The ship dropped out of hyperspace directly into the Imperial blockade surrounding the Empire’s capital planet.

‘Shit’. She’d been so desperate to get away from Yavin 4 and get back to Core space that she’d ‘forgotten’ about the blockade. She set the transmission frequency of the X-Wing to one of the channels reserved for use by the Imperial Navy, and waited.

“Citizen, identify yourself,” a terse voice announced almost immediately.

“Lieutenant Preitha Motti, Galactic Imperial Navy, sir.”

Did the comm. officer actually laugh? “You are in a rebel spacecraft, citizen. Identify yourself.”

“I just did. Lieutenant Preitha Motti of the Imperial Navy,” she replied. “Identification Number Seven-Oh-Two-Bravo-Nine-Four-Four-Eight-Four. Last assigned location, Death Star Battlestation. Which, you may have heard, is now spacedust.”

There was a pause. “Stand by for verification. I hope for your sake you’re telling the truth.”

Preitha had the urge to respond nastily, but bit her tongue. Truth was, the comm officer was right. She was lucky they hadn’t blasted her into oblivion as soon as she’d dropped out of hyperspace. She ‘was’ flying a rebel spacecraft, after all.

After several minutes of tense silence, the comm. officer's voice returned. “Stay where you are, Lieutenant, a squadron is coming to meet you; they will escort you to the surface. Do you copy?”

“I copy.”

The escort squadron arrived within moments and surrounded her craft in a tight formation. She glanced over at the pilot to her left, who gestured with two fingers, pointing first to the level of his eyes beneath his flight mask, and then to Preitha. His meaning was clear: I’ve got my eyes on you, and I don’t trust you.

The TIEs led her down through the restricted space of Imperial Center’s atmosphere, heading for the naval academy’s main station. As she eased the X-Wing down for landing, she saw a battalion of stormtroopers waiting for her, along with two Navy Commanders. They surrounded her ship as soon as she touched down, guns at the ready.

“Get out of the craft!” one of the officers shouted. Preitha recognized him as Commander Vashlin, one of her instructors at the Academy.

She did as she was instructed, making sure to keep her hands displayed. She wisely left Luke’s blaster inside the ship.

Vashlin stepped forward, watching her carefully as she disembarked. “It’s her,” he confirmed, nodding to his companion. He turned back to face Preitha. “Lieutenant, you’re to come with us.”

She nodded.

The other Commander did not introduce himself, simply turned and began to walk in the direction of the Academy’s main building. Vashlin followed. She fell into step behind the two men, all too aware of the ‘troopers bootsteps at her back.

When they entered the Academy, the ‘troopers disappeared, as did the unnamed Commander. Preitha stayed with her former instructor.

“Lieutenant, I’ve asked that a uniform in your size be brought in. I suggest you change and prepare yourself immediately,” Vashlin stated.

Vashlin grabbed his commlink, speaking into it rapidly as they walked, “Have a uniform in Lieutenant Motti’s size be brought to my office immediately. Size is…” he looked to her expectantly. She gave him her size, and he repeated it into the comm. before replacing it on his belt.

“For what, sir?” All she wanted at the moment was a bath, a nap, and some normal food.

“The Emperor has been informed of your arrival. He wishes to meet with you.”

“Me?” she gulped.

“You are the only known survivor from the Death Star,” Vashlin explained. “Thus far, we have little knowledge of what happened above Yavin 4.”

Only known survivor? Her heart sank. Did that mean that Vader…? Not necessarily, she told herself firmly. It had taken her some time to get back to the Core. He could still be out there.

“Do I have time to – “

“Immediately, Lieutenant.”

The Emperor’s palace was a sprawling complex in the heart of Imperial Center’s political sector. The Emperor flaunted his massive material fortune with unabashed brazenness. The ruler of the galaxy had become increasingly reclusive in the time since the Empire was born, and so he used his wealth to mark his presence. Few citizens ever had the honor of meeting the Emperor.

Red guards flanked every door both inside and outside the building. A man who introduced himself as Palpatine’s personal assistant – one of many Preitha was sure – met her at the main entrance. She was led down a labyrinth of corridors to the throne room.

Palpatine was seated in a high, oval backed chair at the far end of the room. His face was swathed in shadows from both his robes, and the chair, making it impossible to make out his features. Preitha walked as close to him as she dared before dropped down into a kneeling stance. She had no idea what to say, or how to act, so she simply waited.

“Tell me, Lieutenant, how you managed to survive the destruction of the Death Star,” the Emperor rasped. His voice was caustic, almost painful to hear.

“I was in a TIE fighter when the station exploded, your Highness.”

“But you are not a pilot.”

“No, sire. I was… given orders to join the battle, and then given orders to retreat. Beyond that, I confess I was not in much of a position to know exactly what happened.” Her knees were beginning to throb painfully, but she didn’t dare move.

“Ordered by my apprentice, Lord Vader?”

“Yes, sire.”

“And what of Lord Vader?” the Emperor asked.

“I don’t know, your Highness,” Preitha answered, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor. “I saw his craft thrown clear of the fuel trench, but I don’t know if he survived.”

“Hm… that is interesting to know, Lieutenant, but that’s not what I was asking about.”

“Beg your pardon, I don’t follow.”

“I was referring to your feelings for him,” he stated flatly. “He took you, did he not?”

Oh. ‘Oh’. “Yes, Highness,” she mumbled, mortified. Another mind-reader, she should have know.

“Do you love him?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

“Interesting.”

There was a lull in the conversation, through which Preitha held her breath, silently wishing that he would dismiss her.

The Emperor waved his hand dismissively. “It’s of no consequence, Lieutenant. In fact, I admire your honesty. Keep your feelings, and set your mind at ease – Lord Vader is alive.”

She couldn’t prevent a sigh of relief.

“I have instructed Commander Vashlin to arrange an apartment for you here on Imperial Center while the matter of the Death Star is investigated, after which you will receive your new assignment. For the moment, however, I’d like you to tell me about these rebels you encountered.”

 Preitha spent the next several weeks in relative seclusion. She was brought to the Academy only once, the day after her arrival and audience with the Emperor, to relate her experience to a committee of Navy Generals in charge of analyzing the battle of Yavin 4. The Generals had seemed disappointed that Preitha had failed to glean more information from the rebels prior to her escape. They were uninterested in the facts that she ‘could’ offer them; the Navy did not care whom the rebels were, only where they were, and how best to permanently stop their operation.

