Home Fiction Adult Fiction Art Mail List Staff Links

Title: Zero to 60/Far & Away
Author: Isis (msthoth@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17

Summary: Lord Vader gets a new concubine. And has an unexpected guest. Sequel to A Day in the Life of the Dark Lord

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns all the IP to all the work I create, using his characters. I receive no monetary renumeration whatsoever from any of it.

Warning: M/M

Dedication: To Schmootika. This one's for you, babe!

Prologue

Obi-Wan Kenobi, back on Tatooine, just finished getting his home back in order and making the obligatory checks on his property…and that of the home and family he was secretly protecting. After arriving on the planet from the Executor, Karesh left him off at Mos Eisely and then immediately departed for his homeworld. The Immortal didn't tell him exactly where it was, only that it was very far from this outpost of Empire, and that it would be extremely difficult to find for someone who didn't know what they were looking for.

Before he left, the being that was his double gave to him a small hand-held holographic projector. He told him that he should feel welcome to use it to call Karesh, if he needed help. The Jedi Master was both surprised and overwhelmed. This was an extremely generous gesture on the Immortal's part. Kenobi was, after all, a fugitive—an attainted traitor to the Empire, with a standing death warrant. Karesh read his feelings of gratitude, and smiled sardonically as he telepathed his reply, that his motivations were at least half selfish. But he didn't explain further than that. He'd merely opened the ramp that allowed Obi-Wan to exit the ship and silently winked his goodbye.

The last standard day had been very tiring. He hadn't slept at all. Deciding that he needed a bit of rest before proceeding on to his next task (he hadn't meditated at all, and there were those physical training exercises that he'd been neglecting as well), he decided to take a nap.

The bedroom was small, as all the rooms in the house were. Spare and a little bleak in its appointments. The bed was narrow, just large enough for him. But it was fairly soft, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

Obi-Wan slept, and dreamed deeply.

Aboard the Executor, inside his meditation sphere, Lord Darth Vader was fast asleep too. The nanotech healers were working steadily on repairing his injuries; the other medical devices that serviced the body of the Dark Lord were also engaged and functioning at their highest levels. There was a lot of damage, and it would take several hours to attend to it all. The autodoc was obliged to inject a muscle relaxer in order to be sure that the Sith didn't move from his position as he slept. He needed to be kept still for this level of deep wound repair.

Not all of injuries were physical. Vader's subconscious mind went to work on the ones that weren't.

The Sith dreamed. Quite intensely.

Mustafar. A small, hot planet, volcanic in nature, perhaps two hours from Corscant at standard light-speed. It was so geologically active that it was almost like the world was turning itself inside-out. Rare minerals and ore were mined there by the Republic (and by the Trade Federation, during the Clone wars) but all operations had been shut down something like eight years ago. One wouldn't suppose that a planet like this had any life on it, or at least none that was indigenous. But that supposition would be wrong.

The planet itself was alive. The lava flows captured the energy essence of events they witnessed, and created something like memories. As the lava hardened into rock, the rock became a kind of rudimentary consciousness record. The endless churning of the world's interior into more lava flows, occasionally covering rock that was already there, cycled the consciousness back into the center of Mustafar. The energies of memory collected and recycled, but this world was becoming aware of itself. As consciousness accumulated, it was becoming a living thing.

The landing platform that serviced the mining control center, abandoned so long ago, had collapsed, along with the entire building along side it. Nothing was being mined there now; not one being had visited Mustafar since that last day, eight years ago. Down the lava river from the destroyed complex, by a series of overhanging cliffs, one of the very large volcanoes had a huge eruption only yesterday. The cataclysmic explosion of molten rock and mineral completely covered the riverbank and the cliffs in the massive flood, melting them back into lava and carrying them back into the planet's core as they floated by.

Some debris was washed down also. A great deal of imbedded memory; much agony and terrible pain. Lightening scorched the dark skies of Mustafar in brilliant flashes, followed by the crash of thunder. An electrical storm was in full broil; the air of the planet smelled of ozone and iron. Not unlike the smell of human blood.

It was remembering. Its consciousness flared into a new level of being as it digested the extremity of the passion, imbedded in the newly molten rock, and it began to dream.

Obi-Wan awoke, or thought he did, and found himself standing atop the landing platform on Mustafar. He didn't know how he got there. He didn't know why he had returned to this terrible place. He didn't even know if any of this was real, or if this was some kind of strange hallucination.

The hardened durasteel beneath his feet felt real enough, though. As did the hot breath of the planet's wind fanning his face. Ashes and soot flew everywhere. The smell of molten ore and rare minerals at their melting point was pervasive and oppressive. If this was a dream, it was a realistic one.

Looking around, he noticed at once that Anakin was also there. Black Jedi garments beginning to char with the heat and the flying cinders. Golden brown curls blowing in the warm breeze. Uninjured. Staring at him. It looked like he was as surprised as Obi-Wan was, to find that himself on Mustafar again.

There weren't any ships- no fighters, no shuttles- in sight. How had they gotten there? It must be a dream. Mustn't it?

Kenobi waited for his former Padawan to speak to him. Anakin Skywalker didn't say a word. Instead, he strode into the control complex. After a few seconds, the Jedi Master followed him inside.

The doors closed after them.

Control panel lights blinked off and on, and electronic charts and graphs flashed readings and information. The hum of devices was the only sound in the room. It was much cooler inside the building. The air scrubbers and purifiers removed the scent of burning metal from the air, and all the particulate matter. Anakin waited for him, silently and sullenly, next to the entryway to the large conference room.

Obi-Wan half-expected to see bodies lying all over the floor as there had been before, but he didn't. He also wondered if Padme was present, but it appeared that she wasn't. It looked like it was just the two of them. He followed his friend, and together they entered the great chamber.

The Jedi spoke first. "Do you think this is a dream?"

"I don't know," replied Anakin. "I don't know what this is, or what kind of manifestation of the Force this might be. You're the Jedi Master; you should know. You tell me." That last sentence sounded a bit resentful.

Okay. Anakin was angry with him again. "I wish I knew," Obi-Wan mused, determined not to fight with his former apprentice. "Anakin, do you suppose that we can just talk? Maybe some aspect of the Force brought us here. Maybe there is something we are to do together, here in this place."

The Sith Apprentice scowled. "You'd think you'd have learned not to call me Anakin by this time," he remarked snappishly.

Kenobi sighed mentally. This was going to be difficult. "I'm sorry," he apologized, but he didn't know why. Anakin was his Padawan's name. Wasn't it? "Obviously you remember some things that I don't. I know I've been here before, with you. And I think that something very terrible occurred, but I don't know what. What do you recall?"

His former Master was being obtuse. How typical. "Quit playing this stupid game, Obi-Wan. You know who I am, and why I'm here."

The Jedi spread his hands. "No, I don't. If we're going to have an argument, as it appears that we are, I'd at least like to know what the issue is instead of having to guess."

The Sith started to pace around the room. "I am no longer Anakin Skywalker. I accepted Palpatine as my Master about six hours ago. The Chancellor is the hidden Sith Master you Jedi have been looking for. You know him as Darth Sidious. He is now the Emperor Palpatine. And I am Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith. I've come here to kill you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. As I will kill every last Jedi that still lives."

Obi-Wan turned pale with shock, his heart racing, then skipping beats within his chest as he heard the words that came from the man across the room from him. When he could speak, he could only say one word. "Why?" he gasped, aqua eyes wide and hands trembling.

Vader sneered. "What a stupid question, Kenobi. After the way the Jedi treated me? After the way they were willing to sacrifice me in order to carry out their treasonous plans? After the way they deceived and manipulated generations of innocent beings into joining their weak and deluded Order, and the way they betrayed the Republic, how can you ask me a question like `why'?

He paused for a moment, and looked at his old Master with contempt.

"You're just as brainwashed as I was, and as pathetic. That is why the Jedi must be wiped out completely. That is why I must destroy them."

The Sith was coming back around, approaching Obi-Wan. It looked like he was about to draw his weapon. Kenobi backed up, slowly, towards the door.

"No, please…listen to me. How can I explain to you, how can I prove to you that you've got it all wrong? Palpatine is the one that deceived you, the one that lied to you, not me. Not the Jedi."

Vader did draw his weapon at that point, let fall his cloak. The Jedi continued to back away, refusing to reach for his lightsaber. He couldn't remember any of what his Anakin was telling him, couldn't remember as truth anything he was saying about coming here to kill him and all the Jedi, but he did remember this much: Obi-Wan Kenobi was going to do something horrible to the man who had been Anakin Skywalker, and this was his chance to refrain from doing it.

No matter what happened, the Jedi must not draw his weapon. He just mustn't.

"Enough of this stupidity!" his old Padawan shouted. "I finally see everything as it is. Everything finally makes sense. You all deceived and betrayed me. It's as plain as Coruscant noon: the Jedi are frauds. And I don't want to hear any more talk from you."

Kenobi shed his cloak. Before he tripped over it. But did not reach for his saber.

"So are you going to run from me now, Jedi?" the Sith taunted, as his old Master continued to back away. "I never would have believed it of you. I never saw you run from a fight. You always talked too much, trying to save hard fighting, but you weren't a coward. Draw your saber, Kenobi. But know that whether you do or not, I have no problem killing a man who won't fight."

Lord Vader was almost upon him. The Jedi leaped away from him, across the huge conference table that dominated the room. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker just laughed at him. Derisively.

"I don't want to fight you," Obi-Wan told him, carefully keeping the length of the enormous table between them as they circled each other around it. Hunter and hunted. "I was the one that taught you how. I was the one that trained you in the arts of war and warfare. Everything I knew about weapons and tactics, I passed on to you. Why are you forcing me to use it all against you now?"

"Because of what you didn't teach me," Vader spat at him. "What you didn't show me. What you never gave me."

"For Force's sake, what? When did I ever deny you anything that it was in my power to give?"

The Sith ignited his saber, its cool blue energy adding a lurid glow to the room. It illuminated his face as well. It was so twisted with rage that Kenobi scarcely recognized it.

"All my life you tried to keep me under you. All my life you tore me down. You couldn't stand to let me surpass you. You couldn't bear it, that I was more powerful. Your teaching of me was one long humiliation, Kenobi. I never had a separate existence, apart from being your apprentice. I never had a chance for one. Without me propping you up, making you look like the perfect Jedi Master, the Council would have known in a minute what a fake you were. I was the real Master, the one that was worthy of the title. You know it."

Obi-Wan hadn't understood before how deeply it rankled Anakin, being denied the title of Master after being given a seat on the Jedi Council. And of course it was true; he knew how proud and arrogant his Padwan could be and didn't lose an opportunity, while training him, to keep his ego in check. Naturally Anakin had hated it at the time. But part of learning to be a Jedi was learning to release anger and resentment, and allow the light of the Force to cast out the dark emotions. The Order wasn't perfect. No being within it was either. Every member of the Jedi accepted that. Or eventually came to.

Kenobi figured Anakin would one day grow out of any residual discontent, realize that his Master had done the best he could. Apparently he was wrong.

"So you're going to destroy the Jedi, and kill me, because I wasn't the Master you wanted me to be," Obi-Wan replied, keeping his voice carefully even and neutral. "Because I either didn't or couldn't give you what you needed. Will you kill Palpatine too, when he fails to do the same?"

"Of course," responded the Sith Apprentice, with a sardonic smile. As if he could already see this eventuality coming clearly into view. "Among the Sith, it's expected. The Sith have no illusions about the exercise of power, or delusions about morality in the evolution of its Order. The strong prevail. The weak die. Once a tool is used up, it is cast aside. That is the natural order of things."

"And what makes you think that trading the Jedi Order for the Sith Order- and a Sith Master- is going to be a better deal? What can Palpatine give you that I could not?"

Lord Vader sighed. Kenobi talked far too much. He was getting on his nerves. "He's always given me the respect you denied me. He never talked down to me, publicly degraded me, failed to defend me, lost an opportunity to promote me. Shall I go on?"

"He wanted to lure you into his Order, Anakin. You don't think a Sith practices real trust, support and unity, if power is the only reality it acknowledges? Could you really be that blind?"

"Shut up, Jedi!" the Sith Apprentice retorted angrily, making a leaping lunge at Kenobi over the table. "I don't want to hear any more!"

Vader slashed at the Jedi with his saber. The Jedi ducked, backed away, refused to draw his weapon. His old Padawan lunged once more, in a twisting, aggressive motion, attempting to pin him to a wall. Kenobi ducked again, leapt out of reach.

"Why won't you fight?" the Dark Lord of the Sith shouted in frustration.

"Because if I do, something horrible will happen! I will hurt you, maybe kill you, and I don't want to!"

"Ha!" Lord Vader laughed mirthlessly, slashing at him again, aiming a kick at his midsection as he jumped away. "You don't want to hurt me? Worry about yourself, idiot. Let me worry about my own defense. Since when has a Jedi ever cared about the well-being of a Sith?"

"Since a Jedi became one, Anakin!"

"STOP CALLING ME ANAKIN!"

"That's who you are!" Obi-Wan shouted back, sidestepping the increasingly powerful blows and saber slashes that were coming from his old Padawan. He was feeling increasingly desperate. He must not draw his saber, he must not… "You can call yourself a Sith, say you're Lord Darth Vader, but that changes nothing. Sith or Jedi, you are still Anakin Skywalker."

"What gives you the right to tell me what to do or where to go, or who to be? How dare you deny me the right to live as I choose! I am not your apprentice anymore!"

The Sith lunged at him and then swung. Kenobi ducked, leapt onto the table top, and then back down to the other side of the great room. Still he would not reach for his weapon.

The Jedi danced prettily, Vader had to admit, even though it angered him. Kenobi could probably keep it up all night. The Dark Lord wasn't inclined to spend hours running after a man who wouldn't fight. There were easier ways to accomplish his goals. No one knew this particular Jedi better than he did. It was just a question of applying pressure to the right buttons.

Lord Vader turned off his lightsaber, put it back on his belt and held up both hands. "Alright, Obi-Wan," said he, "if you won't fight, then I won't press. But what do we do now? We're trapped on this planet. It's just you and me here. One Sith. One Jedi. On a volcanic planet in the middle of nowhere. Are we going to stay here, set up housekeeping and live happily ever after?"

Anakin would have his little joke. "I could call for a rescue ship," Kenobi suggested.

Vader crossed his arms over his chest. Kenobi didn't know why he hadn't noticed before, but both of his arms were his own- the highly-sophisticated prosthetic that Anakin received after the fight with Dooku on Geonosis didn't exist in this reality.

"Call who? The Jedi are outlaws now, Obi-Wan. They're not rescuing anybody. Calling for aid means is that I will have to call my Master," the Sith was saying. "He controls the government and the military now. If I do, he will send a ship and a few dozen troopers, and they will fight you. You will be defeated and killed. I may not fight against you, Kenobi, but I certainly won't fight for you. You have no chance at all. That doesn't seem like a good plan to me. Do you have another suggestion?"

"I'll take my chances against the troopers," Obi-Wan said, squaring his shoulders. Unfortunately, his old Apprentice did have a point, and the Jedi didn't have another idea.

"Alright then. Assuming that you are successful, and you are able to leave this place with your life, you have another problem. Where will you go? You're a fugitive, a traitor by Imperial decree. Do you think you can hide out somewhere, where no one will find you, for the rest of your life?"

Kenobi hadn't thought about this either, but one step at a time. "That won't be your problem," he replied.

Lord Vader sneered genteelly. He must have picked up that expression from Palpatine. "Perhaps not now, but eventually it will be. The Sith will not suffer the existence of any Jedi, Obi-Wan. It will be my job to hunt you down and kill you. If I don't do it today, it will just be some other day, on some other world. Why don't we just get this over with right now, and save us both a lot of time?"

"I have plenty of time, and no reason to save it. While we both live, there is hope." Anakin Skywalker's old Master, in spite of his brave words, was starting to feel very lost. Like the slide towards committing the horrifying act he was trying so hard to avoid was unstoppable. Kenobi wasn't sure he believed in destiny, but he did know this: this was his only chance to change the course of the future. As for hope, well, that axiom about life and hope was whistling in the dark right now.

"Hope," replied the Sith. "Hope for what? What is it that you're hoping for?"

"Hope that you will return to the Light. Hope that you will not go any further down the Dark path. Hope that I will not have to hurt you anymore. Hope that you can let go of your anger, and hope that you can remember that you are my brother. That I love you as one."

"Love? You love me? You're a Jedi. You know the Code. `There is no emotion, there is only-`"

Kenobi waved him silent. "Yes, yes, I know, I know."

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker smiled naughtily. "Love is a passion, or have you forgotten? Are you sure you're not a Sith?"