The Emperor, on the other hand, had been very interested in the individuals she’d encountered. He’d demanded that she relate every detail of her experience. Had, in fact, questioned her relentlessly. She did not tell him of her suspicions that Luke was the pilot who destroyed the Death Star – conjecture without proof was a waste of time. She did relate her conversations with General Dodonna, word for word, including the man’s commentary on treason, eliciting a sharp hiss of anger from the Emperor.

At first she was grateful for the isolation, but before long she came to realize that the solitary confinement of her private apartment was more punishment than reward. She had been given orders not to speak about the battle, or about the Death Star, to anyone - for any reason. She was to deny all knowledge if asked a direct question.

“You serve me well, Lieutenant,” he’d said, never leaving the shadowy confines of his chair. “Better than your father served me, in fact. I will remember it.”

The Emperor had given her a promotion on the spot, making her a Lieutenant Commander, citing her dedication to the Glory of the Empire as just cause for the reward.

Preitha was provided with a rather lavish, top-level apartment in the political sector of the city. In one direction, she could look out the window and see Vader’s fortress, looming ominously like a permanent, black shadow in the distance. In the other, the crumbling ziggurat of the old Jedi Temple held prominence. She was not allowed to leave her suite without prior clearance and, after having her first two requests denied, she’d stopped asking.

She was given access to the Holonet, but was told that all communications she may try to send would be monitored. On her second day of confinement, Preitha watched the Holonews broadcast in which the Empire officially confirmed the rumored destruction of Alderaan. He attributed the explosion to the planet itself, claiming that the Alderaanians had been experimenting with volatile weaponry with which to aid the Rebel Alliance. Even more curious, was the complete lack of any mention regarding the battle over Yavin 4.

During her second week there, rumors of Lord Vader’s presence on Imperial Center began to circulate the Holonet. There were no formal announcements made, or interviews given, simply rumors. It was enough, however, to give her hope.

Preitha was standing by the window watching the never-ending flow of Couroscanti traffic when he entered her apartment. She was wearing civilian clothing, with her hair loose around her shoulders. Dark circles under her eyes indicated that she had not been sleeping well. She was beginning to lose weight from her lack of appetite.

She looked up and froze. Vader’s broad, imposing form filled the doorway. Preitha shook her head and blinked, not believing that he was actually there. She’d dreamt of him every night since her return, had sometimes tricked herself into thinking that he was real, only to wake in the morning and find herself alone.

“My Lord?” she asked softly.

He stepped further into the apartment and waited for the door to close behind him before opening his arms to her. Preitha launched herself at him and he caught her effortlessly, folding his cloak around her tiny frame.

“Miss me, Lieutenant?” he asked, amused.

She nodded and pressed her face against the hard leather that covered his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. One gloved hand stroked her hair absently and, for a time, he simply held her.

Eventually though, he loosened his embrace and stepped back to examine her.

“You’ve lost weight,” he commented. “And you haven’t been sleeping.”

“No,” she conceded.

“Why not?”

“I didn’t know if you’d survived. He said you had, but I-“

“Who said?”

“The Emperor.”

Vader tensed, and his grip on her shoulders tightened. “You’ve spoken with my Master?”

She nodded, avoiding his shielded gaze.

“When?” he asked. His voice was sharper than he’d intended.

“The day I returned. Two weeks ago. He summoned me.”

“What did he want from you?” He released her and strode to the window, barely glancing at the view before turning to regard her; his arms crossed angrily over his chest..

“He asked me about the battle. He wanted to know about the rebels. I told him everything I remembered,” she hesitated.

“And?”

“And he asked about… about my feelings. For you,” she finished awkwardly. Still avoiding eye contact, she studied everything – anything – in the room she could find.

“And?” he prompted again.

“He said I was to be promoted, to Lieutenant Commander. Then I was dismissed.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“He asked you questions and you answered. Nothing more?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Thank the Force,” he muttered, letting out an audible sigh that temporarily overrode his regulated breathing. His stance relaxed somewhat, and hooked his thumbs into his belt, turning to look out the window again at the bustle of urbanity.

As Emperor, it was Palpatine’s right to take any woman that he wished as a lover, regardless of her marital status or societal standing. Oftentimes he would choose the wives of men who opposed him, out of nothing more than spite. If he’d chosen Preitha for that role, she would have become his property, and no one – including Vader – would be allowed to touch her. It would have been fitting punishment for Vader’s failure.

“They’ve kept me locked in this apartment for two weeks,” Preitha said, interrupting his musing. “I’m not sure what I did wrong.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Preitha. But you have very powerful knowledge.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Yes, you do. You know that the Empire had a secret weapon - that the rebels destroyed. You also know that there was a battle in the Yavin system, and that the Empire lost,” Vader explained.

“They’re keeping the battle a secret?”

“The Empire is impenetrable and undefeatable. Or so the galaxy must be made to think.”

“So the Emperor was commending me for my loyalty, but doesn’t trust that I ‘am’ loyal,” she mused aloud.

“The Emperor expects everyone to betray him if given the opportunity. It’s what he would do,” he revealed cryptically. “I imagine that’s why he’s lived this long.”

“Are they going to keep me hidden away forever, then?”

“No. I’m taking you with me to my castle. You are to be placed in my care.”

“In your…” she trailed off.

“Care,” he finished.

“I see.”

“Does this not please you?” Vader asked, turning to regard her.

“No, it does,” she answered truthfully.

“I thought so.”

Vader’s fortress was even more imposing up close than it had been from the window of Preitha’s apartment. The entire structure was crafted from black obsidian. From the wide base, two towers rose to a dizzying height. The foot of the fortress itself was a daunting twenty-three stories high.

Everything inside was black. Preitha saw no trace of color anywhere within the fortress. The walls were obsidian; the floor black marble. The chairs and couches were covered in black cloth, and the minimal decorations to be found were all the same dark, morose hue. Lights were set inside black sconces, creating a radiance so dim that it offered almost no help at all, giving the impression of endless vastness, endless shadow. It was almost suffocating.

“You’ll have your own suite of rooms to use as you please, and a protocol droid to assist you,” Vader told her, leading her down a corridor. “If you have a specific request for something, you may tell your droid, and it will be taken care of.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

Eventually they entered what appeared to be a banquet hall of sorts. Vader sat her down at one end of the long dining table, in front of a daunting array of dishes from every planet. The variety was astounding; there were dishes Preitha ‘could’ identify, but a larger number of ones that she could not. There were also half a dozen large carafes filed with wines of various origins.

“Eat,” he commanded.

“All of it?” she asked meekly, eyes widening at the sheer magnitude.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” he confessed, sounding almost sheepish. “So I had my staff prepare everything I could think of.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

He gestured to his mask and armor. “I’d have a hell of a time trying.”

She giggled at the absurd image of the Sith Lord attempting to shove food through the breathing grill of his mask. “I’m sorry, my Lord,” she gasped between chuckles. “I think I may have gone a bit insane in that apartment by myself. I’ve lost all sense of discretion.”

He smiled. “I like your honesty, Lieutenant Commander. I’ve told you before how rare the trait is.”

Preitha surveyed the selection of food before her and selected small portions of several dishes she didn’t recognize. She’d resolved to sample as many foods as she could, not wishing to offend her host.

Vader remained standing behind her chair, and watched over her as she ate. Occasionally he identified a steak or a vegetable for her, but for the most part remained silent until she started asking him questions.

“My Lord?” she ventured between bites of some sort of shellfish from an aquatic planet whose name she’d already forgotten.

“Hmm?”

“Where did you go? After the battle, I mean.”

“Vaal,” he replied.

“That’s a small world, isn’t it? Filled with savage beasts or some such.”

“The only savages I encountered,” he stated smoothly, “were the Empires own officers, and they have been dealt with. I found the wildlife, on the other hand, to be quite loyal creatures.”

When she was so full she could no longer breathe properly, she pushed the plate away and glanced up at him.

“I’ll explode if I eat anymore,” she said.

He chuckled. “Very well, then. Now you’re to have a decent night’s rest.”

She felt a bit like a coddled child, but wasn’t about to protest. Preitha rose and took his proffered arm, linking her hand through it.

“Was the meal acceptable?” he asked as they walked back to her room.

“It was wonderful,” she said. “Quite possibly the best I’ve ever eaten; certainly better than that crap the rebels fed me.”

“I never have visitors here. My staff was in a panic after I told them to prepare a meal.”

“How many cooks do you have?”

“None,” he confessed. “I’m not sure what they did, I simply told them I wanted it taken care of.”

She hid a smile. “Suitable motivation for anyone, I’d imagine.”

They arrived at her door and she paused. “Would you like to come in, my Lord?”

He didn’t reply, but when she stepped into the room, he followed, waving the door closed behind him with the Force.

“Where did you dine with rebels?” he asked, her comment about the rebels finally registering. He’d been so anxious before that he’d missed her reference to it when they’d spoken about the Emperor.

“On Yavin 4.”

“You landed on Yavin 4?”

“Well, crashed is more like,” she said, moving to sit down on the couch. Vader followed and sat beside her, resting his hands on his knees. “I ran into an X-Wing just above orbit – literally. His laser cannons weren’t charged and my port steering rocket was misfiring, so he tried to take me out by running into me.”

‘Clever’, Vader thought. “How did that work out?”

“We both crashed. I had my blaster, so I tried to kill him before he could report back to the rebel base.” She didn’t want to relay this portion of events; it was embarrassing.

“And?” he prompted.

“And he kicked my ass,” she admitted with a sigh.

“So the rebels captured you.”

“Yes. Then he helped me escape.”

“Who did?”

“The same rebel that I fought. I think… well, I think he was the one that destroyed the Death Star, but I’m not certain.”

“What was his name?” Vader’s fist clenched reflexively. If he could take this information to the Emperor, perhaps his punishment would not be so severe.

“Luke,” Preitha said, trying to remember the rest of it. He’d given her his full name when he’d first introduced himself, but what had it been? “Luke… something. Stargazer? No, umm… Skywalker, I think.”

“What did you say?” Vader went rigid. If Preitha could have seen behind his mask, she would have found his mouth agape, eyes wide with disbelief.

“I’m almost positive that was it. Skywalker, Luke Skywalker, from Tatooine, where the Princess sent her droids.”

“That’s not possible!” he barked.

“My Lord?” she questioned, startled by his reaction.

He grabbed her by the shoulders suddenly, reaching out through the Force to sift through her conscience. Preitha was no Force-sensitive, but she could still feel him there, inside her mind, searching. He shuffled her memories ruthlessly, carelessly, and she couldn’t prevent a low moan at the mental assault.

“It isn’t possible,” he repeated when he found what he was looking for, playing through the scene again, and then again once more. ‘I’m Luke, by the way. Luke Skywalker’ and later, ‘…I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle on Tatooine.’

Eventually he released her, stood, and began pacing the room with swift, lengthy strides. He reminded her of the caged animals she’d seen on the Holofeeds about Onderon’s beast riders. She unconsciously shrank back against the arm of the couch, away from him.

“How old was this… Skywalker?” he asked finally.

“Younger than me. Eighteen, perhaps nineteen.”

“And what else did you learn about him?” Vader pressed, not slowing his circuitous path around the room.

“Not much. He grew up on Tatooine… his parents died when he was little,” she offered. “Someone else raised him, an aunt and uncle. And he mentioned the man you killed, Kenobi.”

“Kenobi was on Tatooine?”

Preitha nodded. “The Death Star plans, they were meant to reach him.”

At this Vader let out an enraged howl and reached for the closest object – an oblong, black vase, that stood on a nearby pedestal – and hurled it across the room. The pedestal itself followed shortly thereafter, flung into the wall with a burst of rage-driven Force energy.

Preitha sucked in her breath sharply, watching the display. ‘Now,’ she thought, ‘I ‘am’ afraid of him’.

Vader turned to look at her. He closed the distance between them with blinding speed and bent down to grab her chin in his hand, causing her to wince.

“What else do you know?” he demanded.

“Nothing, my Lord,” she whispered, fighting tears.

“‘Nothing’?” he mocked.

“No!”

“Did you fuck him?” he growled, squeezing her chin tighter for emphasis.

“No!” she exclaimed, shock and hurt showing in her expression.

“Did you want to?”

“No!” she sobbed.

“I have been betrayed, again,” he hissed, releasing her.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Preitha said, gingerly touching her jaw, where dark, red bruises were already beginning to form.

“No,” he agreed, “you don’t.” Then he sighed and reached out to stroke her curls with one hand. “You did well to tell me this, little one. Now you need to rest. And I have much to think about.”

Preitha neither saw, nor heard, from Vader for the next three days. Each morning and evening she was escorted to the dining hall by her protocol droid and provided with lavish meals; smaller, but no less elaborate than her first supper at the fortress. After her second dinner she’d requested to meet the cook and a tiny, wire-framed man had appeared nervously at her side. He’d been downright shocked when she had complimented him on the food and thanked him for his effort.

In addition to the droid, Preitha had frequent company in Yana, the young girl that cleaned her suite. Yana had been quiet and shy at first, but had quickly warmed up to Preitha, and before long was more than willing to talk her ear off at any opportunity.