Obi-Wan just looked at him with a distasteful expression on his handsome face. That made Vader's smile even broader. "I'm not so sure you're not a Sith, under those cute Jedi robes, Kenobi. I have passions too. Just like you. I love. Just like you. Maybe that's why I'm here. Because I'm just like you. Maybe you can't fight me because, deep down, you know it."

Anakin had improved his techniques in negotiation. His old Padawan generally preferred a style that leaned heavily towards the use of lightsaber in his interpersonal communications. Kenobi had underestimated him. As had everyone.

"We are more alike that I care to admit, maybe more than I'm prepared to know," the Jedi replied. "But that doesn't change the fact that I refuse to fight you, and no matter what happens, I will always think of you as my brother."

"Kenobi, you're sounding more like a Sith every time you open your mouth. You won't release your passion. You won't embrace knowledge. You're won't accept death. You won't fight a Sith. Your Jedi Oath is crumbling into dust right here, on this world, right now.

"I think you're going to have to prove to me that you're a Jedi before I will consent to fight you," Lord Vader stated, looking his old Master right in the eye. "I can't see that there is an enemy before me. I see only a man who won't admit that he's foresworn himself. Who says he loves me, but I have yet to see any proof of that. I see a man who is not worthy of my sword."

"You've developed a nice line in insult and incitement, but it's not doing you any good," replied Jedi Master Kenobi. He always knew Anakin had a mean streak. "If I raised my saber to you, you'd fight."

"Try it," taunted the Dark Lord. "Prove it. Show me this love. Be a Jedi for me, one last time."

Kenobi wasn't called "The Negotiator" for nothing. He could argue and he knew how to plead. He also knew how to throw an opponent off balance and turn it to his advantage.

Slowly, very slowly, Obi-Wan walked towards the Sith Lord. Vader looked at him triumphantly, and Kenobi could tell that all his muscles were tensed to go for his lightsaber at the first sign that his old Master was arming himself. The closer he got to Lord Darth Vader, the slower he went. He walked right up to him, until they were almost toe-to-toe. Already the Jedi was sensing something like shock coming from the Dark Lord. This wasn't what he was expecting. Kenobi turned his face up towards his old Padawan's cheek and kissed him gently on it.

"Call your Master," Obi-Wan said softly, looking up into Anakin's eyes. "Bring your troops."

The Jedi was calling his bluff. And he had touched him. He kissed him. How dared he?

Without another word, the man who had been Anakin Skywalker strode to the com station and began to send a message to his Master. Then he realized that the filthy Jedi had out-maneuvered him. He couldn't call Palpatine. The first question he would ask is why did his new Apprentice need any help whatsoever to kill one traitorous Jedi? Angrily he snapped off the communications link and turned back towards his old Master. Who just stood there, smiling serenely.

"Am I worthy of your sword now?" Obi-Wan asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

Kenobi had never infuriated him more. Which was exactly his plan. The Jedi would get him to attack again, and he would continue to evade him, until they both got tired. And then, after a break, it would begin all over again. Kenobi's great strength had always been his endurance. This could go on for days. His old Master knew how to wear him down. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. On this planet, that was Lord Vader's idea of hell.

Maybe it was time to get personal in his attacks. Personal. Not insulting. Kenobi could not be goaded; he was too much the professional for that. But personal.

The Dark Lord's great strength was his physical ability, his Force potential, and his willingness to stop at nothing. Personal. A little brinksmanship, perhaps?

For a moment, the Sith just stood there and looked at Obi-Wan. Then Lord Vader started walking towards his old Master, keeping his face perfectly expressionless, his thoughts tightly shielded. When he was only inches away, he leaned down and kissed the Jedi's cheek, above the line of his beard.

Kenobi was just a little bit shocked.

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker put both his hands on his old Master's shoulders, and bent to kiss him again. He kissed his forehead. His nose. His other cheek. Kenobi stood rigidly. He couldn't believe his Apprentice would dare to touch him like this.

The Sith, who could easily read the Jedi's reaction from his body language, was delighted with it. Oh yes. Obi-Wan would reach for his saber any minute now. He might have this lukewarm brotherly love for his old Apprentice, but he didn't know anything about real passion. He'd rejected it all his life. Vader moved his hands from Kenobi's shoulders to either side of his jaw, held it tenderly between them.

Okay. Showtime, Jedi Master. The Dark Lord's full rosy lips came down again and kissed Obi-Wan's, in a long sensual kiss. Just for good measure, the Sith extended the tip of his tongue and licked Kenobi's lower lip before kissing him again.

Drawing away, he looked into Obi-Wan Kenobi's astonished eyes. Well pleased, Vader drew back. Ready to go to engarde position.

For several seconds, the Jedi couldn't move. He couldn't think. His old Padawan was trying to provoke him. But how far would he go?

Looking into Vader's blue-green eyes, he could see how far the Dark Lord would take it. Now it was Kenobi's turn to decide how far he was willing to go.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment. Then his hand reached for his lightsaber and ignited it.

The fight was on.

The Jedi was not a Sith, and he was going to prove it.

Obi-Wan woke up in his bed, abruptly, heart pounding. Sweat beading on his forehead. Oh gods, he groaned, to himself. Oh, gods. He'd done it again.

Not again.

Aboard the Executor, the Sith stirred but didn't wake. The drugs didn't permit it. The prosthetic limbs twitched slightly, though.

On the Immortal's homeworld, Karesh was finishing his meditation. One or two more sessions, and he might be able to make an impact, he thought. One or two more sessions, and the thing could be done. Just one or two more sessions.

The storm on Mustafar was over. The volcanos were a little quieter. Locked in its rudimentary consciousness, like a very deep dream, it slept. Until it was time to stir again.

Zero to 60/Far & Away

(Ten Hours Later)

Vader was slowly awakening, inside his meditation sphere. The lighting sensors noted that he was stirring. They began the function of very slowly bringing the illumination levels up inside the chamber. There was, in fact, an entire morning routine programmed into the machinery of the sphere, in the event that the Sith spend the night in there. It had a number of features.

A mist would begin to be discharged from inside, very light. The mist was warm, anti-bacterial and cleansing in nature. It deposited itself on Lord Vader's body. The air inside the sphere would then begin to move, fanning him like a gentle breeze. It was timed to be intermittent, so as not to call attention to itself. This evaporated the slight moisture that collected on Vader, created by the cleansing mist, and was the equivalent of a sponge bath. It wasn't a substitute for a visit to a real `fresher, but it would do in a pinch. The temperature inside the chamber would then begin to rise, slowly. This came from infa-red lamps, placed in strategic areas. The temperature would rise to about normal ship temperature, then drop off slightly. The machine that performed his dialysis support would then quickly analyze his blood and hyrdration levels, and do either additional cleansing or supply more fluids (or both), as needed. This morning he needed some fluids, so several cc's of sterile fluid were injected. A little humidity was added to the air inside the sphere as well, to moisten his tissues. The blood and fluid analysis results were fed into the computer system that ran the autochef. It determined what nutritional supplement to prepare, and was ready to produce it when called for.

The computer system in the Sith's meditation sphere was extremely sophisticated, and it did its job well, but it couldn't solve one problem that always resulted when Vader slept inside the chamber.

His neck always ached, from sleeping sitting up. It hurt him now. That was what woke him up.

The Dark Lord didn't sleep in his meditation sphere often. He usually had company in his bed, and the chamber wasn't built for two. If his neck hurt after a night in one, he had two choices of where to go for relief. One was his exercise room. The other was his harem. His Kelly had a wonderful technique with massage. She always had a cure for what ailed him. And even if she didn't quite do the job with his neck every time, she could put everything else in good order. He hardly noticed the neck after a session with his beautiful sexy masseuse.

This morning, however, he elected not to visit his harem. The reason why he decided not to, he entirely blocked from coming into his consciousness. He also didn't want to go to his exercise room either. So, he did something he hardly ever did. There was an impressive array of pharmacopeia inside his meditation sphere. Lord Vader had a young, healthy person's distaste for drugs. He didn't use them unless he felt he needed to.

After calling up a menu on his computer control system (and it took him a little while to find it, because he used it so seldom), he requested a painkiller. Combined with a tranquilizer. The drug was instantly injected into his IV line. The pain in his neck went away quickly.

Indeed, he was feeling no pain at all.

Putting on his lifesuit, helmet and breathmask, he left the meditation chamber and exited his quarters. His first meeting had been about two hours ago. Ozzel was trying to rope him in to another of his pet projects. This was not going to happen. His next meeting was in fifteen minutes. It was with the head of the Executor's weapons logistics, maintenance and control division heads. He would go to that meeting. Lord Vader had two more meetings scheduled for this day, and he would not be attending either one of those. He frankly didn't care to discuss the mysterious destruction of a brand new TIE fighter in the maintenance bay late last night. The Maintenance Chief was extremely upset about it, according to the meeting message, and he was escalating the issue up the chain of command. And he didn't care to meet with Troppert, who wanted to know everything possible about the Immortal, Karesh. Vader didn't want to think about Karesh anymore. Or the man he so resembled.

He just wanted to be left the hell alone today.

The unmanned drone, Imperial shuttle Tricasta, made its journey to Terra without incident. It landed in its designated spot, evading detection easily, and waited for its fair passenger.

Hollie was running a little bit late. She'd pretty much cornered the market on Jack Daniels within a scope of perhaps ten miles of her house, and the fifteen bags she packed were almost entirely full of it. God only knew if she could ever get any again. The suitcases that actually held her clothing and personal items were few, numbering only three. Twelve cases of booze, and three with everything she wanted to take with her to the Executor. That did seem a little…odd. Considering that the might well be leaving Earth for the rest of her life.

Hollie was going to be the consort of a Dark Lord of the Sith. Her heart beat fast with excitement, and trepidation. She was terrified, and eager, at the same time.

The shuttle's ramp was down, and two service robots came down to her back door. She'd left it open, so that she could hear the ship when it landed. They didn't speak, but they bowed to her when she appeared at the door. At once they began to immediately carry the heavy cases of liquor into the ship.

As Hollie rushed around, shutting windows and locking doors, turning off lights and other chores (although even she admitted, it was a little weird. She was never coming back), she didn't notice that her neighbor had let herself in the back gate.

Isis' cat was loose again.

Hollie didn't mind if Isis searched her backyard for her pet; she'd given permission to her neighbor to come and search her yard anytime if the cat got out. The kitty (whose name was Yoda) was attracted by the catnip that grew wild in Hollie's yard. The young consort didn't have a problem helping Isis out, not at all. Her neighbor was a little bookish, kind of a nerd, but a very kind and helpful sort. Tonight, though, it was a little inconvenient.

Hollie's neighbor was creeping around the bushes near her fence, calling for Yoda, when she saw the shuttle. Having never seen anything like it before, and feeling a little frightened, her terror was checked by thinking of Hollie. Something might be happening to her. The light was on in the kitchen; the door was open to Hollie's house. The lights were on in the vehicle. Could some alien have taken her aboard?

Throwing caution to the wind (Isis was like that), she rushed onto the shuttle, looking for Hollie. She'd heard about terrible things being done to people, abducted by creatures from other worlds. By God, those aliens would pay if they did her any harm…let them fuck up their own planet's population before they went around molesting Earth women. Nobody was going to do evil things to her neighbor if she had anything to say about it. She didn't care what kind of vile technology they had. She was going to beat the shit out of them. Grabbing the closest thing she could find to a weapon- a spade, leaning next to a fence post- she crept into the ship.

The large black shuttle had a lot of suitcases loaded onto them. They were large and looked heavy. No aliens in sight, however. Isis turned around, and saw two robots carrying four more suitcases onto the ship. She crouched behind one of the large pieces of luggage already on the deck, trying not to be seen, until she could figure out what the hell was going on.

Then she heard a meowing. Yoda. Getting down on her hands and knees, Isis started searching for her pet, softly calling its name. The black and white cat wasn't easy to find, amongst all the baggage. There was no sign of Hollie either. Pushing her shoulder-length auburn hair away from her face and out of her eyes, Isis peered around the ship. Ah, there Yoda was. "Stay there, baby," she whispered. And lunged at her cat. It leaped off the bag it was perched on, and scampered off the ship. Isis jumped up to follow it, tripped over one of the bags and fell flat. Another bag fell on top of her. Christ, it was heavy. She tried to shift it from her body, but it was not moving. Up the ramp, fortunately, came Hollie. Dressed becomingly in a short black dress and a long red cape. Like she was going to a very fancy party.

What the hell was going on here anyway?

The two robots were following her, and as soon as she was onboard, they began to retract the ramp. The door was closing. Isis panicked.

"Hollie!" she shouted.

"Isis!" her neighbor yelled concernedly, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I was looking for Yoda. She ran in here. Now she ran out, and I'm trapped under these heavy bags. Help!"

The shuttle's engines fired up. They were getting ready to take off. "Just a sec," Hollie shouted, and the young woman ran towards what she thought was the cockpit. "Stop, stop!" she yelled at the droids. But it was too late.

The robots had put themselves into their travelling pods and shut themselves off. The ship was unmanned, as the Dark Lord told her it would be.

Hollie sighed. Taking off her red cape and draping it over the single, plushly-upholstered chair in the ship's command center, which was obviously meant for her, she walked over to where Isis was trapped.

"Isis," Hollie told her neighbor sternly, "We have to talk."

As the beautiful blonde consort of Lord Darth Vader helped her friend get out from under her suitcases full of whiskey, she explained that they were going to be travelling to a far away galaxy. To a great warship, stationed in the Outer Rim of that galaxy. And there was nothing at all that she could do about getting Isis back home.

Hollie had agreed to enter the harem of a Dark Lord of the Sith, she explained to her incredulous neighbor from next door. Lord Vader would now have to decide how to deal with his unexpected guest. For now, the beautiful blonde consort got her friend up, and together they found her a cabin aboard the ship.

God Damn Isis's cat, though Hollie to herself as she strapped herself into the large plush chair in the cockpit. It might be responsible for an inter-galactic incident by the time this day was through.

The shuttle Tricasta lifted off from planet Earth, and blasted off into space.

Admiral Troppert was in his office, waiting for Lord Vader to appear for his meeting with him. He was waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Obviously the Sith was not coming.

Damn, the doctor swore silently, as leapt to his feet. He began to pace the room. How was he supposed to find the cursed Immortal if Vader refused to help him? Nobody knew where the Immortal's home world was. That was one of the great mysteries of the galaxy. It could be most anywhere. It might not even be in this galaxy at all.

Immortals were extremely rare, as everyone knew. They'd had no dealings with mortals in this galaxy for close to five hundred years. Finding Karesh had been a stroke of luck. Or at least, the Admiral had thought so. Given how everything turned out, it hadn't been lucky. It had been catastrophic. No wonder Immortals were a race that had the execration of the whole sentient universe. They were nothing but trouble, a curse on mortals of every species. They hid themselves, from the wrath of beings that would one day die. They'd gotten very good at it.

Now he had to not simply find an Immortal. He had to find a particular one. Who didn't want to be found. Who hadn't wanted to be found the first time Troppert came across him. Who would be doubly wary and doubly difficult to find this time.

Finding Karesh twice wouldn't be lucky. It would be miraculous.

Graner, the only other person aboard the Executor who'd had much in the way of dealings with the Immortal, was dead. Troppert needed help. Failing that, he needed inspiration. Failing that, he would need to record his last will and testament, because Palpatine was going to kill him.

Troppert sat back down at his desk, and put his head in his hands.

Cursed Immortals. Never, ever trust an Immortal.

The Sith's meeting with the weapons system's division heads went well. Besides the usual issues that were brought up for discussion, they were also wanting to know about any new technologies that they should be prepared to implement and train on. Vader didn't have any information for them. His Master had insisted he postpone that meeting until next month. Since that was the case, the meeting broke up early. Lord Vader was free for the rest of the afternoon.

He went back to his quarters, and retired to his meditation sphere. Turning the illumination down very low once he got inside, he removed his helmet and breathmask, and did something in his chamber that he hardly ever did.

He meditated. With moderate success. And he entirely forgot that his new consort was arriving this afternoon.

The Tricasta landed aboard the Executor about six hours after it left Terra. Hollie was so excited to meet her lover that she changed her clothes about once each hour. The outfit she had on now had an even shorter skirt than the black dress she'd originally worn, and amply demonstrated the fact that her gorgeous legs went all the way up to heaven. The cut of the top left very little to the imagination. Hollie was a vision of loveliness; a tall willowy blonde goddess.