To Preitha’s surprise, the staff of Vader’s fortress was treated quite well by his Lordship. None within his employ were slaves. Though the majority of his staff consisted of droids, the few human employees were compensated generously for their time. They lived within the fortress, but were given access to the holonet, and were permitted weekly trips into the city, in the company of members of Vader’s personal guard, the 501st.

Yana was born into the Dark Lord’s service, her parents having been members of his staff at the time of her birth. Vader had gotten her a tutor when she was 5, and had demanded that she be taught everything a typical Couroscanti girl would learn. She’d been given the option to leave when she turned 14, but had chosen to stay. She said that Vader was fair and generous, and had never been unkind to her, though she’d heard rumors of his temper and his ruthlessness.

Preitha was allowed access to anywhere within the fortress that she wished except for Vader’s private rooms, which were, Yana informed her, strictly off limits to everyone save Vader’s exclusive medical staff.

On the bottom floor of one tower there was a massive training room, along with an armory and a warehouse, which held a seemingly endless supply of combat droids. According to Yana, Vader used these machines to practice his lightsaber skills, and it was not uncommon for him to destroy a dozen of them in a single session.

Preitha knew from Yana that Vader was still on Imperial Center and, for the most part, within the fortress’ walls, but she didn’t dare ask for him, lest she invoke his temper a second time.

When Vader did visit her again, it was to question her incessantly about Luke. He wanted to know what the boy looked like, how he acted, how he fought, what he’d eaten… She voluntarily allowed Vader to again probe her mind with the Force, re-experiencing all of her memories of Yavin 4, but he also wanted to hear her tell the stories - in her own words was how he’d put it.

She couldn’t understand why he was so fascinated with Luke. What did it matter what type of food the boy enjoyed? Vader stopped by several times a day to ask more questions. Then he’d leave as abruptly as he’d appeared. Once, he’d woken her in the middle of the night to ask about his hair color. Was it truly blond? Or was it more brownish? Or was it a brownish-blond? How would ‘she’ describe it?

It was downright odd.

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to answer the questions. When she’d conceded that Luke was handsome, he had reacted with anger and jealousy. But the next day, when he’d asked her if she’d desired Luke and she’d said no, he’d seemed almost offended.

After several days of these sporadic interrogations, Preitha got up the nerve to ask for something that she’d wanted. She told Yana that she needed to speak with the Sith Lord directly, when and if he had a moment. This was not a request she could pose to her protocol droid.

Preitha’s suite of rooms was large and very comfortable. She had a small reference library, a sitting room, a bedroom, a cozy breakfast area that was never used, and a generously sized refresher. Everything was, of course, black. To her delight, the library was filled with resource information about her homeplanet, Chandrila. She poured over the data endlessly, memorizing the planet’s history, geography, and political structure.

She hadn’t forgotten the Death Star, or her father. She mourned him, and at times she would cry softly, let her guilt wash over her. For the most part, though, she tried to bury her grief, pushing it deep beneath the surface. She lost herself in the wealth of information about Chandrila, embracing the distraction, not even noticing the curious absence of any mention of the Motti family.

There was nothing, really, that she needed or wanted, except…

“You have a request for me?” Vader asked, entering the room less than an hour later.

“Well, yes, my Lord, it’s about my suite,” she admitted sheepishly.

“This is your home for the time being, Lieutenant Commander, I already told you that you could have whatever you wanted.”

“Yes, sire, I remember. I just wasn’t sure if you’d allow this.”

“Cost doesn’t concern me.”

“It’s just that I…” she trailed off.

“You what?” Vader prompted.

“I’d like some color.”

“Color?” he seemed puzzled.

“Yes. On the walls, or the fabric, or even, I guess, in my clothes.” She held her palms up in supplication, gesturing to the room. “Everything is just so… black.”

“So, you seek to be a feminine presence in the shadowed realm of my domain,” he intoned solemnly. “You think to add light to my darkness?” He leaned against the dresser with one elbow, his right foot crossed casually in front of the left.

“No, my Lord, I just-” Preitha sputtered.

“A Chandrilan flower in my wasteland,” he continued.

“No, I…” she trailed off and paused before cocking her head and setting her hands on her hips. “You’re teasing me,” she concluded.

“A bit,” he confessed.

“It isn’t funny,” she protested, but the corners of her mouth were curling traitorously into a smile even as she spoke.

At this Vader began to laugh outright, and Preitha herself dissolved into a fit of helpless giggles.

“You may have your color, little one,” he said finally, once their mirth had subsided. “But I have a request for you in return.”

Uh oh. Not more Luke questions. She didn’t think she could take it; she’d told him ‘everything’ already. “Okay,” she raised one eyebrow nonchalantly.

“Dine with me tonight,” he said. “In my private rooms.”

The invitation caught her off guard. “I’d be honored, my Lord,” she replied with a smile.

Yana was more nervous about the dinner than Preitha. She bounced around the room picking out dresses and laying them on the bed. Preitha wished she had a tenth of the girl’s energy. She allowed herself to be waited on and babied because she was too nervous to do it properly herself. She had no idea what to wear, or how to fix her hair. It wasn’t a problem though, Yana was more than happy to help.

“Just think!” she gushed, pushing Preitha into the ‘fresher and running water for the bath. “Dinner with his Lordship in his private rooms! Oh, my Lady, this is wonderful!”

“Is it?” Preitha asked distractedly, stepping into the steaming basin.

“Yes!” Yana poured a vial of oil into the water and the sweet scent of flowers wafted up to embrace them. “There’s never been a lady guest in the fortress before. He’s fond of you.”

“I don’t think so,” Preitha laughed, lowering herself until she was submerged up to her neck.

“Don’t be foolish,” the young girl told her. “The last time there was a guest here was years ago – some military commander – and his Lordship ignored the man entirely. He certainly didn’t have a grand feast prepared for him.”

Preitha considered this, chewing on her lower lip as she soaked. She allowed Yana to wash her hair with a mild, floral shampoo, still lost in thought. Despite her military upbringing, she was a young woman of twenty-two, and it was in her nature to daydream. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall of the tub, letting her arms float upwards on the buoyancy of the water. There was something almost romantic about the Sith Lord. He was mysterious, powerful, strong… not to mention an expert lover.

She smiled at the memory of their lovemaking. Vader seemed to be ruled by extremes. He was kind one moment, cruel the next. Understanding and accepting, and then jealous and irrational. It was impossible to figure him out; but Preitha was coming to accept that he was not ‘meant’ to be understood.