Isis brooded for a while in her cabin, letting Hollie be. Her neighbor was nervous and excited, and hadn't reacted well when Isis turned down her offer of a celebratory glass of J.D. Alcohol didn't solve problems, as far as the practical-minded woman was concerned, and whiskey frequently gave her a headache. She felt bad, that she couldn't' share Hollie's excitement, but what could she do? It was hard to relax and enjoy the ride when she was terrified she'd never see her home again.

Then realized her anxiety wasn't doing her any good, and she decided to make the best of the situation, and handle it as gracefully as she could. She wished her jeans weren't torn and that her purple sweater weren't full of cat hair, but so what? Her being here was an accident. She looked okay. She wasn't there to impress anybody.

The shuttle's ramp came down, and Hollie rushed out of the cockpit to go down it. She was so excited to greet her lover, she entirely forgot about her neighbor, hanging back in the shadows. But her joy was soon checked when she saw that there was absolutely no one there to greet her. No one at all. She looked around, totally perplexed. And then she got mad as hell.

Isis hung back, not wanting to spoil a wonderful reunion, but after waiting about a minute, and not hearing anything, walked down the ramp as well. Hollie was standing at the bottom of it. Beautiful. Angry. Alone. No sign of her lover.

The gorgeous woman was beginning to attract quite a bit of attention, however, from the deck officers and crew on the landing bay. If Lord Vader had recalled that his consort was arriving, he would have ordered the crew to be absent, cleared the corridors leading to the harem. It was a matter of circumspection; none were to see the concubines of the Sith Lord. Officially, the harem didn't' exist. Now Hollie was being ogled by a whole lot of strange men, who had no idea who she was, and getting mighty pissed off about it.

One of the officers approached Hollie, and saluted. "Can I help you, My Lady?" he asked her respectfully.

"I am to meet Lord Vader," the beautiful blonde replied, trying to be courteous. But the man could tell she was extremely angry.

The officer, whose name was Hendry, had heard rumors that the Dark Lord had a harem aboard the ship, but he hadn't believed them. Now, it appeared that those rumors were true, and this was one of his new concubines.

Lord Vader must have forgotten she was arriving. Hendry was so shocked at the breach of protocol, at this incredible slip of memory from the usually exacting Lord of the Sith, that he couldn't speak for a moment. Then he recovered himself.

"Follow me to my office, please, My Lady. I will notify him that you are here." Then the young man noticed Isis, standing nearby.

"Who is this?" he asked. She didn't seem to be one of the consorts; she wasn't dressed as one. She was pretty enough, it was true, but she seemed very different from the new Lady in front of him. A maid, perhaps?

Hollie gestured to her neighbor. "This lady was accidentally trapped on the ship when it took off. Someone needs to arrange for her to be transported home."

Hendry frowned. Only Lord Vader could authorize ships going to Terra. Terra was well outside the galaxy, and drone ships were few and difficult to spare for such long flights. "Lord Vader will have to decide that, my Lady," he replied. "I will have to notify Admiral Troppert and Admiral Ozzel that this woman is here. They may refer her case to Lord Vader."

The lovely blonde was getting quite angry now. "Look, you need to arrange for her to be returned immediately. I don't know what these two admirals have to do with anything."

The officer spread his hands. "I have to notify Admirals Troppert and Ozzel. I have no choice. Admiral Ozzel runs this ship. Admiral Troppert is the head of the medical division. They have to know of any unexpected extra-galactic visitors. I'm sure Lord Vader will be delighted to hear your case, but right now he isn't here. And I have to do my duty."

He motioned for Hollie and Isis to follow him into his office. Once there, Hollie took a seat, and Isis began to silently meditate. Her nerves were shredded. Getting home was looking like it would be a lot more complicated than she ever expected. Hendry placed his call to Lord Vader. The Dark Lord, deep in meditation, ignored it. He then called Admirals Ozzel and Troppert.

Both demanded to see them immediately. Ozzel, because he'd never seen one of Lord Vader's concubines, and fancied himself a great ladies' man. Troppert because he hoped they knew something about the race of Immortals he was trying to find. Or at least give him convincing evidence that there weren't any on Terra.

Hollie was so hurt and angry at her lord's apparent neglect of her, right out of the gate, that she felt ready to cry. Then to kill him.

Isis could feel the emotions radiating off her friend, and patted her shoulder supportively. It must be awful for Hollie; she must feel terribly insulted. No man in his right mind would stand up a gorgeous woman like her, not ever. Isis was sure no man had ever done that before. This Lord Vader better never do it to her again, or he would find himself in the coldest bed in the known universe.

Hendry was puzzled. Lord Vader wasn't answering his call. He just wasn't picking up. Could there be an equipment malfunction somewhere? And if there was, what should he do? He was in no position to go up and knock on the Sith's door, tell him he'd fucked up, that his mistress was here and mad as a starving Saarlac. He wasn't high-ranking enough for that. Vader would take him apart like that destroyed TIE fighter that was found in the maintenance bay this morning.

The Sith was definitely in his quarters. It was right there on the locator board. His schedule was cleared for this afternoon. There must be some kind of problem with the com system. That's the only reason there could be for this situation. Lord Vader never forgot anything. He was legendary for attention to detail, and carefully cultivated remembrance of every misstep that had ever been committed by his officers on this ship.

Ozzel and Troppert wanted to see the women. The Dark Lord wasn't picking up his messages. He guessed he'd better conduct them to the Admirals.

Hendry gestured graciously to his fair guests. "Please come with me, Ladies. We will be going to the Bridge, to meet Admiral Ozzel in his office."

Hollie got up and put on her cape. This was getting completely ridiculous. Isis patted her hair and pulled down her sweater. It was purple angora, and Yoda's white hair was sticking to it in spots, all over it. No chance whatever of picking it all off before they met this Admiral. `Oh well,' she thought with a mental shrug. If Ozzel is a clothing snob, then she didn't want to get to know him anyway. All she wanted to do was go home.

The two ladies followed the officer out of his control room office, and he led them down the seemingly-endless passageways of the Executor, towards the Bridge. The ship was a busy place, full of men and stormtroopers and droids, coming and going. The lovely blonde consort got a lot of looks. In fact, she was stopping foot traffic in several places. Isis felt like there were a lot of people staring at her butt. Did it have mud on it or something? She brushed at the back of her jeans. Nothing was coming off. Humph. Guess not. They were just staring at her nicely formed ass. Oh, hell, she thought.

If Isis could have read her neighbor's thoughts, she would have read much the same sentiments. Except a bit more pithily expressed. Eventually they made it to Ozzel's office. Hendry pressed the door chime. The door slid open. The ladies went inside.

The office was the highest-tech place either Isis or Hollie had ever seen. There were screens with readings, charts, graphs, displays of all kinds, all over the room. There was a huge black desk, with two chairs in front of it, a small conference table and more chairs, a long grey sofa and a large picture viewport. It gave a splendid panorama of the stars. The view was absolutely beautiful. Isis couldn't resist staring at it for a few moments.

The Admiral saw Hollie, and immediately stood up. Pulling his tunic into place, he gave her his most charming smile. What a beauty, he thought. And what a shame that she would wish herself bound to a walking corpse like Lord Vader.

The other lady was quite pretty too. Hendry told him that her presence here was purely accidental. Too bad, thought he. Pretty women were almost non-existent on his ship, and he liked being able to enjoy their company. Perhaps he could extend her visit before sending her home. For purely administrative reasons, of course.

"Welcome onboard the Executor," Ozzel said in his best proprietary manner. "I am Admiral Ozzel. Ladies, please have a seat."

Hollie looked at the overweight-medium-heighted-worm of an Imperial officer and hid a scowl. But he could get her to her lord, and the lovely Southern Belle knew how to get what she wanted. She gave a large, brilliant smile to Ozzel, and sat down in the chair he indicated. She crossed her long elegant legs, and her skirt rode up a little higher. The Admiral, of course, was totally mesmerized at the sight.

Isis sat down too, trying to paste a smile on her face but knowing the Admiral wasn't looking at her at all. Well, Hollie was more than capable of taking care of this situation and this horrid little man by herself. Let her handle this. The redhead figured she'd get home in no time, thanks to Hollie's accomplished ability with handling men.

"Thank you, Admiral Ozzel," The blonde consort was saying, tossing her long silky hair back from her shoulders. "This is a beautiful ship. I've never seen anything like it. All this wonderful technology. But we seem to be having just a little bitty problem contacting Lord Vader. Can you help us? I'm afraid I'm just a country girl, and could use a gentleman's help and guidance."

Ozzel smiled again. Oh, he was sure he could help the beautiful consort out with her Lord-Vader-problem. It might take a couple of hours, though.

"Of course I can help, My Lady, and delighted to," he replied graciously. "Has Hendry already put in a call for you to Lord Vader?"

"Oh yes, Sir," Hollie drawled, sitting up higher and then leaning forward just a little. So the Admiral could have a better look at her cleavage. "But he appears not to have gotten the message."

Gods, what a magnificent woman, the flag officer of the Executor thought to himself, as his eyes rested on her ample breasts, beneath their silky covering. What a pity, what a waste, to put her in a harem, where no one but the Sith will appreciate her beauty. It was a crime, that's what it was.

"I think I can solve that little problem for you. I'll send one of my officers to go to Lord Vader's quarters personally, and summon him here." Ozzel said smoothly. Leaning towards a panel imbedded into his large desk, over to one side, he pressed a button.

A voice answered. "Yes, Sir?" it replied respectfully. "Lieutenant, would you ask Captain Piett to come in here?"

"Of course, Sir," the lieutenant said.

The channel was closed with a slight beep. What the young man didn't know was that Piett wasn't even on the ship. He'd been sent on a reconnaissance mission, and wouldn't be returning for another two hours at the earliest.

Ozzel knew that. He was the one that sent him on that mission. It would take this flunky of a lieutenant at least five or six minutes to figure this out. In the meantime, the Admiral pressed the "Do Not Disturb" indicator on his com board. Now the officer couldn't call back to inform the Admiral that Piett wasn't on the ship. And therefore, no one was going to be calling on Lord Vader for quite some time.

Isis was getting a little suspicious. She saw the way Admiral Ozzel was looking at Hollie. He wasn't going to quickly help either one of them. Dirty old man. Time to start causing some trouble, she thought. Get a little action going.

"Admiral Ozzel," ventured Isis, "I'm feeling a bit faint. Do you think that I could be taken to your Infirmary?"

Instantly the flag officer was all concern. How grand! He thought to himself eagerly. He could be alone with the magnificent consort for a while. "Of course, my dear," Ozzel was saying, with great solicitude. "I'll arrange for you to see Doctor Troppert at once. First-time deep-space travelers often have some discomfort during their initial journeys. We must ensure that our honored guests are comfortable. This is a military vessel, of course, but I think you will find that it isn't lacking in facilities and accommodations."

And he smiled again.

Gawd, though Hollie. And she glared at her friend. Thanks a lot, Isis, her eyes said to her next-door neighbor. Who gave her a big cheesy grin. Hollie would figure out soon enough that Ozzel wasn't interested in helping them at all, that splitting up and getting these two Admirals to start fighting over them would be the quickest way to bring their situation to this Lord Vader. Whoever he was. Wherever he was hiding out. Clueless neglectful bastard.

She just wanted to get home. Was that too much to ask?

The Executor's flag officer pressed another button from the truly bewildering selection of them arrayed on his desk. A service droid floated in from somewhere outside the great office. Ozzel told it to conduct Isis to the Infirmary, directly to Admiral Troppert. It bowed its head.

"Please follow this droid," the Admiral asked Isis politely. "It will take you where you need to go. I will look after your friend in the meantime." And Ozzel winked at Hollie.

The lovely consort smiled blankly. Shit, she cursed silently to herself. Her heels were four inches high. She hadn't been chased around a desk in a while, but it looked like she was about to be, by this conceited little turd. She should have brought her track shoes. Not that she believed he could move very fast, in that tight tunic and those stupid-looking, unflattering jodhpurs.

Maybe he had some liquor around this office. She could drink him under the table, probably quickly, because someone that old and flabby couldn't possibly hold their alcohol. And then she could get out of this office and find her own way to her lord's quarters. Lord Vader was going to be finding out what happens to lovers who forget to meet their mistresses at the spaceport, by God. Hollie felt sure he wasn't going to like it, but tough shit. He had it coming.

The concubine's ruby lips parted in a seductive smile, as soon as Isis and the droid left the room. "Admiral, do you by any chance have something here that could help a girl relax? I declare I'm so nervous at being here, with such a distinguished gentleman, on this great ship, I'm absolutely beside myself."

Ozzel hid a smirk. He certainly did have something. Yes, indeed. He knew how he could relax her. Right onto her back. On his office couch.

"Certainly, my dear," the ridiculous flag officer replied. "I'm so sorry that I didn't think to offer you some hospitality earlier. I'm being a poor host, to such a beautiful Lady. Here, let me make amends."

With that, he got up and crossed the room, to a large amoire-like piece of furniture. He opened the doors, and there was a small wet bar inside it. Picking up a bottle and two glasses, he went back to his desk and poured them each a drink. The liquid was blue. Hollie took the glass, raised it in salute, and took a sip.

It tasted a little like vodka. A bit of a funny aftertaste, though. Sort of bitter. Ozzel downed his, and waited for his guest to do the same. She smiled, quaffed the rest of the liquid in the glass. He refilled it.

They drank some more. And then some more. And then some more. The Admiral unbuttoned his tunic a few buttons. Hollie took off her shoes and began to fan herself with some of the flimsies on his desk. They talked about nothing, and laughed a great deal. The lovely blonde watched Ozzel's face get redder and his eyes more unfocused, and knew that she'd been right. He couldn't hold his liquor. He'd be under his desk in a few more minutes.

The service droids on the Tricasta began unloading Hollie's luggage and taking it to the harem. There was a service passage, created especially for deliveries to this highly secure and secret area.

The twelve cases of Jack Daniels rolled in one by one, then the three suitcases belonging to Lord Vader's latest mistress. They were left in the entryway of the harem, next to the fountain.

Vader's other consorts noticed the delivery being made, and came out of their quarters. A present from their lord, perhaps? He sometimes did this when he was too busy to bring the gifts himself.

Melynda approached the items first, then began to count cases. "Twelve cases of Jack Daniels, girls," she observed, with a whistle. "I think we're supposed to be having a party."

"Any excuse for a party," Kelly said eagerly, rolling in on her powerchair. "Let's crack one and have a little fun."

"What are these other cases?" asked Kim, looking at the three suitcases. "Do you think these are for us?"

Heather was thoughtful. As far as she knew, no other consort was due to be arriving, but it was worthwhile asking the other girls. "Do you know if another Lady is due to be joining us? Did our lord mention it to any of you?"

"No," replied Melynda, "and he would have told us if there were. He's very courteous about things like that. He told me two days before you arrived, Heather."

The lovely redhead thought that was probably the case. The other consorts had been extremely kind and friendly to her when she came, and apparently knew not only when she was arriving but had seen her holographs and profile as well. They'd been ready to receive her, and they had, with open arms.

But something gnawed at her about those suitcases. They looked Terran. Their Lord or one of his minions shopping for them on Terra? It wasn't something Mel could imagine them doing.

"Let's open them," Kim suggested, "and see what's in them. Maybe we will have a clue about what's going on from looking inside."

Melynda thought for a moment. The Jack Daniels most probably was for them. They did get liquor deliveries regularly, and the ladies hadn't had JD in quite a while. It was a nice surprise. The suitcases were strange. Very strange.

"Yes," the lovely dark-haired consort agreed, "but let's not disturb anything in them for now, just look and see what's inside. I think we can open the booze, though."

"Party! Party! Let's have a party, girls!! I'm so bored, I could scream!" This from Kelly, who was already grabbing a bottle out of the case. She began to go back to her quarters to find some glasses.

"Bored!" exclaimed Heather. "How can you be bored? We sexually tortured a Jedi Master only yesterday night!" The memory of it was both amazing and repellent. But it had been, for the most part, fun. Kenobi was really cute in his makeup, tinted hair, velvet collar and cock harness. Too bad he was such a rotten miserable son of a bitch.

"Yeah, but that was already yesterday," replied the lovely young consort. "I haven't had any action today at all, and I'm b*o*r*e*d."

Heather shook her head. The sooner Kelly got out of that cast, the better off everyone would be. Bending down with Kim to where the suitcases where, she began to open them and see what was inside. Melynda and Kelly took care of opening the whiskey and pouring out the contents.

The Dark Side gift of the Lord Vader handed out the liquor, and proposed a toast. "To us, girls. And to our lord. Sempre viva," she said. And tossed off her drink. Gods, it was smooth and delicious.

"Sempre viva," the others repeated, downing theirs.

"Ooooh, that's good," commented Heather.

"Hell yes," remarked Kelly. "But I'd rather be licking it off his Lordship's naked body."

"Oh shut up," Kim put in, gingerly moving around the garments in the suitcase, and frowning. "We all want that; it goes without saying."

Melynda looked thoughtful. Four women licking Jack Daniels off their Sith Lord. He might really like that. A lot. She wondered if the other girls might be receptive to the idea.

Torturing the Jedi had been a really fun team-building activity. Foreplay with the Dark Lord, followed by group sex, might be even better.

"What's in the suitcase, Kim?" Mel asked instead of saying what she was just thinking.

"Some beautiful lingerie," the strawberry blonde beauty replied. "Peignoir sets and such. But I can't be sure whom they were intended for. Someone tall, it looks like, for some of the things. But others, well, I just don't know."

Heather went over and looked at the items with Kim. Indeed, some were intended for someone tall and busty, clearly. Others could be worn by any of them in the harem. "Does Vader often buy us lingerie?" Heather asked. "Does he know anything about the concept of sizing?"

Mel went over and also bent over the suitcases, shifting through the items. She was very puzzled. "No," she replied after a minute. "I don't think he's ever bought me clothing, although he is terribly hard on my underwear. Keeps ripping it off and ruining it." She held up a black bustier. "Maybe he's trying to make amends here. I know he's destroyed some of your clothes, Heather and Kelly. I'm sure, Kim, that if he hasn't already, he soon will."

Kim held up a diaphanous ivory nightgown. Heather would look really beautiful in it, and it would probably fit. It was so strange, though, that their lord would send them presents in suitcases like this. But he was a man. Maybe he just grabbed things he liked, or had someone else do it, thinking they would fit just fine. He'd let his ladies could sort it out by themselves. A man would think that way.

The girls had killed off one bottle of the Jack Daniels. Kelly opened another. What the hell, thought Melynda. That nice black bustier and panties set probably wouldn't fit her, but the blue silk charmuse nightgown definitely would. It was a bit long, but she had heels that would take care of that problem.

The girls left the suitcases alone for the moment, and started getting serious about drinking the whiskey. This might be a really fun evening.

Isis followed the droid, along what seemed like miles and miles of corridors. The ship never seemed to end, she thought. She was also getting so many stares at her body parts that it was embarrassing her. But the accidental Terran visitor recalled that she was supposed to be stirring up some trouble in the Infirmary, with this Admiral Troppert, and she was going to have to deal with being stared at. She just hoped he wasn't an alien or something, or this might be really difficult.

As they entered the great, sterile-looking, white-painted Infirmary, Isis dusted herself down as much as she could, and unbuttoned the top four buttons of her angora cardigan sweater. She didn't have as much cleavage as Hollie, but more than enough to impress. Running her fingers through her hair, and wishing she had more than just some lip gloss in her pocket, she prepared for her meeting as well as she could.

The droid led the way into a private office. No one was there, but it looked like it had just been vacated for a minute. There were datapads and flimsies, and doctor-stuff spread around all over it. High-tech displays hung on the walls like pictures. There was one chair opposite the desk. She sat down in it. As soon as she did so, a tall, white-haired older man walked into the room, wearing a uniform. He was human, as near as Isis could tell. And he wasn't bad looking. A little skinny for her tastes, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He had a really worried look on his face. It was probably perpetual.

"Greetings, madam," the man said, politely but with a touch of chilliness in his voice. "As you probably guessed, I am Admiral Troppert, the Head of the Imperial Medical Service. I take it you are one of our Terran visitors?"

"My name is Isis Andrews," his guest told him. "I was told that you wanted to see me. What I'm hoping for is that you might be able to help me find my way back home."

Troppert got behind his desk and sat down. His Terran visitor was a very pretty auburn-haired female, in her third decade, he guessed. She was not tall, just over a meter and a half, but her figure was trim and firm. She had an air of fragility about her, conferred by her delicate features, but underneath that the Admiral sensed a will of durasteel. Isis might be one of Lord Vader's consorts, despite what she'd just said and despite what he'd been told, but was now having second thoughts about it. But, then again, she might not be, and she really was here by accident. He personally wouldn't have pegged her as one of Vader's type. But Troppert was in no position to say what that type was anymore. He wouldn't have guessed that the Dark Lord had any interest in his old Master either.

"Lord Vader is the only one that can authorize ships going to Terra, Isis," the Admiral told her. "I'm sorry I can't help you directly, but I can certainly help by putting you into contact with him. I'll send him a priority signal to his quarters and to his comlink."

Leaning over, he pulled out a datapad out from under a pile of flimsies, and entered some commands rapidly into it.

Troppert's message asked him to call the Infirmary immediately. The communiqué was marked "Urgent."

The Sith Lord, meditating in his chamber, saw the message from Troppert's office flash across his computer screen, momentarily lighting up the sphere's darkened interior. The doctor wanted him to call in at once. Probably he wanted to chew him out for missing this morning's meeting, the Dark Lord mused. Miserable toady. Troppert could go and screw himself. Lord Vader closed his eyes, and resumed his meditation.

The Admiral, of course, had his own agenda that he wanted to pursue with the out-worlder.

"Isis," he said, trying to be conversational, "do you know of a race of beings that are immortal? That cannot be killed?"

The Terran lady frowned. "No," she replied. "I know of some species on our planet that are so long-lived that they are practically immortal, but not one that actually is deathless. Why do you ask?"

Troppert folded his hands and leaned forward on his desk. "I'm trying to find some information on a race of beings, for medical research reasons, and I'm afraid that I've reached a dead end. So to speak. I can't seem to find a way to locate these legendary beings. I was hoping that you might have heard something, coming as you do from outside this galaxy. The information I have suggests that they come from somewhere outside this local galaxy cluster, and I'd be grateful for any kind of lead or any idea you may have."

Isis leaned back in her chair. What an odd thing to ask her about, but she appreciated that he was sincere, and also forthright. If she could help him, maybe he would help her.

"Admiral, on Terra, I worked for many years as a procurement agent, and as a professional negotiator. I'm pretty good at finding things, finding out information, and finding people, as long as I know exactly what my client is looking for. If you'd care to be more specific, maybe I can help."

The doctor very much doubted it. But until Lord Vader called in, he had nothing else to do.

"I'm looking for a particular Immortal," Troppert said. "He was here just yesterday, and left the Executor on a small shuttle. I don't know where he was going. I think he was returning to his homeworld. He had something very valuable with him. It's important that I track him down, but I have no information to go on."

"Did he steal it? This valuable thing?"

"In a matter of speaking."

"What was it?"

The Admiral sighed. "A fugitive from the Empire. A Jedi Knight, who are traitors and wanted beings all over this galaxy."

Isis was confused. "He kidnapped a person? A wanted person? Is aiding a fugitive against the law here?”

Troppert smirked. "Oh indeed yes. Highly illegal."

It seemed like a doctor was the wrong kind of person to be tracking down a criminal, but in a foreign galaxy, who knew? Maybe he was sick or something, and there was a concern about contagion. "Was this Jedi Knight being held as a prisoner here? Is there a public health concern?"

Troppert was already regretting starting this conversation, but now he was in too deep. "This Immortal was aiding the Jedi to come to this ship, and I don't know exactly why. The Jedi has a connection to Lord Vader, and that is why he must be tracked down. The Immortal is the only lead I have."

"What kind of connection? Surely the Jedi would know that he would be arrested if he came here, if he's a fugitive. Did the Immortal kidnap him, to bring him here? I don't think I understand this situation."

The doctor jumped up from his chair and looked down his nose at his visitor. "You don't need to know all the details. All I'm asking from you is if you have some useful suggestion as to how to find that man, or his ship."

Isis was startled at first, but then she realized that despite Troppert's rude outburst, this was a most interesting development. The doctor must be feeling really desperate, if he's asking foreign strangers for help in what is obviously a delicate situation. With criminal overtones. There was obviously a lot behind whatever happened yesterday between this Jedi, Lord Vader, the Immortal, the doctor and probably Ozzel too. Most interesting.

"When I was a girl," the Terran lady replied evenly, "my father used to fly his own air vehicle. I recall that, whenever he made a journey, he had to file a flight plan. And when he got to his destination, as well as when he left to go back home, he had to check in with the air traffic controllers and produce his log book. Do you operate in a similar way?"

Troppert was startled. Indeed they did. It was standard Imperial practice to download any ship's log that landed on board the Executor, and for departing ships to file a destination course statement before leaving. It might be a fabrication, the latest log entry, but there might be something useful in earlier entries. Most controllers never looked past the first couple of log entries, and the Immortal could be counted on to know that—and so only alter the first one or two. Or three. At most.

"Thank you, Isis," the doctor told his visitor, in a pleasanter tone. "That's useful. I should have thought of that before, but that detail of standard procedure slipped my mind. I'm a physician, not a landing bay controller. Thanks for reminding me."

"Also," the Terran continued, "if the Immortal you're looking for has been in the area more than once in the recent past, you might be able to get more data from those log entries, if you can trace them down, and check them against the logs on the Executor. In case one is a forgery and one is not. What you need is raw data, as much of it from as many sources as you can, not just what the controllers think is important. Even fuel consumption reports might be useful as a check against stated destination and departure locations."

"Very good," Troppert said, feeling a grudging admiration. She was clever, that one. "Thank you again. Any more thoughts?"

"Just one," Isis replied. "We have a saying on Terra, that an apple never falls too far from the tree. What that means is that people don't do totally unexpected things. There is always a pattern. Sometimes recognizing it is difficult, but if you look carefully, there are connections. If this Jedi has a connection with Lord Vader, then perhaps the location of the Jedi has a connection with Lord Vader's past or present. Also, the same might be true of this Immortal you're looking for. He may not be very far from where the Jedi's present location is. Or from a location that is connected with someone the Immortal has or has had dealings with."

The Admiral who was the head of the Imperial Medical Service was glad he brought this up with the Terran. It wasn't anything more than ordinary common sense, but he hadn't thought of any of it. She was absolutely right. Maybe he would keep her here, if Vader didn't want her, and use her to flush the Immortal out. And with him, the Jedi.

But meanwhile, what was taking Lord Vader so long to reply? And where was the other Lady, what was her name?

Hollie and Admiral Ozzel were having a high old time. Both were very drunk. And playing "spin the bottle." The middle-aged flabby flag officer was losing. Badly. He was down to his underdrawers. Hollie hadn't lost a spin yet, being a past master of the game. She kept waiting for Ozzel to pass out, but so far he hadn't. They'd killed two bottles and were well on their way to emptying a third of whatever that blue stuff was. It had quite a powerful kick, but no worse than a nice bottle of single malt scotch.

Lord Vader's consort found her host to be a bore and a lecher when he was sober, but when he was drunk, he wasn't too bad. For one thing, he got more interesting. He talked way too much, about things he probably never would if he weren't drunk. He'd confessed to her that he was jealous of Vader's luck with women, that he did everything he could to get him into trouble with his Imperial Master, and that he actively promoted the Emperor's interest in cultivating rivals to the Dark Lord's growing power base. Just to keep things interesting, you understand. Vader was such a corpse, the Admiral told her. No wonder the ship was run like a fucking morgue, he'd said, laughing at his own joke. The Sith was so dull, so Sithy. And that thing he had going with the Jedi, well that was just sick.

`What Jedi? What was that?' Hollie had asked.

`Oh,' Ozzel said, spinning the bottle one last time and taking another drink. Jedis were traitors, some kind of quasi-religious warrior-priests. Vader used to be one, he explained. Then he got smart and dropped out. But his old master in the Order fixed him. Hacked his arms and legs off, almost killed him. Now the Sithy cyborg was on the hunt for all the Jedis, especially his old master. Gonna pay him back and then some.

Hollie found all this information both nauseating and fascinating. Probably her lord would too. Especially the part about Ozzel creating trouble for him on two fronts. If he would ever fucking show up.

The Admiral had just lost the last spin, but she didn't ask him for his underwear. She told him to do a do-over, because his fingers slipped and that wasn't fair. Ozzel took another drink, spun again. Lost again. Hollie gave him another do-over. The carpet nap was interfering with the bottle's spin. He took another drink. The Imperial flag officer was almost ready to pass out. The beautiful Terran, though, wanted to hear more about this old master of her lord's before he did, so she pressed him. He talked readily.

This Jedi that trained Vader, he had just left the ship yesterday. Still alive. Ozzel didn't know for sure, and wouldn't anybody tell if he did—too embarrassing—but he was pretty sure Lord Vader was so heartbroken over it that he tore up a TIE fighter last night in the maintenance bay. The drunken Imperial Officer speculated that he had a seriously confused relationship with this Jedi, this Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was why he was so messed up this morning. Didn't even attend Ozzel's meeting today, the lousy little whiner. Probably still crying over his old master not being dead.

Of course, the Admiral didn't use the word, `whiner.' He used another word, that Hollie didn't recognize, but she got the picture. So. Her lord had a very hard day yesterday. Maybe even worse than a very hard day. It must be bad, if it reduced the Sith Lord to a state where he was skipping important meetings and forgetting about his consort's arrival. And ignoring urgent messages from very senior staff officers. No one had come or called in at all for the last two hours.

The lovely concubine understood how it felt, being that torn up inside. It didn't excuse him leaving her, holding her baggage by herself on the landing bay, but it was at least a reason.

The flag officer of the Executor finally passed out. He gently toppled over to one side, fast asleep. In his underwear. Hollie got herself up off the carpeted floor and tried to stagger gracefully out of the Admiral's office. She was going to find her lord, goddamnit.

Her plan didn't work out very well. She had to put on her four-inch heels first, and when she sat down to do that, she passed out as well.

There was some serious partying going on in the Dark Lord's harem.

The girls had polished off about a third of a bottle each. They were all starting to get silly. Kim was doing her version of the dance of the seven veils atop the entryway table. She was doing a good job. She only fell off once. Heather was singing the Canadian national anthem. Where she'd learned it (she wasn't Canadian) and what it had to do with anything, Melynda had no idea. Mel was throwing darts at a picture of the Emperor, that's she'd mounted to her dartboard some months ago. Her lord had never seen it. Thank the gods. Mel was really good with the darts. She got his face nearly every time she threw, and the picture had the pockmarks to prove it. Kelly, a pair of red satin panties draped over her head like a beret, decided it was time for everyone to play games.

"I got an idea!" the very drunk young concubine exclaimed excitedly. She'd been racing around the entryway earlier in her powerchair, chasing Heather all over the place with it, until her quarry had to take a run into the fountain to escape. Kelly's victim then got out her lightsaber and threatened to give Kelly a haircut with it. From the neck up.

Melynda took the weapon away from her and disconnected Kelly's chair battery. Mayhem and acts of maim weren't party activities. Heather took the remainder of her bottle and sulked on a nearby couch. Kelly was way too buoyant to be dragged down by a non-functional powerchair. Mel cringed a little at her friend's shriek, that she had an idea. It was probably one she didn't want to hear.

"Let's play reality TV!"

"What show?" asked Kim, taking off veil number four and shaking her hips suggestively.

"Project…project…oh fuck, what's that one where these fashion designers compete for who's going to be the next great fashion designer."

"I know which one," Heather said sulkily. "I hate that one."

"No you don't," Kim said. "You watch it. I've watched it with you before."

"Shut up," growled the beautiful consort. She wanted her lightsaber back.

"Now, Heather, don't sulk." This from the Sith's Dark Side gift, aiming her dart. "It's unattractive." Yeah. Nailed old Bob right in the dick that time.

"Fuck you."

Melynda grinned. "Anytime, anywhere. You know I think you're sexy, with those long red curls and that sassy smile. Come on, baby…"

Lord Vader's magnificent goddess stuck her tongue out at his Sith Bitch, and immediately regretted it.

"Ick," remarked Heather, with a shocked expression after seeing the dark haired beauty's response.

"Spoilsport," replied Mel, saucily.

"Come on, let's play…it will be fun, really…"

"Okay Kelly," Kim said, stopping at veil number five for a minute. "What's the challenge and what's the reward? I'll only play if it's good."

The young concubine's eyes shone, and it wasn't because she was so drunk her eyes were glassy. Even though she was pretty sloshed.

"The challenge is to design the sexiest harem costume ever. We are the models, and we all have to dress each other. The winner gets to… gets to…"

"Gets to cut off Palpatine's head, put it in a jar, and pickle it with rancid vinegar." That was Kim's idea. Mel's mouth dropped open in shock. Damn. Vitriol from the sweet and gentle strawberry blonde.

She loved it.

Kelly bounced up and down in her chair. "Oooh, yeah!! Let's do that!"

"What if we can't do that?" asked Heather. She was pretty snockered, but not so out of it that she didn't have serious doubts of their ability to make it happen. Palpatine was probably the most hated and feared being in the Galaxy, and if someone like them could have offed him, they probably would have by now.