“Out with you, then,” Yana said, releasing the tub’s drain. “We have to get you dressed yet.”

Preitha stood and wrapped herself in an oversized towel, nuzzling the fabric against her chin.

She stepped out of the ‘fresher and found that her request for color had been honored already. Her bedroom was filled with flowers – the same Chandrilan blossoms that Vader had brought her on the Death Star.

“Where did these come from?” she asked incredulously, tracing one velveteen petal.

“TY-23 must have brought them in while you were in the bath,” Yana said, beaming. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

Preitha blushed. “They are. They’re perfect.”

“Let’s get you dressed. Then I’ll do your hair and make-up.”

Her hair? Preitha reached up and tugged at her curls in a self-conscious gesture. She never spent any time on her hair, wearing it either in a tight bun against the nape of her neck, or loose and untamed. And make-up? Forget about it. “I’ve never worn make-up before,” she confessed.

“Well, now is a perfect time to start.” Yana chose one of the dresses she’d placed on the bed – a simple black gown made of silk. It was sleeveless with an empire waist, and a flared, pleated skirt. The back of the garment dipped low – almost to her waist, leaving her back bare. “I think this one is best, don’t you?”

“Where’s the jacket?”

Yana giggled. “No jacket, milady. We could get you a cloak though, if you’re cold.”

Preitha sighed and reached for the dress. “Alright.”

Once she was dressed, Yana sat her down at the dressing table next to the bed and began to brush her hair vigorously. An obscene amount of pins and clips were then applied in order to pull Preitha’s thick curls away from her face into a sweeping up-do.

Next came a light application of make-up. Pale pink blush over the apples of her cheeks, shimmery green shade for her eyelids, and a maroon gloss on her lips. Lastly, Yana lined her eyes with a smoky grey kohl. She stepped back and admired her handiwork with pride.

“You look stunning, milady.”

Preitha hardly recognized herself. The make-up was subtle, but effective, accentuating the green sparkle of her eyes, and the curve of her lips. Soft tendrils of hair were left loose to frame her face.

“One last touch,” Yana said, handing her a small box. Inside was a single strand of pearls. “Lord Vader sent them for you.”

Preitha blushed and donned the necklace, pausing for one last glimpse in the mirror. She was ready.

“Lieutenant Commander, I will escort you to his Lordship,” TY-23 announced. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “Thank you, Yana,” she said, giving the girl a quick hug before following the droid out into the hall.

Vader’s private rooms were located in the left tower of the fortress, taking up the top three levels of the massive structure. The turbolift that led to the rooms required a special scanning chip, which TY-23 produced from within his index finger. The lift seemed to take hours to rise to its’ destination.

“This way, Madam,” the droid intoned, gliding down the corridor.

Preitha followed behind the droid until they came to a set of doors, filling the wall in front of them. TY-23 used the same scanning chip on a plate set into the door, and the panels swung open to reveal another hallway.

Vader was waiting for her, standing in the center of the corridor with hands clasped behind his back under his cape. “My Lady,” he acknowledged with a nod.

“My Lord,” she responded, stepping through the doorway. Her heart quickened at the sight of him, and she felt her cheeks burn as she regarded him with open admiration.

He extended a hand to her and Preitha accepted it, allowed him to lead her down the corridor to the second door on the right. It opened to reveal a modest study. Vader deposited Preitha onto the sofa, and moved to a side hutch, where he poured her a glass of wine before sitting in a chair opposite her.

“The dress suits you,” he said.

“Thank you,” she blushed. “And thank you for the necklace, it’s beautiful.”

“They are pearls harvested from the Silver Sea.”

“That’s on Chandrila,” she identified, reaching up to finger the smooth, round jewels.

“You’ve been reading the data I provided for you.”

“Yes, I have. Thank you for that, as well.”

He watched her sip her wine in silence until he sensed that she had relaxed somewhat, and had become comfortable with her surroundings.

“I was seriously injured at the end of the Clone Wars,” he told her matter-of-factly.

She nodded. She’d heard the rumors.

“This armor,” he gestured to his suit, “is to sustain my life, and also to hide my appearance.”

Another nod. She sensed where the conversation was leading, and decided to help. “You can remove it here?”

“I can. But I am… a monster now.”

“No, you aren’t. Not to me.”

“I’d like to show you.”

Preitha nodded a third time, giving her consent. Vader reached for a small control pad sitting on the table between them and entered a lengthy code.

There was a slow, steady hiss as the room pressurized and filled with hyper-rich oxygen. Preitha felt a bit lightheaded, and had to adjust her breathing in order to accommodate the heavy air. She watched, fascinated, as Vader stood and began to remove the hard outer shell of his armor.

A protocol droid appeared at his side and accepted each item as it was removed, occasionally disappearing to deposit the items elsewhere. Beneath the armor, Vader was wearing a black bodysuit. Through the fine fabric, she could see that his body was firm and muscular.

His feet were made of metal. They were expertly crafted to resemble bones, muscles, and tendons though, delicate wirings fused with durasteel. The legs of his pants obscured her view, and Preitha couldn’t see where metal ended and flesh began. His gloves were removed to reveal hands that were artificial as well.

He paused and looked at her from under his lowered lashes, as if to gauge her reaction. Her expression was one of interest, but there was no fear or disgust in it.

Vader reached up and grasped the smooth dome of his helmet. There was a hiss and the click of breaking seals as he lifted it away, handing it to the waiting droid.

His skin was pale, almost translucent in the dim light. A fine layer of fuzz covered his otherwise bald head, and Preitha saw a wide, raised scar running across his scalp. Next, he pulled away the upper and lower halves of his mask. The soothing rhythm of synthesized breathing ceased, and the room fell eerily silent.

There was a pause.

Preitha leaned forward, curiosity overwhelming her as she looked at Lord Vader for the first time. He was a good deal older than her. His face was heavily scarred, but nevertheless handsome, with a firm, chiseled jaw and sharp, defined cheekbones.

His eyes were the most striking shade of blue she’d ever seen.

“And now you know,” he said calmly. His unaltered voice was slightly higher than the one she was used to, but it had the same melodic, lilting quality.

She stood and approached him gingerly. She reached up with one hand, paused, and drew back, waiting for permission. He nodded and she again moved her palm to his cheek, running her fingertips across his soft skin. Her green eyes locked onto his, holding his gaze as she explored his face with her hand. She traced every scar, each groove and ridge, growing bolder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, realizing the magnitude of what he’d shown her.

“Do you still admire me?” he asked quietly.

“More than ever.”