Mel aimed another dart at the Emperor of the Galaxy. She got him right between the eyes. Damn, she was good. "Never say `die', except to Bob. We're intelligent, resourceful women. We'll find a way. I don't even need this silly game as a motivation. I'd do it just on general principles. Just because of all the shit he's done to our lord."

Heather grinned evilly. "Yeah. I'm with you, girlfriend."

The Sith Bitch just couldn't resist. "On the bed or on the floor?"

Lady Heather of the Dark Lord's harem scowled. "You need to get laid, honey. Seriously."

"You're not kidding," Mel replied glumly. "I haven't had any in almost five days. At this point I'm starting to wish Obi-Wan Kenobi was still here."

"Never say that," Kelly put in, pouting a little. Then she perked right back up. "What do you say, girls? Shall we play?"

"Only on one condition," Heather said, getting up from her couch, swaying just a little. "That we all get to witness the harvesting of the prize."

There were general nods of agreement. "Who gets to judge the contest? There are only four of us, and one of us has to be the judge. And what does the judge get?" Kim asked, jumping off the table.

Kelly was ready for that one. "Mel can judge. And she gets to keep the last bottle of Jack Daniels. So she can lick it off the naked body of our lord. That's her reward for judging."

"Two bottles," stipulated the Sith Bitch. "One I get at the end of the contest, as part of my fee for judging. Since I will supply the rancid vinegar and the jar, which won't be easy to get, the second bottle is payment for getting those. Deal?"

There was another chorus of agreement from the women.

Kelly hopped up from her chair and made her way over to where the cases of JD were waiting, and pounced on an unopened suitcase. "Oooh, let's open the other suitcase and see if there's any good stuff in there that we can use."

Not waiting for permission or approval, she popped open the latches and threw it open. More goodies. A pirate's hat. A couple of feather boas. A play sword with a leather scabbard. Some bondage wear. A cowboy hat, some fringed chaps. A tin sheriff's star, a sexy French Maid's outfit. A pair of handcuffs and a police officer's uniform. And footwear. Lots of footwear. Tall black boots with high heels. Strappy sandals, sexy high-heeled pumps, satin mules with fake emu feather trim, dyed to match. And many other items. Just everything a harem girl would need to be irresistible to her man.

The footwear was all the same size. Every one of the ladies looked at the shoes, and then looked at each other. They were wonderful, absolutely wonderful, but how could even a man like their Lord imagine that they all had the same size feet? Was he really that hopeless, when it came to understanding women and clothing?

Mel and Heather were greatly bothered by this. They sensed something was wrong, very wrong. But they had no way to be sure what it was, no real clue to what could be going on. If their Lord were adding another consort, he would have told them. It would have been common courtesy. If this baggage belonged to the consort, then where was she? It had been at least two hours since all this stuff was delivered, and Lord Vader would have made sure that the new Lady would have come directly here.

No other man was permitted to see his consorts. That rule had been absolute. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been the only exception. If there was a new consort, she would have been here by now, even assuming their Lord had had a terrible lapse and forgotten to tell them she was coming before she arrived. It just didn't add up.

The irrepressible Kelly was not allowing silly things, like male stupidity about women's bodies and what it took to dress them, get in the way of a good time. She grabbed the pirate's hat and a feather boa. "I get these!" she shouted.

Kim was claiming the emu-trimmed slippers and the cowboy hat, plus the chaps, and was starting to get excited. This was going to be fun, even if the shoes looked like they might be a little small.

The Dark Side Gift, special delivery for Lord Vader's delectation alone, sighed. She didn't want trouble. But she sensed that they were neck-deep in it anyway, so might as well go down in a blaze of glory. Very sexy glory.

"Okay," Mel said. "Let the games begin." She got up on top of the entryway table that Kim had recently vacated, and started her speech.

"Good afternoon, Designers," she said, doing her best imitation of the tall blonde Victoria's Secret model that was the hostess of the reality TV show. "As you all know, in the world of Fashion, one day you're in. The next day, you're out…"

Hollie was sitting in a chair in Admiral Ozzel's office. Head lying against the high chair back, legs outstretched, one shoe on, one shoe off, and she was definitely out.

So was the Admiral, the flag officer of the Executor, the Imperial Star Fleet's premier warship. He was sleeping it off on the carpet, in his underwear.

Neither heard the urgent beeping coming from the desk comboard.

Troppert had just resumed his seat behind his desk, across from the pretty Terran visitor, when his intercom panel beeped at him.

"Excuse me for a moment," he asked his guest politely. Isis nodded, started to get up to leave but he waved her back down to her chair. He pressed the intercom button. "Yes?" The medical officer inquired shortly.

"Admiral, a pool of blood has been discovered in the TIE maintenance bay."

The doctor frowned. "No body? No body parts? How much blood?"

"No body, Sir, no body parts but perhaps 500 ml of blood."

The Admiral grimaced. "Human blood? Any hairs? Shredded clothing?"

"Looks human, Sir. No hair or clothing found nearby."

That was strange. Very strange. "Cordon off the area until I get there. I want to take samples, identify whose it is."

The voice on the other end acknowledged the orders and signed off. Troppert got onto his computer, pulled the treatment logs from the medical droids on the ship for the last standard day. It took only a few minutes to discover that none had treated a wounded being with a severe enough injury to lose that much blood. It would have required stitches, no question about that.

"Admiral, should I leave, or wait for you somewhere else?" Isis didn't want to interfere with the doctor's work.

"No," replied the officer after a few moments of scrolling down the record entries. "I want you to stay with me. Admiral Ozzel or Lord Vader may be contacting me at any time, to arrange for your passage home. I'd prefer to take advantage of your presence here, while I have it. You've been useful." Then he actually looked up and smiled at her.

"We will stop at Docking Bay Traffic Control, which is near the maintenance section, and download the Immortal's ship logs after I investigate the problem at the maintenance bay. I'd appreciate your assistance in looking at the data."

Isis nodded, flattered to be asked to help. She couldn't help but wonder, though, what was going on with Lord Vader, and if he'd ever picked up Hollie at Admiral Ozzel's office.

The Dark Lord was in his meditation sphere. Meditating. Ignoring every single communication that came into the computer system in his chamber.

His thoughts were full of Darkness, his pain creating a powerful feedback loop for his Dark Side meditation.

As he sat in his chair, the ache in his neck returning now, he thought about the events of the last standard day.

Obi-Wan told him he hated him. That he hated him in a way that Palpatine never could. That Palpatine didn't hate him enough to put his hands on him, to touch him sexually, to express the hate he had for him on his body, the way the Jedi had.

But Kenobi was wrong. Palpatine did hate him enough for that. The hatred, anger and revulsion his Master created in him last night was greater than any Vader suspected could exist within him. The Jedi's assault on him had been nothing, compared to that.

`Who's your Master now?' Obi-Wan had sneered, as he stroked his cock, on his bed, in his bedroom. As Kenobi's lips kissed him possessively, his tongue tasting him, his teeth marking him for his own. Like some wild jungle creature, engaged in a mating ritual.

The Sith closed his eyes. He hated Palpatine now with a hatred that transcended everything in his experience. It froze his blood, set fire to his heart, Darkened every part of him, made cold his soul. It created a Hate, a Darkness within him that never existed before. That was clearly the Emperor's intent; to push out Kenobi's power over him out, install his own. To let this new Hate master him, as nothing and no one ever had before.

The Dark Apprentice remembered his parting from his old Master, how bitter and cold it had been. How much pain there was. Overshadowed now by the rage and hate created by the Sith Emperor. The Jedi, truly, was nothing, had nothing, beside it. Yet why was the Sith Apprentice still thinking about him? That puzzled Darth Vader. He began to examine his feelings, as he'd been taught to do, for the Dark truth that lived within them and always had.

After a few moments, he understood. Obi-Wan did not hate him. He could not; it wasn't possible. Vader knew him: His old Master was a Jedi. He had lived his whole life as one and would die as one. That was his problem. He could not change what he was. He didn't have the strength, as his Apprentice had, to embrace a new identity. Obi-Wan could not hate like a Sith, did not know the passion it took to hate on that level. Yet, in trying to set his old Apprentice free by protesting his hatred, Kenobi enslaved himself last night. The shadow of his lie would follow him all his life. Along with all the other lies. All that shame and pain and bitterness, fed by lies, and now occasional violence in the service of the lies. There were the beginnings of a Darkness growing in Kenobi. That was rather a promising development.

Kenobi's love for him, which he'd tried to deny, might one day be powerful enough to Turn him. If it were handled properly.

The Dark Lord reflected on this a little more.

His Imperial Master had shown great wisdom after all, Lord Vader told himself finally, after several minutes of careful consideration. It was only just and right that he should be ordered to track the Jedi down, put his hands on him, take his body. But Palpatine had been wrong about killing him afterwards. That would not be the next correct step. It would mean ending a possible source of the Darkness, something that should never be done.

Instead, Vader would nurture this Darkness beginning in Kenobi. He would feed it with his kiss, water it with the moisture of his tongue, caress and encourage it with his hands. He would mate with it, and give it his body's energy. Slow and easy would do the job, for the Jedi Master. Pleasure, not force, worked best for this kind of work. The Sith could make him beg. He could have done it yesterday,

His Master would never be able to make him do that. He'd already tried. And failed.

Palpatine violated him last night. He engendered this black and intense hatred that he was nourishing right now. But he hadn't wanted the Emperor's touch, hadn't enjoyed any part of last night's procedure. The pain and rage was cleansing and invigorating, the hate most satisfactory, and the experience ultimately useful, but finally, the Sith Master failed. Lord Vader derived no pleasure from hating Palpatine for what he'd done. He just hated him. And that was all. Hatred without pleasure did not control. Where there was no control, there could be no transfer of power. His Emperor had just proven that he couldn't give him what he craved. Now he was nothing to Lord Darth Vader.

Kenobi, on the other hand, could give him what he wanted. Indeed, he could hardly avoid it. The Jedi wouldn't even be useful to him unless there was a pleasure bond created, in the process of Turning him. This was going to be a deeply personal experience. For both of them.

A soft, satisfied smile curved the Dark Lord's full lips. He'd never felt the Darkness so strongly before in his life. It was only fair to share it, to cherish its Like in another. It was an obligation.

Look how much his old Master had given him. Now Lord Vader could give some back.

The Sith Emperor of the Galaxy returned to Coruscant very early this morning. Between one urgent problem requiring his attention and the next, proceeding without a break the entire morning and through midday, he'd had no opportunity at all to reflect on the events of yesterday evening. So when afternoon came, His Imperial Highness threw out all his courtiers and flunkies from his audience chamber, and took some time for himself.

Palpatine had been a Sith Master for many years. He'd had three Apprentices. His first one was young when he came to him, but Maul had been the next thing to a mindless savage. It was important to keep an eye on him, but he was biddable and desired to please. That made working with him fairly easy. The second was old, even older than himself at the time, requiring nothing like the discipline of the first. Tyrannus was a quick study, greatly gifted, highly motivated. The Emperor recalled that there had been work to do in the beginning of their relationship, and some effort involved in keeping Tyrannus sharp, but little was required in terms of interpersonal interaction. And then there was Vader.

Lord Vader was a management problem from the very beginning.

He'd never expected to have to spend so much time and energy keeping him focused, on track and on task. Palpatine didn't have children, didn't ever desire a love or familial bond with anyone, but he sometimes thought that dealing with Darth Vader was a lot like having a small child to be responsible for. This wasn't parenthood, though. This was the Sith Order. A. Sith. Master. Never Shirked. His. Responsibility. He proved that, not only to his Apprentice, but to himself, last night on the Executor.

The protégé to Darth Plagueis sat quietly on his throne, and reflected.

Kenobi had done what he had done to Anakin Skywalker, and thus created a Darth Vader for Palpatine to nurture and train. The Ruler of the Galaxy had done what he had to do to Darth Vader, to create what could one day be a Sith Master. The Jedi would never, could never, match the Sith, for the sheer magnitude of the acts, the raw violation Palpatine committed on his Apprentice.

Closing his unnaturally luminous yellow eyes (they had once been blue, clear as the Naboo skies, and sparkled like the waters of their seas), The Emperor recalled what he had done.

His Apprentice had been shocked, when Palpatine told him what he was going to do to him, down in the maintenance bay. Of course his Master had read his mind, knew what he wanted to do with his old Jedi Master. That was what gave this act so much power, so much potential, for the production of hate and rage. Projecting this desire into revulsion, perverting it, took the focus off Kenobi and back into the Darkness, where it belonged.

Vader hadn't believed his Master would actually do it. That added even more power to the act. Horror, fear, anger, hatred, spiked into heights the Sith Master had never seen from his Apprentice before, as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It wouldn't have been enough, just to threaten to do it. He had to execute. It was the first, best way of solidifying these gains in Darkness for Lord Vader. That was his obligation. His duty, in the Order.

In his mind's eye, the Emperor saw what happened. His hand raised itself slightly. Vader hit the floor, hard. On his back. Mechanical arms and legs were spread out, and another slight movement of his hand caused them to be Force-bound to the durasteel floor. Hatred now exceeding anything his Apprentice ever felt for his old Master, at any time, Palpatine proceeded to remove Lord Vader's codpiece and belt. Using the Force; he wouldn't touch the Dark Lord until he had to. Then he'd hauled him up off the floor and slammed him back down again on his stomach, pinning him as before.

In point of fact, The Emperor hadn't used his hands on Vader at all. Only one part of his body actually touched him, and that as briefly as possible while still ensuring that there was appropriate damage done.

The act itself was clinical, on all three occasions. There was an inordinate amount of bleeding. The Sith Apprentice hadn't said a word, or made a sound throughout the entire procedure. All that could be heard was the mechanical sighing of the respirator, and that of a body slamming against the bay floor. He bore it manfully, Palpatine had to admit. He even remembered feeling proud of his Apprentice at the time- all the while slamming away at him without the smallest degree of pity or mercy. Or hesitation.

The Emperor found that the pain he was producing, the rage and the hatred, was most gratifying.

His Imperial Majesty considered not going through with what was, for him, the most difficult and repugnant part of the procedure he'd promised to carry out. He didn't want to use any part of his body to pleasure his Apprentice, to make him beg for more, as he said he would. After a few seconds' thought, revulsion won out over his sense of duty. He used the Force for that part of the process also, stimulating the pleasure centers of Vader's brain directly instead of physical contact with his genitals.

The result had been disappointing. Still not a word or a sound from Lord Vader, no matter what Palpatine did. After what seemed like a long time, the Sith Master gave up. Releasing his Force bonds, he'd ordered his Apprentice to get to his feet and accompany him to the landing bay. Vader had his duty to perform, and his Master had a task for him to complete.

The Emperor had merely done what had to be done. Ascribing any emotion to it besides duty was entirely missing the point.

It had been a bit of a surprise that there was so much blood involved, though. Clearly, his young Apprentice had not experienced that variety of intercourse. Well, there was a first time for everything.

He should contact his Dark Apprentice this afternoon. Just to keep those rough edges on his newly-created hatred nice and sharp. And jagged. And coated with poison.

After he'd finished with his usual afternoon meditation, he would do just that.

Admiral Troppert, with Isis in tow behind him, made it to the TIE maintenance bay in fairly short order. The technicians, very busy with their work on the engine augmentations required by Lord Vader, elaborately ignored their presence.

The pool of blood in question had been electronically cordoned off. The droid that the doctor brought with them to test it bent down, extended a sample probe, and took several readings. Then it sent its report to Troppert's datapad.

The elderly man turned as white as his hair when he saw it. Isis saw his reaction, and extended a hand to his arm, very gently. "Admiral, what is it?" She asked softly.

He looked down at her, eyes frightened and pale. It took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, he bent down and whispered to her.

"The blood is Lord Vader's. There is another substance there as well."

The Terran visitor swallowed hard. "What?"

Troppert's reply was so soft that she just barely heard it. And when she heard it, she couldn't believe it.

Her friend Hollie's Sith Lord had been brutally raped in this room last night. No wonder he was nowhere to be found now. No wonder he had not remembered to meet Hollie at the landing bay. No wonder. No wonder at all.

"Dear God," Isis whispered, completely shocked. "Admiral, can you tell from the samples who did it?"

That was the most horrible part of all. The doctor couldn't even speak the word, but the Terran guessed the truth, just based on how Troppert was reacting.

What the hell kind of place was this, where Masters raped Apprentices in the dead of night, leaving pools of blood? Where the Emperor of a Galaxy could get away with sexually brutalizing his second-in-command?