Preitha drew herself up on tip-toes and planted light, airy kisses across his face. She kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, and each of his scars, before pressing her lips against his.

Strong hands – hands hewn of metal – came up to caress the small of her back as Vader returned the kiss. It was gentle and unhurried, each of them savoring the new experience. The Sith Lord was tentative at first; it had been nearly twenty years since he’d kissed anyone, but Preitha responded to him with the same innocence and abandon as before, and he grew bolder, more confident. His tongue snaked out tracing the curve of her lips before slipping inside her mouth to twine with hers.

She continued to lightly stroke his face as they kissed, marveling in the feel of his silky skin. Vader trailed his fingers up her sides then circled around to her back once more, pulling her closer. She whimpered against his lips and hungrily sucked on his tongue, opening her mouth wider to receive more of the delicious sensation.

He groaned and slid his hands lower; grasping her ass to lift her into the air. Preitha instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, and her arms around his neck, not breaking contact for even a second. Vader continued to thrust his tongue into her mouth in a slow, intimate rhythm as he turned his body and maneuvered them back towards the chair, relying on the Force to keep from falling.

He eased himself down onto the cushion, with Preitha straddling his lap. She could feel the swell of his cock through their clothes and she moaned into his mouth, rotating her hips to press herself against his .

One slender hand slipped down to his chest and caressed the taut, toned flesh of his pecs. Then she moved lower still to trace the firm muscles of his stomach. He was every bit as strong and muscular as he appeared to be – every bit as powerful.

Vader lowered his head to lick at the soft hollow of her throat.

“My Lord,” she gasped, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck.

He passed a hand through her hair, tugging it free of the pins, which rained down on her shoulders and scattered across the floor. He pressed a kiss to her jaw, then traced a path along her neck to her ear. His tongue slithered inside momentarily before he caught her earlobe between his teeth.

“I think I’ll keep you,” he whispered.

“I did invite you here for supper, you know,” he murmured, gliding his tongue over her earlobe.

“I’m not hungry, my Lord,” Preitha answered, rolling her hips against him. The friction of the fabric against her sex was a delicious torment. She let out a soft sigh of anticipation. Vader leaned back in the chair to watch her. Her eyes were half-closed, lips parted, breath coming in short gasps as she rode him, it made his already erect cock swell until it was painfully hard.

“No?” he asked, kneading the soft flesh of her lower back. He enjoyed watching her writhing in his lap, pressing against him; the way she surrendered to her passions with such abandon was enough to drive a man insane.

Her hands found his nipples and she raked her fingernails across them, tweaking the tiny nubs through the cloth of his bodysuit. She applied only the lightest of pressure, that same, feathery, torturous touch that he’d used against her the first time they’d made love.

Vader grunted and slid one hand up to the nape of her neck, pulling her back in close to crush her lips against his. This time Preitha took control, thrusting her tongue into his mouth with uncommon aggressiveness. The Sith Lord responded in kind, warring with her for domination. Her hands continued their languorous exploration of his torso; even as her tongue assaulted his mouth, as she ground herself against him. He loved the intensity of it, the wealth of sensations she was creating. He let her control the kiss - let her control everything - knowing full well how fleeting control could be.

“Still not hungry?” he asked with a grin when she finally broke contact.

“Not for that,” she answered sexily, tongue snaking out to lick at her swollen lips. Her hands were tracing his sides now, then they ran along the collar of his bodysuit. He smiled as he realized she was searching for a way to remove the garment. After the third failed attempt she growled in frustration and looked up at him expectantly.

“Problem?” he inquired, blue eyes sparkling, one hairless eyebrow arched with casual innocence.  

“I want this off,” she stated matter-of-factly. Even distracted by the task of disrobing him, her hips had not stilled their gentle, insistent rocking.

“Ladies’ first.”

He set his hands on her thighs and slid them up to her waist, pushing the silken fabric northwards. Preitha immediately pulled the dress up over her head and let it drift to the floor. She leaned in for another kiss, but Vader stopped her, holding her at arms length to study her for the first time with an unaided gaze. His eyes swept over her petite figure hungrily, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the dark patch of curls nestled between her legs. Then he leaned forward and dipped his head, nipping and licking at the alabaster skin.

His mouth locked onto one nipple and he held the small bud in his teeth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Metal fingers closed over her other breast, pinching the swollen peak in time with his mouth’s movements. The contrasting sensations of cold metal and wet warmth were overwhelming and Preitha arched her back, holding onto his shoulders desperately.

Vader’s other hand slipped down her stomach and his thumb settled atop the bundle of nerves between her thighs, teasing the swollen bud with firm, circular strokes. She let out a sharp cry and tightened her grip on his shoulders, digging her nails into the thin fabric of his bodysuit.

“Please,” she begged. “Take it ‘off’!”

“Up with you, then,” he said, pulling away from her and patting her thigh. She sighed and slid off of his lap to stand on shaky legs in front of him. He took a moment to admire her before standing as well. “Actually,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the door, “I believe we would be more comfortable continuing this elsewhere.”

Across the hall from the study was a large bedroom. The bed occupied most of the space, and Vader gestured for her to get on it as he finally removed the bodysuit. Preitha climbed into the bed, rolling onto her back to watch him.

His torso was pale and well developed, each ridge of muscle clearly defined. In the center of his chest, fused into the flesh was a black box, dotted with switches and controls. His body, like his face, was covered in old scars, but they added to his beauty rather than detracted from it; a testament to battles won – and lost. His arms transitioned seamlessly from flesh into metal, and to Preitha it looked so natural that she could not imagine that he hadn’t been born that way. The same was true of his legs, one above and one below the knee. His cock curved upwards and away from his body, a long, thick pink shaft with a darker, flared head.

Preitha felt her cheeks flush with sudden embarassment. She sat up and reached for him, wanting to feel his weight on top of her, wanting him to fill her; wanting a distraction from the sight of his male beauty. Vader took her outstretched hand and allowed her to pull him onto the bed. He hid a smirk at the notion of her attempting to overpower him physically.

“No,” he said as she tried to pull his body over hers. “Not yet.” His voice had deepened slightly, thickening with lust. He knelt between her thighs and hooked her legs over his shoulders, turning his head to graze his teeth against the skin of her inner thighs.

She whimpered when his warm breath stirred the curls of her sex, felt her womb flutter in anticipation. He traced the outer lips with his tongue, sliding up one side, and then down the other. His hands held her waist firmly, keeping her still when she tried to press herself against him. He teased her, pushing gently into her slick heat before moving to her clit, already swollen and exposed.