"What are you going to do?" Isis asked the head of the Imperial Medical Service, still keeping her voice very low. The techs were beginning to be very curious about their conversation. "You can't just let this slide. This is criminal. Where I come from, it's a felony."

The Admiral looked at her like she was insane. She looked back at him like he was a coward.

The ache in the Sith Apprentice's neck was getting worse. He thought about another medication for the pain, but decided against it. He was hurting quite a lot all over, but he didn't want any more drugs. They were only good for a few hours, and just made the physical symptoms go away. It did nothing for anything else. His pain was deeper than that. Much deeper.

He knew what he needed.

His concubines, his jewels. His proof positive of how generous the Dark could be, to those that embraced the power of its Truth.

His beauties. Melynda. Kelly. Heather. Kim. Hollie. Hollie…

BY THE GREAT DARK FORCE AND ALL THE SITH THAT EVER LIVED, WHAT HAD HE DONE??????

Hollie was arriving today. In fact, according to his schedule, she'd arrived hours ago. He hadn't told anyone, hadn't arranged anything. She could be anywhere. Being ogled or pawed or manhandled, or Force knew what. Activating his control screen, scrolling through his messages, he saw that there were at least six of them. All marked `Urgent' or `Critical.'

Reading, his heart sank. Hollie had arrived, all right. The first message came from Hendry at the landing bay almost four hours ago. There were two more messages, both from Troppert, shortly after that. One from Ozzel. Another from Troppert, this one labelled `Critical.' The last message came from Captain Piett, informing him that his mistress was in Admiral Ozzel's, office and they were incommunicado. Had been for hours. The door was locked and nobody could get in. Piet needed orders urgently, the Rebels were planning an attack in about two hours.

By the gods, this is a horrible situation. He had to deal with the Rebel attack immediately. And he had to get Hollie out of Ozzel's office. The Admiral was a notorious lecher, and it was looking very much like the Sith would have to kill him if he touched his consort. He didn't mind doing that; the Admiral was an idiot and a toady, but it would mean that he would have some explaining to do to his Master. Palpatine didn't understand his young Apprentice's affection for his concubines. He wouldn't appreciate the execution of a Star Fleet Admiral because the man insulted one of the members of Lord Vader's harem.

Not that the Dark Lord cared what his Master thought. Not any more.

Appalled beyond words, he read through all his messages. All he was thinking about, though, as he read them, was what he was going to tell his other Ladies. This was an unforgivable breach of protocol, a serious discourtesy, not to let them know that another Lady was joining them. They would be furious with him, and they had every right to be.

It was all his fault. The last standard day had been an extremely difficult one, but that was no excuse. Not a single one of his Ladies would accept anything less than desperate illness or at least present death as a reason for doing what he'd done.

As he sat there, in his meditation sphere, a cold sweat started breaking out all over his body. His lifesuit coped with it, but the harsh hand of guilt gripping his heart could not be dealt with by advanced temperature controllers and smart cybernetics.

He didn't want them to know what happened last night. He could handle last night. But he didn't know if he could handle this.

And just to make the situation worse, one of the messages from Troppert said that there was another lady with Hollie, another Terran that had been accidentally taken along with her to the Executor. This lady wanted to return to Terra. She needed Vader's permission, and a ship, to go back. This woman was apparently with the doctor now.

He could deal with that later. He would take care of Hollie right now. And then deal with the Rebel attack. And then face the wrath of his harem.

The Dark Lord of the Sith wasn't any good at grovelling. All he could do was apologize. And make it up to them. But he wasn't going to grovel. He'd occasionally grovelled to Padme, but it never did any good with her. When she was mad at him, she couldn't be mollified by expressions of mortification on his part. Especially when he generally didn't mean them. She could spot a fraud a mile away. His ladies were no different.

A red light began flashing on his comboard. The Emperor was signalling. His Master wanted to talk to him. Perfect.

Palpatine had said and done enough to him last night, and the man who had been Anakin Skywalker didn't want to hear any more. For the first time ever, he ignored it and prepared to leave his meditation sphere without answering his Master's call. He had important things to attend to.

When Captain Piett saw the tall bulky figure of Lord Vader striding up the walkway to Admiral Ozzel's private office, he heaved a sigh of relief. Thank the gods. Someone was going to take charge of this situation.

Ozzel had been holed up in his office for hours. There were reports that a small Rebel armada was approaching their position, and they could expect to be fired upon within the two hours. Piett and General Veers needed their orders. There wasn't anyone around to deal with the situation. Until now.

Vader walked up to the door and tried the button. Of course the door was locked. The Sith took the lightsaber off his belt and ignited it, cutting the control panel off the wall. One of his gloved hands reached inside and connected two wires. The door opened. The black caped and helmeted figure stepped in.

It was all Piett could do to keep himself from running up the ramp and peering inside Ozzel's office. It was all any of the bridge crew could do. They would have loved to watch their Lord take the Admiral apart at the seams.

Lord Vader didn't even look for the fat flag officer. All he was interested in was his Lady. He looked around and saw at once that his Hollie was fine. Apparently passed out on one of the chairs, but just fine. Not a mark on her, no sign that she'd been molested. There were three empty bottles of Correllian brandy: two on the desk, one on the floor. Ozzel was lying on the carpet near one of the empty bottles. In his underwear. Fast asleep.

Inside his helmet, Vader smiled. His lovely Hollie had the idiot officer stripped, drunk and unconscious, ripe for humiliation, in what was probably record time. He adored her ten times more now than he had before.

She probably wanted him dead at this point, he mused bitterly to himself. The Emperor's Apprentice walked over and tenderly picked Hollie up, covering her with the red cape draped over one of the chairs. Her skirt was too short (too short for public consumption…he thought the length was just fine for him); Vader wasn't going to carry her down the corridors in that. He didn't want her ogled any more than she had been. Her tall frame wasn't heavy, and they didn't have far to go. Without a word to anyone he carried her out and began the short journey to his quarters.

Piett was so eager to talk to his Lord about the Rebel armada, he thought about hurrying beside him as he strode off and shouting his questions as he ran. He did need to speak to the Dark Lord, but obviously this wasn't the time. He would wait. For a few more minutes. The Sith and his red-wrapped bundle disappeared around a corner. Piett's curiosity finally got the better of him and he went over to look in the Admiral's office.

Vader left Ozzel where and how he was. He didn't close the office door. Obviously he intended that the entire bridge crew see what their Admiral was. A drunken lecher in his underwear, sleeping it off, while he was supposed to be doing his duty.

The whole ship's crew should see this, though Piett as he watched his commanding officer snore in his brandy-induced stupor. Especially Ozzel's non-Imperial issue satin underdrawers. But word would spread soon enough, he knew, and be steadily embroidered with the lurid imaginations of the Executor's other officers and men. The headache the Fleet Admiral was going to have in a few hours would be nothing compared with the one that was going to result, trying to maintain some discipline with his bridge crew, after this incident.

The Dark Lord hadn't needed to Force-choke the pompous idiot. Ozzel had all but killed himself professionally. Just let him try to run a defense against the Rebels now.

Using the Force, Lord Vader opened the door to his quarters, and carried Hollie inside. After considering for a moment, he decided to put her in his bedroom for the time being. He laid the tall blonde beauty on his bed and covered her up, then started back to the bridge. He'd have to send a medical droid over later, to deal with her hangover, but that didn't need to be done right now.

The Dark Lord wasn't going to introduce his new consort into his harem until he'd faced his Ladies and told them what happened. He might occasionally be a fool, but he wasn't a coward. It was a matter of honor.

The Sith wondered what he would do if one or more of them decided to leave him, over this breach of trust and civility. He'd had no excuse that was sufficient and intended to offer none; Melynda would view any made-up excuse as an insult to her considerable intelligence. Heather would find it disrespectful in the extreme, that he would even think she could be fobbed off with some story about him being busy or some such thing.

Kim and Kelly would both be angry, and justifiably so, but would probably forgive him. Kim was sweet-natured as well as beautiful and passionate. Kelly's personality and innate good humor just didn't permit the vicissitudes of life as a Sith's mistress get her down. But what would happen if Hollie decided she didn't want to be his concubine after all, and made up her mind that she wanted to go back home? What if Heather and Melynda did the same?

He couldn't do without his Ladies. They must not leave him. They just mustn't.

He'd compel them if he had to. If it came to that. Lord Vader didn't always know how to manage his harem, and he could admit it. To himself. Rebels, though, he always knew what to do with. It was clear and unambiguous. Rebels died. It was that simple.

He was looking forward to this crisis. At last, something requiring lethal force to solve, that didn't tax emotions he sometimes found difficult.

The Hate and Anger were rising in him now. They had a perfect object in the Rebellion against the Empire. They were life and breath, to a Sith.

The Dark Lord embraced and used them. Piett looked up at him almost with love as he strode back to the bridge.

The Executor prepared for battle.

The Design Challenge was going pretty well in Lord Vader's harem. Heather was designing for Kim, Kim was designing for Kelly, Kelly was designing for Heather, and Melynda was drinking steadily.

She did better imitations of Tim What's-his-Name when she was drunk.

Walking over to Kim, she took a swig from the bottle she was carrying around and put both hands on her hips. "Kim, how are you doing?"

The lovely consort shrugged. She was trying for a look for Kelly that was something in between Johnny Depp/Jack Sparrow and `Debbie Does Dallas,' she explained. When she told that to the Dark Lord's Dark Side gift, Mel frowned. "The hat is great, the way you've braided her hair is fabulous. I love the feathers you've integrated from the boas, and those Mardi Gras beads, into her hair. The makeup is outstanding. But the costume…the costume. It's so confused. Do you think the chaps and that bra really go with the hat?"

Kim shrugged again. She thought the chaps were cute. "Have another drink, Kim," the lovely brunette suggested. "I think exotic dancer outfit might be a better choice to work from, because frankly I'm just not seeing the effect here. She looks really strange in that that, like John Wayne meets Captain Hook. I keep expecting her to start saying, "Yo Ho Ho and a pile of horse-shit."

Kelly agreed with Mel, but didn't say so. She kind of wanted to try the French Maid's outfit with the pirate makeup. But she was next in the barrel.

"Kelly, how is Heather's harem outfit coming?" Heather came forward, clutching the police officer's uniform around her. The fit was hopeless, and the lovely redhead hated it the military cut of the top. Heather and Kelly had not been able to agree on a concept, and both were getting frustrated. They both started talking at once, which bamboozled the tipsy Sith Bitch.

"One at a time, Ladies," she pleaded, holding up one manicured hand.

"I want to go as a sexy Jedi, but Kelly refuses to consider it," said Lady Heather. "She says that the last thing our lord wants to see at the end of a long day is another Jedi, sexy or not. The police uniform was the compromise, but the fit is impossible."

Mel sighed. She could see Kelly's point, but the police uniform was really not a good choice to showcase Heather's luxuriant curves.

"I can only suggest, not direct," the Sith Lord's gift from the Dark Side explained. "Does the phrase, `Make it Work?' mean anything to you?"

"'Make it work, Make it work,'" the tall curvaceous redhead mocked. "Is that all you have to say?'"

Melynda smiled evilly. "No. I could also say, `Designers, stick it up your-`"

"Shut up, Mel," Kelly flared. "I'd like to see how good you do, trying to design something sexy with just this stuff around. Most of this stuff won't work for Heather. The colors are wrong, and the cuts are hopeless."

"This contest was your idea," Heather snapped back.

"You've got one hour," Mel pointed out, patience wearing thin. "One hour to come up with something really banging, or you forfeit. Don't you want Palpatine's head?"

Kelly and Heather looked at each other. "I'd dance for it," the redhead said, coming up with an idea. The beautiful young concubine in her powerchair read her friend's mind.

"Of course, Lady Salome," she said, smiling. "Come on, we have work to do…"

Deeply satisfied and enjoying her role, Mel went back to Kim. "Kim, what has Heather designed for you? Can I see it?"

The lovely strawberry blonde pouted a little, and pulled her outfit on for the Sith Bitch's inspection. It was more or less complete. Heather had the idea to dress her as a combination Desperate Housewife and Bondage Slave. Her makeup was a sort of heroin chic, with pale skin and lots of black around her eyes. The lips were pale. The cheekbones were shadowed and defined so that they really stood out. Heather had succeeded in making Kim look about 17. Jailbait, no question about it. There were also black leather neck- and wrist-bands. The outfit itself was a red satin slip dress, slit with a pair of scissors in strategic spots. The shoes were very-high heeled strappy red sandals, and tied with red ribbons around her delicate ankles.

Melynda was genuinely impressed. Kim looked incredibly hot.

"How do you feel about it?" she asked.

"It isn't me," replied the consort.

"No," the Sith Bitch agreed, "but it's extremely sexy. Are you worried about selling it on the runway?"

`Yes," the lovely blonde replied.

"Kim," Mel told her, "you look so hot, you'll set the runway on fire. Have some more JD. Make it work."

"Is the runway ready for us?"

The Judge had also accepted responsibility for building the runway. She planned on shoving three tables together, end to end, and had her music player ready to go.

Taking another swill of her JD, she nodded. "Yes, that's under control. I think I'll get the tables together now, while I can still stand up."

Highly satisfied, she walked off to gather her materials.

All the needed was a camera, to film this. Their lord might enjoy watching it later. After she was done licking a bottle of JD off his naked body.

Not wanting to feel entirely left out of the competition, Melynda took out the blue silk charmeuse gown she'd been admiring earlier, and put it on. It fit beautifully. She had four-inch stiletto heels that were perfect, and solved the length problem. A silver chain belt, slung low on her hips, was the perfect finishing touch.

Her Sith Lord would love it. Or rather, he would love getting her out of it.

The Rebels were attacking. It was the most pathetic attempt at staging a raid the Dark Lord had ever seen.

Between the Executor's firepower and Lord Vader's excellent tactics, they were completely defeated and out-maneuvered before they'd even gotten well underway. The greatly-reduced attacking force beat a hasty retreat after less than two hours. Once they'd gone, the Sith gave the orders to track down and destroy any stragglers, and decided he could leave the bridge for a little while. And deal with his domestic crisis.

Ozzel was still out cold. Vader left him there. Office door wide open.

Hollie was beginning to stir. Slowly. Her eyes weren't open yet, but the room smelled different. Had she been moved? Had her lord come for her at last?

Getting her eyes open was extremely difficult. After a couple of attempts, managing only to get them open just a little, she stopped trying. Her head hurt so bad. She just wanted to stay still for a while.

The lovely consort was able to establish that she'd been moved, though. She was in a very large bed, in a strange room. The room was dimly-lit, thank God, but there didn't appear to be much in it. Very few clues, as to whose it was.

She felt sure this was her lord's room. Home at last. Hollie went back to sleep.

The runway show was starting. The girls were gathered. Mel had her speech ready. And her digital movie camera. Lord Vader had no idea that she had one, or he would have confiscated it long ago. No pictures, no cameras, no film: that was absolute. He wanted no images to get out of his Terrans, his beautiful concubines. But Melynda thought he would change his mind, once he saw this. It was just too hot not to capture.

Kelly did the photographic honors, filming the event. It didn't jiggle too much as she held it up.

"Good evening, Designers," Mel began, leaning heavily against the makeshift runway. She was trying not to look as snookered as she certainly was. "Your challenge was to create a harem outfit from just the contents of three suitcases plus whatever was in this room, and the winner gets to keep Palpatine's head in a jar of rancid vinegar. You had three hours. You had to use each other as your models. One of you will win the challenge. The rest of you will be out. I will be the judge, but our lord will have the final and absolute vote as to whose outfit is the hottest. We will show him this film when he returns later today, and the prize will be awarded at a future date, to be determined, as circumstances permit.

"Let's start the show."

Mel switched on the music. Gwen Stefani. Luxurious. Kim was first, climbing first up on a chair, then onto the tables that served as the runway. Kelly captured her as she sauntered down the catwalk, looking like the hottest 17-year old sex slave that ever lived. The dress fit her body well, and the scissor slashes gave tantalizing glimpses of her pale torso and rounded behind. She looked helpless and alone and just crying for her lord to come and take care of her. No Sith could hope to resist that. That was for sure and for certain.

Heather came next. Madonna. Ray of Light. Her long red curls were spilling out of a magnificent green and purple headwrap, draped with jewelry of every description. Her outfit was made entirely of strategically suspended and wrapped scarves, tied to her body in layers that barely hid anything, and bits of diaphanous material cut from various peignoir sets. She prowled the high table runway, a seraglio concubine fit for a prince. No man could deny her anything, in that outfit. Not half the Empire. Not even the Emperor's head.