Preitha felt one finger slide into her and begin to move in and out as Vader closed his mouth over the tiny bud of her clit; felt a second finger enter her when he began to suck while swirling his tongue in tiny circles.

“Vader… Vader…” she was moaning his name over and over, gripping the sheets in clenched fists.

*Come for me, Preitha,* he whispered in her mind. His fingers curled upward to stroke her g-spot while his tongue increased its’ pressure against her. He was rewarded with a rush of fluid as she climaxed. Her moans transitioned into wordless cries and she bucked her hips wildly.

He moved himself up her body, but didn’t remove his fingers from her creamy sex, didn’t allow her to come down from the plateau of her orgasm. She kissed him greedily, tasting herself on his tongue and, with a final gliding caress, he withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his cock. He was not gentle – in one swift, fluid motion he hilted and, allowing no time for either of them to catch their breath, he began to thrust into her. She immediately came again; her muscles milking his prick with enough force that he almost climaxed as well.

Vader held himself perfectly still, wrapping his arms around her back and crushing her against him. She mewled loudly and tried to move her hips, but he stopped her.

“Don’t. Move,” he ordered, his words an agonized whisper against her ear.

Preitha obediently froze. His breath was ragged, and he remained immobile for a second or two until he felt he’d regained some small measure of control. Gradually he began to move within her again, but slowly this time, gently. He wanted it to last.

She locked her ankles around the small of his back, rising up eagerly to meet each stroke. It was inevitable, though, that the pleasure would continue to build, and again they approached released; Vader’s rhythm became faster, rougher. He didn’t want to give in completely, didn’t want to hurt her if he lost all control.

“Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t hold back.”

He groaned and grabbed one of her legs, hooking it over the crook of his elbow. Preitha’s ass angled up off the bed as he slammed into her. The change in position was subtle, but effective; every thrust stroked her just right. She began to tremble uncontrollably, started to make the low, keening sounds that he now knew signaled her imminent release.

When he felt her muscles contract around him, his cock swelled with the approach of his own orgasm. Bending his head to her breast he took one tight nipple into his mouth and bit down – hard.

The scream ripped itself from her throat as her orgasm began, half-pleasure, half-pain; the conflicting sensations seemed to feed off one another until they became indivisible. She didn’t fight either of them, she simply… gave in.

Her surrender was the trigger for Vader’s own breaking point, and his release tore through him with unrelenting intensity. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against his chest, cradling her head to his shoulder.

When the waves of pleasure subsided he eased her back down to the bed and kissed her, stroking her hair, gentle once more. Preitha could taste her blood in his mouth, could feel a dull throb of pain in her breast where he’d bitten her. That was sure to leave a mark – which was, she realized, likely the point.

“How badly did I hurt you?” he asked, pulling away from her and rolling onto his back.

“You didn’t,” she lied, settling her head against his heartbeat.

“There’s no point in lying to someone who can read your thoughts, little one,” he admonished.

“Okay, it hurt,” she confessed, then added truthfully, “but I didn’t mind.”

Vader smiled and kissed her forehead. She was his now; she’d seen his true face and, rather than shun him as he’d expected, she’d embraced him. Yes, he would definitely keep her.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, but there was no anger or malice in it.

“Yes,” she insisted, clinging to him. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you think he meant it?” Preitha asked some time later, still nestled comfortably in the circle of Vader’s arms. She was on her side, back pulled in against the Sith Lord’s chest, with her head resting on one muscular bicep, tucked snugly beneath his chin. Her fingers were laced through his, and his other arm was wrapped possessively around her slender waist, holding her close. She could feel the plasteel hardness of his chestbox pressing between her shoulder blades; she ignored it.

“Meant what?” Vader mumbled, half-asleep. He was completely relaxed, for the first time in years. He didn’t think Preitha realized the significance of him letting his guard down enough to doze off in her presence, vulnerable and exposed as he was.

“When he called me a whore. Do you think he meant it?”

Vader sighed and tightened his embrace. He’d known the questions would come eventually, but he’d hoped the time would be later, rather than sooner – certainly not at ‘this’ moment, after the mind-numbing fuck they’d just had. There were many things he didn’t want to think about right now.

“No. Of course not,” he said finally.

“But why did he say it?”

“Because he was a pathetic, weak man.” He couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice.

“I can’t let myself think that. He was my father.”

Vader squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “Preitha… there are things that he did that even I cannot approve of or justify. And I’ve done many evil things myself.”

“Like what? If you know, then tell me.” She twisted her body around and looked up at him, pleading. “Just tell me.”

Like denying a child her identity, her family, her real father. Like lying to her for no reason other than to control her. Just as Obi-Wan had done to Luke – to ‘Vader’s’ son.

Part of him wanted to lie to her. To protect her? Perhaps. To avoid an unpleasant discussion? Maybe. To avoid having to think of his own son, being raised by Owen Lars and being lied to for 19 years? Definitely.

But if Luke were to go searching for answers about his parents, Vader would hope he could find them. And it had been Preitha that had told Vader the truth about his son, albeit unknowingly. In a way… he owed her.

Another sigh as he made up his mind. “He was not your father.”

“Hmm?” Her response was casual and unexcited. She’d misheard him, he couldn’t possibly have just said…

“He was not your father.”

“What do you mean?” She smiled as she asked the question, thinking he was joking, or perhaps using more cryptic language about the Force that she didn’t comprehend.

“You were adopted.”

The smile disappeared.

“I don’t understand,” she said, still looking at him with wide eyes. Force, she was just a child – not much older than Luke – and she looked every bit the innocent now. Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to fuck her. But Vader already had enough regret to last a lifetime, there wasn’t room within him for more.

“Your real father was Antath Skarin, from Chandrila. He was killed when you were a child.”

“I don’t understand,” she repeated, disengaging herself from his embrace to sit up, as if the change in position would clarify things for her.

“Your father was killed. Admiral Motti took you from Chandrila, and raised you as his own daughter.” Vader was looking at her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. His words didn’t seem to be sinking in at all.

“Who killed him?” she asked, dazed. She wasn’t looking at him; she wasn’t looking at anything. She was just staring across the room blankly. He noticed the large bruise covering her breast, the wound crusted with blood, already a deep, purple shade, and felt a twinge of guilt.

“Admiral Motti.”

“Why?”

“He was accused of aiding the Rebellion.”

“Was he? Aiding them?” There was still no sign of understanding in her eyes. Vader wondered if she was in shock. To find out that her real father had been an anti-Imperialist, well… it was probably as disturbing as finding out that one’s son was a rebel.