Kelly couldn't do the catwalk, but Mel took over filming while the other girls helped the young concubine up to the runway, and stood by her while she turned around slowly for the camera. The music played: Johnny Hates Jazz. Shattered Dreams. Kelly was wearing the pirate's had, her hair in a lot of narrow braids that had feathers and beads incorporated into them. Her beautiful eyes were heavily lined, and she wore false eyelashes. Her lips were red painted invitations to untrammeled fornication. She wore the French Maid's outfit, but it had been stripped down and slashed to practically nothing. It was hardly more than a bra. A collar. A pair of cuffs on her wrists. And a skirt so short it was scandalous. Made even more so by layers of tulle, which caused it to stand away from her body almost like a tutu. She wore pink satin panties underneath. Pale pink. Lace trimmed. And she looked hotter than hell.

Melynda had a difficult task to do, and she knew it. Which was the hottest?

She honestly didn't know.

"Ladies," the Sith Bitch said, after passing the camera back to Kelly for filming, "You've given me a very hard task to perform. I'm not going to ask you any questions about your design, because it's obvious what you were doing and how you chose to achieve your goals. Let me think about this for a few minutes, and then I will announce the winner."

All the Ladies retired to their couches, and picked up their glasses. At that moment, their Lord came walking through the door.

Isis and Admiral Troppert glared at each other. An uncharitable person might have said they looked like two children, trying to stare each other down.

"You don't know what you're saying," the doctor hissed at her. "It would do no good to accuse the Emperor of a crime. There no judge that isn't thoroughly corrupt to indict him, and no court in the Galaxy that is powerful enough to try him. All it would do is get us both killed."

The Terran just curled her lip at him. Then she decided to back off just a little. For the time being.

"You should take samples of this blood," she told him. "You will have to keep it as evidence anyway, since you're supposed to be doing an official investigation on this ship. It will look strange in the record, if you don't."

He would just have to destroy it later, he was sure, but she did have a point. Irritably, he gave the instructions to the robot. It collected four small vials of the blood. After it finished, Isis brought it to his attention that they also needed to get the logs for the Immortal's ship, and the refueling reports.

The two of them left the maintenance bay for the landing docks control center. The Admiral didn't notice that, along the way, his guest took one of the vials of blood and stuck it in her pocket.

The Sith looked at the entryway of his harem, strewn with suitcases, garments, bottles (mostly empty) of alcohol, unopened cases of something called Jack Daniels, and purely feminine debris. He wondered how much of it was his Hollie's.

Assuming the worst (in this situation, it was probably justifiable), he thought it was probably his new consort's.

She would be completely furious when she saw what her fellow concubines had done to her things.

Could things possibly be any worse, he asked himself. Not only had he failed to greet Hollie, failed to tell his other ladies she was coming, but his consorts had trashed her belongings and drunk an enormous amount of her liquor. That was his fault too.

His Ladies swayed/staggered/tottered to their feet to greet him, all unknowing what they'd done. As they did so, the Dark Lord realized something. He'd never seen a sexier group of women in his whole life.

He'd take Hollie to Coruscant, anywhere she wanted to go, credit no object, and he'd do it very soon. He'd replace everything that had been drunk, borrowed or appropriated. He would grovel if he had to, for forgiveness for both himself and his Ladies.

This sight, of his Terran lovelies done up as they were, was worth it. He wanted to take all four of them, right now, at the same time.

Melynda couldn't see his face, but she could read him very well in spite of this. She smirked. "I take it we please you, my lord?"

She sidled up to him, placing one arm around his waist. Heather came around to the other side, with Kim and Kelly leaning against his chest. He wrapped his durasteel arms around his ladies at his sides, and for once didn't worry about feminine embraces messing up the controls on his lifesuit.

"You always please me, my ladies, always," he rumbled. Gods, they were magnificent.

He enjoyed basking in their adoration for a few more seconds. He knew he shouldn't, but he did anyway. Then, reluctantly, he told them. He told them what they'd done, all unknowing, to their new sister, the lady Hollie. And took responsibility for it.

His ladies reacted as he'd expected. Shock. Anger. Remorse. More anger. And still more anger.

The Sith explained that he would make it up to Hollie, that he would square everything with her. She would not blame them. It wasn't their fault, it was his. And their new sister was presently in his room, sleeping off a drinking session with Admiral Ozzel.

Melynda and Heather knew something was wrong all along, and were plenty pissed off. At him. At themselves. And then at him again, for putting them into this situation. Kim was very upset, as was Kelly. What bothered them most was that they'd pawed through and confiscated a new Lady's things before they'd even met her, even knew she existed. How could Hollie forgive them, for what looked like rank stupidity on their part?

It took quite a long time to calm them down. But that was going to be nothing compared to what Lord Vader was going to have to do to mollify his Hollie.

If the Dark Lord did but know it, he had another problem on his hands. Melynda didn't believe him when he said that he'd simply forgotten to inform them. Kelly didn't believe it either. That just wasn't something their lord would do. Heather and Kim weren't sure they believed it either, but were willing to take his word. For the time being. Being caressed and fondled while he told them how unbelievably hot they were was a terrible distraction from their reasoning process. Especially in their inebriated state.

The Sith's Dark Side gift wasn't willing to be so distracted. She wanted to know the full story. And she was going to get it, by all the gods. Hollie deserved to know the entire truth. They all did; their lord should have more respect for them. Mel was patient; she would bide her time.

And find the truth.

Isis didn't remember the small vial of blood, stashed in the front pocket of her jeans, until she was about to sit down, back in Troppert's office. They'd run their errands and returned to the Infirmary. It was time to start the work of identifying the location of the Immortal. She didn't want to break the fragile container; her jeans were not a good place to keep this piece of highly compromising evidence. The elderly man was already seated at his desk, and he looked up at her quizzically as she continued standing, across from him.

"Admiral," the Terran accidental guest asked a little tentatively, "do you suppose you could inquire about my friend Hollie's whereabouts? We haven't heard anything for hours, and I'm worried about her."

The head of the Imperial Medical Service nodded, turned his chair away to his com station to enter his request for status on the Dark Lord's consort. While he was turned away, Isis shifted the vial from her jeans pocket to the space between her breasts, in the center of her brassiere, and immediately sat down in the chair.

Troppert learned that Hollie had been escorted away by Lord Vader about two hours ago, but the officer the Admiral spoke with didn't have any more information for him. After he signed off, Isis' reluctant host checked his own messages for anything from the Sith.

Nothing. No acknowledgement to any of his messages, no direction, nothing. He relayed this information to his Terran guest, who nodded somewhat dejectedly.

Everyone had forgotten her, it seemed. She was so tired and worried and afraid, she felt ready to cry. But she wasn't going to do it in front of this man. He was a cold Imperial professional, who was just using her for his own ends. Troppert certainly cared nothing for how she might be feeling, marooned very far away from her home, with no way to get back.

Taking refuge from her emotions in the task at hand, Isis bent over the datapad and started looking at the Immortal's logbook download. There were departure and arrival point coordinates, dates, times, hyperspace jump records and refueling data, going back dozens of entries. She was trying to find a pattern of some kind, but the information was completely bewildering. She soon realized that she needed a map, some information about Karesh's ship, and its performance in order to make sense of the data. As soon as she spoke up to ask, Admiral Troppert, feeling a little abashed at not providing the obvious tools the Terran needed to do her job, made amends immediately. He found her an office, a computer terminal, and a droid that could extract any information she needed from it. Taking her there, he also informed her that if she wanted anything to eat or drink she should request it from the service droid. It would bring her whatever she needed. And then he left her alone.

She did cry at that point. After sending the droid out to procure her some dinner, she broke down and sobbed her heart out.

The Ladies of Lord Vader's harem all felt awful too, looking at the tremendous mess they'd made of their new sister's belongings and her JD stash. As soon as their Lord believed they'd accepted his assurances- that they would not be blamed for what happened- he left their quarters. He had another lady to mollify, and he needed to take care of that immediately.

The Dark Lord's concubines just stood for a moment, in the wreck that was their entryway, and looked at each other. Then, at the disaster site. Many of the contents of the three suitcases had been recycled or otherwise rendered un-useable by their little contest. Mel silently went over to the cases, and looked at what was left untouched, trying to get an idea of how bad the situation was.

The undergarments were intact and in perfect condition, since none of the ladies could wear them. The sexy costumes had taken the heaviest hit, and that was unfortunate, but it need not affect Hollie's immediate requirements for clothing. Some of the lovely peignoir sets were ruined. It looked like four of them had been confiscated and utilized in various of the harem outfits. Her day clothing was untouched, which was good. At least they'd not confiscated any of that. Hollie could probably get by for a couple of weeks on what they hadn't ruined, but that was all.

Looking at the damage, Melynda's anger began to rise again. As Heather walked over to join her, the lovely redhead's irritation resurfaced as well. They weren't drunk enough to not feel regret, no matter what Vader's assurances had been. They were feeling it now, and were damn mad about it. Hollie might not blame them in the end. If anyone could smooth over any feminine ruffled feelings, it would be the Sith Lord they all adored. But neither one of them believed that he'd simply forgotten about Hollie. Something had happened, something very serious, to distract their lord to such a degree that he'd made this bad of a mistake. The Jedi might have been part of it in some way. But surely he was gone by now. It didn't add up. There must also be something else.

Kelly and Kim, meanwhile, gathered up all the empty bottles and figured out how much they'd drunk. It worked out to be about four bottles, out of one case. That wasn't too bad. They still felt horrible about it, though.

None of the consorts had any Jack Daniels that they could contribute back to Hollie, to make good the losses. Knowing they'd drunk her liquor, without her being there to share it with them, gnawed at all of them. It was the height of rudeness and bad manners, and somehow the fact that they'd done it without knowing didn't make them feel any better about it.

Everyone's very pleasant buzz was completely killed now. Reality and hangover was starting to set in, and there was not a medical droid in sight to help them deal with them. Of course, the fun of the contest was finished as well. Nobody cared who won. No one asked Mel for her decision. The Dark Side gift didn't have one anyway. By rights, Hollie should win because it had all been done with her things.

Kim went over to the hall table and pressed the call button, summoning the service droids. When they got there, she instructed them to put the foyer back in order, repack Hollie's belongings, and prepare one of the vacant apartments for the new Lady's arrival. Each consort then contributed a small gift to leave in her rooms, as was customary among them. Heather and Mel wrote a note of apology, which all of them signed, and put it on her door. Then everyone retired to their own quarters, to nurse their anger, their guilt and their hangovers as best they could.

Hollie barely felt the hyperdermic needle enter her arm, and the drug enter her body. It was a little alarming, though, once she realized what was happening. She hadn't been expecting it. The hum of the medical droid was both unfamiliar and somewhat threatening. The lovely blonde tried to open her eyes. It hurt. Moaning a little, she stirred in the great bed.

"Just relax," the voice of her lord told her. "It's something for your hangover. You'll feel better in a few minutes."

"My Lord," she whispered, finally getting her eyes open. He was sitting on the bed next to her, in full armor, helmet and breathmask. "You finally came for me." It was a statement of fact, not an accusation.

Accusations could come later.

"Yes," replied Lord Vader. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you." And that was all he said.

That sounded pretty lame to Hollie. "You forgot. Didn't you?" Her tone sounded sharp.

"Yes," the Dark Lord admitted. He made no excuse, offered no explanation. He didn't have one that was acceptable anyway. His Hollie was going to be angry with him. Let her be angry. She was entitled. And she was beautiful when she was angry. Vader didn't make a move to touch her either. The Sith was hoping she would hit him. He loved a good fight.

"How could you?" Hollie demanded, hurt and furious beneath the vanishing hangover. "What the fuck was so important that you could forget?"

Lord Vader didn't answer. He just waited. It had been his experience that women, especially the proud and passionate Terrans he preferred, enjoyed an occasionally tantrum. Especially when there was some justification around it. It also made for fabulous sex afterwards.

The Sith loved making up too. Sometimes he would pick a fight just to get the lovemaking that inevitably followed it. Some of his most memorable nights with Melynda had been spent in this way. On this occasion, though, it was more than just himself that he needed to apologize for. He needed to solicit forgiveness for his other Ladies as well. This task would require a somewhat different approach.

"Are you going to answer, or just sit there, staring at me?"

"What do you want me to say?" The vocoder made the request sound flat rather than dejected and resigned.

"How about, `I'm sorry'? How about `I fucked up and I owe you'?"

"I said I was sorry." Let the fighting begin.

"You don't sound sorry," Hollie accused angrily as she sat up. "I didn't need to come halfway across the universe to be treated this way by an inconsiderate asshole Sith. I could have stayed at home and gotten that."

Vader noted that her color looked good. The drug was working well. How beautiful she was, he thought, as he looked at her disheveled silky blonde hair, her petulant mouth, and lovely long-legged body. The skirt was exceptionally and marvelously short. Time to prod her a little more.

"Do you want to return home, then?" the Dark Lord asked, sounding indifferent and faintly parental. Like she was a little child, misbehaving in a shop.

"How dare you take that tone with me!" she shouted. Arrogant son of a bitch.

"You are my concubine, Madam. This is my bedroom and you are on my ship. Lower your voice."

"I'm not lowering anything, asshole." If Hollie were any madder, she would hit him. And then start crying. This was not at all what she was hoping for, when she signed on to be Lord Vader's mistress, aboard the Executor.

"I already said I was sorry, child. Do you expect a Sith to do more, to grovel through an apology that he doesn't mean, like one of your Terran men, just to make you feel better?"

"Hell yes!"

"Then go back to your home world and find a pet Terran, who likes to grovel. Shall I arrange for the ship to be refueled?"

Hollie's eyes were filling with tears of frustration. "Fuck you, you filthy Sith bastard!"

The Dark Lord stood up and stuck his thumbs into his belt. "Was that a `yes' or a `no'?"

The lovely concubine was furious, although no longer hung-over. She was breathing hard, staring up at him with large, pain-filled eyes. But she didn't move off the bed.

"I'll take that as a `no.'" He rumbled. A laugh came through the black breathmask. "You silly little girl, you're not hurt. You're just angry."

"I am too hurt!" Even Hollie had to admit that she sounded infantile, but it was true. She was hurt.

"Then who's hurting you?" Theatrically, but with a singular grace, Lord Vader took his thumbs out of his belt and pulled out his lightsaber. Immediately he ignited it. Its long red blade glowed ominously in the dim room. "Shall I kill him for you? Very well. I'll kill him. Come out, Coward!" he shouted to the room. Raising the light levels in the bedroom slightly with a slight use of the Force, the Sith began to search the room for the filthy son of a Hutt sow that would dare hurt his Hollie. He flung over the chest of drawers. It's drawers spilled out onto the floor. He tossed a chair across the room, smashing it. He looked under the bed, peeked behind doors, cut open closet doors and kicked aside the resulting debris. Swearing ancient Sith curses the whole time. They sounded awful. But it was also hilarious.

Watching her Lord tear up his bedroom, looking for someone that didn't exist, Hollie couldn't help but smile. In spite of herself. Then she began to chuckle. She couldn't stay mad at him. It wasn't possible.

Breathing hard now, respirator struggling to keep up, Vader examined the shambles of his bedroom and admitted defeat. "I can't find him," he said regretfully, deactivating his saber. "But I won't give up. He will pay for hurting you, I swear it. I'll find him and kill him if it takes twenty years."

The beautiful consort scooted over to the side of the bed, and extended both her arms out. The Dark Lord rushed over and knelt before her, activating his Anakin Skywalker Force chimera. Hollie was surprised anew at how handsome her lord had been. And at how much she cared for him. Even when he was being a dickhead. She smiled into his blue-green eyes. "You promise?"

"I promise," promised the Anakin image, smiling back at her.

"No matter how long it takes?"

"No matter how long it takes."

"Shore `nuff?"

Lord Vader didn't answer in words. His lips covered hers, and they kissed, slowly. Sensuously. `This was more like it', thought Hollie, as her mouth opened to receive his tongue. It explored her mouth, entwined itself with hers. Moaning softly, his hands pushed her back on the bed, and he laid himself on top of her, kisses becoming more and more passionate.

He unbuttoned her blouse carefully, kissing his way across her breasts, licking gently at her nipples, pausing to suck strongly at one of them. She gasped, fisted her hand into his long golden brown curls. He hiked up her skirt and slowly pulled down her panties. The gradual pace of his undressing her drove the lovely consort insane with desire.

The Sith, for probably the first time with a concubine, was careful not to tear her clothing. She had less of it immediately available to her right now than she knew. And he still had something to tell her.