“Yes.”

“But…” she looked at him finally, and her lashes were wet with tears that threatened to spill over. “I don’t understand,” she said again, still avoiding his eyes.

Her calm was unnerving. He wanted her to scream, to rage at him. That he could understand. That he could deal with. There was the barely-audible “whirr” and “click” of gears as Vader raised his hand and touched it to her cheek, turning her face to look at him. He tried to hold her gaze, but she still wasn’t - wouldn’t look at him. She was looking ‘through’ him.

“Preitha,” he said softly.

No reaction.

“ ‘Preitha’.”

“Huh?” There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a spark as her gaze focused on him for a brief moment before they glazed over again.

“Talk to me.” The words seemed strange to him. When had he ever wanted someone to ‘talk’ to him? They were lovers, but they weren’t friends. And he was Sith.

“Where are the records on the arrest? Or my birth registration?” Another spark, this time it looked almost like hope.

“There are none.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried to find them.” His hand glided through her hair in an awkward attempt at comfort.

“But… there has to be.”

“You need to rest,” he told her, pulling her gently back down onto the bed. She allowed him to wrap her in his arms, but made no move to settle in against him as she had done before.

“What does that make me?”

“What?”

“If my father was a traitor, what does that make me? If I hadn’t… would I have been a rebel too?”

“But you aren’t.”

Vader didn’t blame her for wondering, though he found it strange that she would be concerned about ‘that’ right now. After all, how many times had he asked himself how his own son had come to be the one responsible for destroying the Death Star?

“But shouldn’t I be?”

“Preitha, you need to rest ‘now’.” He reached out and touched her mind with the Force, easing her into sleep. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

Vader gave serious thought to altering Preitha’s memories. He could do it without my difficulty – make her forget the entire conversation. She was Force-blind, she’d never know he’d done it. But in the end, he couldn’t. She deserved the truth; she’d earned it.

When she awoke, still in Vader’s private apartments, she was alone. A pale lavender dress hung from the bedpost, another present from his Lordship, but the Sith himself was absent. She found the refresher through an open door off to the side of the bedroom, and bathed and dressed in painful solitude. When she emerged into the hallway, a protocol droid was waiting for her with a message from Vader – he’d been summoned to the Imperial Palace for an audience with the Emperor. She was free to wait for him here, or in her own rooms. He would see her as soon as he was able.

Breakfast was waiting in the study but Preitha had no appetite. The mere thought of food made her stomach churn. It seemed foolish to eat, or do anything “normal” when her world had just been shattered.

“I’m not hungry, thank you,” she told the droid.

“His Lordship said you’d say that, my Lady,” the droid responded. “He said you need to eat.”

“To be honest, I feel a little sick. I don’t think eating would be a good idea.”

“Shall I take you to medical, my Lady?”

“No, no… it’s not that kind of sick.”

The droid cocked his head to the side in an oddly human gesture. “I don’t understand, Madam.”

“Please just take me back to my rooms,” she sighed.

“Of course. Follow me.”

The lengthy trek back to her suite was made in relative silence, for which Preitha was grateful. She completely understood why Vader preferred the company of droids to humans – no unwanted questions, and they didn’t comprehend emotion. She dreaded seeing Yana. She knew the young girl would question her endlessly about the past twenty-four hours, and she didn’t much feel like talking.

Part of her still didn’t believe it. She kept searching through her memories for some indication that she’d known the truth, that maybe she’d always known, deep in her subconscious. If it ‘was’ true, why couldn’t she remember? How could she have forgotten something as important as that? How could she have betrayed herself that way?

Even though she knew it was irrational, her anger at the moment was directed at herself, not the Admiral. She ‘wanted’ to be angry with Motti. She wanted to hate him, but he was dead. Wasn’t that punishment enough for his sins? Besides, she’d gotten her revenge in an unknowing, unintentional way. She’d chosen his most hated enemy over him, and he had died before she’d been able to explain to him why.

The protocol droid left her at the entrance to her suite, and she was relieved to find that Yana was absent. Though the young servant girl spent the majority of her time with Preitha, she did have other duties within the Fortress, and also had school lessons several times a week.

Preitha went immediately into her private library and locked the door, pausing at the comm. console to hit the “mute” button. She wanted to be alone. If Vader needed to reach her, he’d know where she was.

The library was a small, windowless room, with a lone, rectangular durasteel table spanning its’ length, and several holoconsoles set into the table top.

She seated herself at the center console and called up a holonet connection. Birth and death records were technically public information, but to access the archives, one required a log-in and password, and those could only be obtained with pre-approved clearance. Authorization was difficult to obtain for an ordinary Imperial citizen, but for a Naval Intelligence officer, they were standard issue.

Preitha navigated her way to the Archive’s Main Page, and then to the birth records registry. She knew that all traffic within the archives was monitored, that her superiors would be notified of her perusal, but at this point, she didn’t care. They’d also see that she’d accessed the records from inside Vader’s private residence on Imperial Center, and that knowledge might be enough to encourage them to avoid asking questions.

The archive was a searchable database. She entered a query for “Motti, Preitha >> Birth Record”. The screen was blank for several moments as her request was processed, then in bold, black letters:

“NO RECORD MATCH FOUND.”

She tried again. “Motti, Preitha >> All Records”. The response was swifter this time.

“MILITARY SERVICE RECORDS FOUND FOR MOTTI, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER, PREITHA, IMPERIAL NAVY. NO BIRTH OR DEATH RECORD ON FILE.”

With shaking fingers, she entered the next query. “Skarin, Preitha >> All Records.”

“NO RECORD MATCH FOUND.”

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. She took another breath and tried another tactic. “Skarin, Antath >> All Records.”

“BIRTH, DEATH RECORDS FOUND FOR SKARIN, ANTATH. ACCESS RESTRICTED. QUERY DENIED.”

She frowned and entered: “Skarin, Antath >> All Records >> Restriction Override Requested.”

The faint hum from the console grated her nerves as she waited for a response, the seconds ticking by with maddening slowness.

“SKARIN, ANTATH. ACCESS RESTRICTED. OVERRIDE REQUEST DENIED.”

“’Why’?” she shouted at the console, pounding her fist against the table. Passing one hand over her eyes in an effort to prevent the tears that were threatening, she navigated her way to the archive maintenance screen. This she probably ‘would’ get reprimanded for, but she didn’t care.

“Search Access Restriction >> Records Access >> Skarin, Antath.”

“SKARIN, ANTATH. RECORDS RESTRICTED BY MOTTI, ADMIRAL, SKELLARD.”

To be continued...

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