Once he'd removed her lacy thong, he began to kiss and lick her inner thighs. Hollie parted her legs eagerly, trying to keep her hips still while he enjoyed her fragrant deliciousness. She was so sensitive; as his tongue laved the pink nub of her pleasure center, she moaned and almost wailed, desperate for him to enter her. One finger, then two, did move inside her and she cried out, begged him for yet more. She wanted to touch him, wanted to caress his cock, wanted him inside her so badly. The Anakin image pulled himself up and threw off his own clothing so she could have her desire. As they kissed again, and again, she tried to touch all of him at once. Her hand did find his member at last, engorged and perfect. Caressing it, she guided it to her hot, wet core. When he entered, thrusting deeply, both their cries seemed to echo off the durasteel walls of the Dark Lord's bedroom.

After a little while, it was over. Satiated, they lay contentedly in each other's arms.

"Hollie," whispered the Sith, still retaining the Anakin image. "There's something else…"

Holding her close, kissing her face gently all the while, he told her. His other ladies had not realized she was coming, and had made a mistake about the alcohol she'd brought with her. And the suitcases. But he would make it up to her. Any way she wanted him to.

Vader explained everything, and as his hands touched her, his lips caressed her, his tongue driving her crazy, Hollie understood. She forgave him. And forgave them. She really did.

They hadn't meant any insult. Her lord had fucked up, that was all. Men did that sometimes.

Isis worked a long time over the figures and maps. The droid was quite helpful in extracting data from the Imperial Network; she had it cross-check log entries at every planet spaceport she could identify from the coordinates. And then she had it plot some points on a three-dimensional graphical representation of this quadrant of the galaxy, to get a visual representation of where Karesh was going. She added in the path of the Executor as well, for a reference point. In looking at the model, there were only perhaps two-dozen destination points, many repeated.

It didn't appear that he falsified his log, but she could have been wrong.

The Immortal didn't get around that much. It looked like nearly all of his trips over the last year had happened over the last several months- most within the last few weeks. What surprised her most was that there were a number of trips to worlds that were supposedly uninhabitable. Close to solar system primaries, with high radiation levels. None suitable for human life. She thought at first that these trips had to be faked, but then thought the better of it. If one was going to falsify a ship's log book to put an enemy off the trail of where you'd been, at least use planets for your fake trips that are feasible choices.

It didn't make sense. Until she recalled that he was an Immortal. The high radiation wouldn't kill him. It may not even be damaging. It could be that his people evolved in a highly radioactive environment, and there might be no problem for him to live in one. If so, then making one's home on a radioactive planet was one sure way of keeping mortals away.

Could one of these planets be his home world? And if it were, what good would it do, to tell that to Troppert? He couldn't land there anyway. He would have to lure Karesh off of his radioactive planet, into someplace more hospitable, where he could be contacted and brought back.

Troppert told her earlier that Karesh brought the fugitive Obi-Wan Kenobi to the Executor only a day or so ago. The log book indicated that the Immortal stopped an a distant world called Tatooine, on the Outer Rim, just prior to landing again yesterday on the warship she was now on. It had been a brief visit, only a couple of hours, but it was possible that Kenobi could have been brought to this ship from there. In looking at the charts, Tatooine was a desert world, two suns, no mineral or other material wealth. Not much to recommend itself, except to a criminal, a fugitive or some other underworld figure. Its chief benefit was that it was very far from anywhere important or interesting, and it was so barren an environment that it was hard to imagine why anyone would want to go there. It would be a pretty good place to hide out from the law, however. And it was the only human-habitable place Karesh had gone in between visits to the Executor. Tatooine looked like a good place to start, to look for Kenobi.

Sitting back in her chair, eyes tired and the rest of her completely exhausted, Isis wondered if Kenobi and Karesh were friends. If they'd known each other before. And why the Immortal's first logged trip on the ship had, as its departure point, Coruscant. Central planet of the Empire, home of the Emperor. Coruscant wasn't a ship-building center. It was one vast city. It didn't even appear from the trade reports that ships were bought or sold there. The Terran sensed that there were some unanswered questions, some pertinent information, about the connection between the Emperor and this mysterious being. Perhaps the ship held some of those answers.

It was late when the Terran refugee finished her work. She wrote up her findings from the data, stated her conclusions, and asked the service droid to give them to Admiral Troppert. Then she asked if she could have a bed for the night.

After the droid left on its errand, Isis wondered if she would ever get home again. If everyone in the whole universe had forgotten about her.

Troppert was in his quarters, but had not yet retired for the night, when the service droid brought him the Terran's datapad report. He spent a few moments scanning it, and was well-pleased with what he saw. She'd done an excellent job. He'd study the findings more closely in the morning, but they looked very promising, and highly useful.

The droid relayed her request for somewhere to sleep. The elderly Admiral, embarrassed again at having been an extremely poor host, told the droid to put her up in one of the private rooms of the Infirmary. Then he told the machine to find the woman a change of clothes, and bring her to his office at the start of the first day shift.

Lord Vader should know of these developments, the head of the Imperial Medical Service thought to himself, as he read through Isis' report. He'd try to contact the Sith again tomorrow. But he wouldn't press. The woman was useful. He might use her to make contact with the Immortal.

Hollie spent her first night as a consort of Lord Darth Vader with her lord, in his bedroom. That was standard practice. The Sith, for his part, was so delighted and charmed with his lovely concubine that he did not permit the concerns of anything outside his harem to enter his mind, or to enter his thoughts in any way.

Several facts were unknown to him, then, as a result of this decision.

Firstly, that his Master the Emperor was attempting to contact him. Several times, over several hours. And he was getting quite angry at not having his communications responded to.

Secondly, Admiral Troppert, in collaboration with his Terran refugee-guest, had identified three possibilities for the homeworld of the Immortals, and the probable location of Obi-Wan Kenobi. In what had to be record time. But he was keeping that information to himself.

Thirdly, Admiral Ozzel finally woke out of his Corellian-brandy-induced sleep. After his hangover had been reduced by a medical droid, he realized that the entire bridge crew now knew what happened in his office. They'd been able to view him, in his unconscious state, for hours. In his underwear. In a drunken stupor. While the Rebels attacked the ship. Ozzel, burning with resentment at Vader's outrageous breach of military etiquette, was aching for revenge. So when the Emperor contacted him, searching for the whereabouts of his Apprentice, Ozzel was most happy to tell him where the Dark Lord was. And with whom. After putting up a token resistance, of course.

Fourthly, the Terran Isis had secreted, on her person, a vial of blood that had the possibility of destroying both the Emperor Palpatine and with him, the entire Imperial governmental structure.

And nobody knew she had it.

Morning came on the Executor.

Lord Vader's first official duty for the day was to introduce Hollie to the other members of his harem. The Dark Lord was a little apprehensive about it at first, but he needn't have worried. His Lady was extremely gracious to her new sisters, and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about getting to know them. His other Ladies, in their turn, were quite taken with Hollie immediately. It appeared that they adored her already.

Leaving them to their happy task of getting acquainted, the Sith Apprentice left his harem and went back to his quarters. To pick up his messages.

Admiral Troppert met with Isis, in his office, as his first appointment of the day. They spent a couple of hours going over the data and her findings. By process of elimination, they agreed on what was the best planet to begin looking for Karesh, and agreed on where Kenobi had to be. If he were still alive. They just needed to test their hypothesis, and send a ship to check out Tatooine. In order to do that, they needed the cooperation of either Admiral Ozzel or Lord Vader.

Lord Vader hadn't responded to any of Troppert's messages from yesterday. Obviously helping a stranded Terran wasn't high on his list of priorities.

The doctor decided to approach Ozzel directly about getting a ship, and not tell Vader about his plans. He wanted no down-side to any possible failure of his proposed mission to recover the Jedi and the Immortal.

Outwardly, Troppert was charming and considerate to his guest. He noted that she still looked tired, and told her that if she wished, she could retire back to her room for a while. Gratefully, Isis accepted his invitation. She'd hardly slept at all last night, being terribly worried about being able to return home, and she told him as much. The Admiral reassured her that he was working on getting her a ship, that he would call Lord Vader and Admiral Ozzel again, and work something out. Not really mollified, but realizing that she couldn't do anything more, the Terran lady went back to her Infirmary room. She was dying to get out of the terribly uncomfortable Imperial uniform anyway.

The head of the Star Fleet Medical Service got on the companel as soon as she left, and had a long, private talk with Ozzel. At length, they agreed to use one of the drone ships, and program it for a two-day mission to Tatooine. Behind Vader's back. They would send Isis, alone, to the Outer Rim world to find the Jedi. If the Terran succeeded in bringing him back to the Executor, Ozzel and Troppert would use him to find Karesh and turn both of them over to the Emperor. Such an action would infuriate the Sith- no question about that, while making both of them look highly efficient to the Emperor.

Ozzel especially liked that part. The drone could then return Isis to Terra after the Jedi and the Immortal were in custody. No loose ends. If the woman failed, well, one couldn't make a Denebian omelet without breaking a few Trezotl eggs. No one would miss her. No one had so far.

Lord Vader saw that his Master tried to contact him no less than six times yesterday. The Emperor's Apprentice still didn't want to talk to him. But he couldn't put it off much longer.

He also saw that he hadn't responded at all to the situation with the Terran castaway. He decided he'd better deal with that first, before Palpatine tied him up with some stupid and useless task, designed to test or humiliate him. Hollie would no doubt ask him about her friend sooner or later, and he didn't want to have to tell her that he'd forgotten.

The Dark Lord commed Admiral Troppert. The doctor wasn't picking up. He decided to go down to the Infirmary and speak to him in person.

Isis was just drifting off to sleep when the door to her room opened, and two men walked in. One was the elderly doctor who had been working her to death. The other was someone she hadn't seen before.

He was very tall, well over six feet. He was dressed entirely in black, heavily armored, from head to foot. His face was entirely concealed by a rather frightening breathmask. She could hear the sighing of a respirator at regular intervals. At first she thought it might be a nightmare. But it wasn't.

The Terran was only wearing her underwear beneath the covers, and she immediately pulled up the blankets to cover her body. What the hell was this? She didn't want any more trouble.

The Sith was furious, once he'd tracked down the doctor and began to question him. The Admiral had been in his office, but was refusing to take his call. Troppert's answers to Vader's questions about what his guest was doing over the last standard day were vague and evasive. This told the Dark Lord that the doctor was undoubtedly plotting something behind his back. Somehow this woman had become involved in it. He needed to get her out of the doctor's clutches immediately.

After forcing Troppert to take him to her room in the Infirmary, he found that he was very pleasantly surprised. The Terran was very pretty, with delicate features, red-gold hair and green eyes. She was small (but not as small as Padme), had a certain fragility about her, yet her arms and legs looked strong. She was also older than any of his consorts, probably about the same age as his old Master.

"Isis, this is Lord Vader," the Admiral told her crisply.

The Terran's mouth hung open for a minute. Apparently he wasn't what she was expecting.

Actually, Isis was totally shocked. This was the man Hollie was in love with, whom she'd traveled so far to be with, who had a harem on board this ship and who was so enormously difficult to reach?

This was the man whom the Emperor had viciously raped, whose blood she'd stolen and was hiding at this very moment? This was the man for whose sake she was going to try to seek justice, somehow, and for whose former associates she'd been searching all night, in the logs of a mysterious ship?

The refugee from Earth was speechless.

For about a minute, Isis and the Sith Apprentice just stared at each other. Then the Dark Lord approached the Terran, came right to her bedside and extended one gloved hand. It placed itself on her jaw, turned her face to look him in the eyes. Vader began to probe her mind, to read her thoughts.

He wasn't getting much. She had good shields. He tried another tactic. He communicated to her that he meant her no harm, that he could be trusted to help her, for Hollie's sake. She opened her mind to him then, and he saw everything.

She'd found the probable location of both Karesh and Kenobi, at the doctor's request. Troppert and Ozzel were planning to use her against him, she believed. She knew what happened between himself and his Master, in the maintenance bay. She had proof. And she was terribly afraid that she would be stuck on the Executor with no way to get back home.

Lord Vader told the doctor to go. Reluctantly, he left.

"Isis, I would like you to do something for me," the Sith told her.

The Terran nodded.

The implantation of the microchip didn't hurt at all. The tattoo that was put just above her left ankle did. A lot. And it was in purple ink, like a USDA stamp on a piece of meat. It was a series of letters and numbers, in the common language of the Imperium, in a five-centimeter vertical line up the calf of her leg. It identified Isis as a thief and an assassin- a convict, within the Imperial justice system. The microchip carried the same information, with the addition that it contained a falsified record of the Terran's arrest, trial and incarceration on Coruscant. Every being convicted of a serious crime received these identifying marks. It was a critical part of her cover, for the mission the Dark Lord asked her to undertake.

The medical droid that did the job was summarily destroyed by a few swift strokes of Vader's lightsaber. The pieces went into the nearby Infirmary incinerator. No loose ends.

When Lord Vader first told Isis what he wanted her to do, and why, she'd broken down and cried. But she did not refuse to go, and that both surprised and impressed him. He let her weep, and didn't comfort her. The Terran had every right to her tears; she might be going to her death. The woman pulled herself together quickly, and after the droid finished her tattoo, got up off the bed and picked up her clothes. The Sith watched her with something like admiration.

Having read her mind, he knew that Isis had a warrior's heart. Even if he'd wanted to keep her here (and he wasn't sure that he did), she couldn't exist within the domesticity of a harem environment. As a warrior himself, he could understand and respect her need to be free. That made it much easier to send her on this extremely dangerous mission.

Because she was someone completely outside the Empire and the Sith Order, and not otherwise affiliated with Vader, Isis was the ideal person to send to Tatooine to find Kenobi. And when she did, the Jedi would be more inclined to listen to her, and to believe what she told him, because of who and what she was. That was extremely important to the Dark Lord.

The tattoo and the microchip were to be merely props, to speed the progress of the Terran's work and increase her credibility among the underworld beings she would have to deal with. The criminal network on Tatooine reached into every domestic activity on the planet, with connections off-world and around the entire quadrant. Isis' tattoo would grant her instant entrée into any organization that she needed to penetrate. The Terran could track down Kenobi through them, even if the Jedi weren't on Tatooine, he was sure of it. He'd send enough credit and collateral with her to grease her interactions, just in case.

It also occurred to him, as he watched her dress, that the Rebels would probably help and shelter her too, with those markings and her criminal record, if she needed it. She was, according to the falsified records implanted in her body, convicted of an assassination attempt on a regional governor. He was a well-known petty tyrant that was declared an enemy by the Rebellion. Vader's Master didn't like the governor either, which was why the record showed that Isis hadn't been killed outright- the more usual punishment for assassins.

But finding Kenobi was only the first part of her mission. The second part of her mission was by far the more difficult, and the more dangerous. Isis was to kill his Sith Master. Palpatine. Emperor of the Galaxy. She would have seven days on Coruscant to accomplish this task. The Terran wouldn't have to do this task alone, Vader assured her. She could get lots of help, if she wanted it, in killing Palpatine. His Master was well-hated as well as greatly feared. Obi-Wan, he was sure, would help her, if she could find him.

If she succeeded in assassinating the Emperor, as new head of the Empire, Lord Vader promised to grant her any favor she requested. Any. Favor. And then he would personally conduct her home. If she still wanted to go. If she failed, well, she would be no worse off then she would have been in Ozzel's and Troppert's clutches. They would have used her to capture Kenobi and Karesh, and then had her killed while they took all the credit for her work The mission the Sith was going to send her on was very risky, but at least she had a chance. With the two Admirals, she'd have none.

Isis finished dressing. She couldn't believe Lord Vader just stood there and watched her the whole time, but was also so stunned, she couldn't feel anything. The mission she was to go on was so difficult and dangerous, she didn't know what to think either. And now she was a marked woman. Literally. Throughout the Galactic Empire she was branded as a thief and a killer. Not quite what she was hoping for, two days ago when she entered her next-door neighbor's backyard. Brandishing a shovel. Ready to bash some stupid alien's head in for molesting her friend.

Thinking of the home she might never return to, the Terran longed to see a familiar face before she went. She wanted to see Hollie one more time. To say goodbye.

Isis made her request to the Dark Lord, who immediately granted it. Together they went to his harem.

The Ladies of Vader's harem were getting acquainted over glasses of Jack Daniels when their lord showed up, with Isis in tow. Hollie was pouring the whiskey herself this time, and enjoying herself capitally with her new friends. Kelly was giggling with Kim over some private joke about their lord's perchant for adventurous sex, while Heather was demonstrating various striking positions with her lightsaber. For the Southern Belle's edification, of course. Hollie watched the tall redhead going through the motions with a certain fascination. She wanted one of those lightsabers herself. They looked like fun. Maybe Heather would like someone to spar with. They were almost the same height.

Mel had gotten out her dartboard and was making one bull's eye after another on the picture of Admiral Ozzel. She had multiple copies of the photo. In case Hollie fancied throwing a few at the disgusting little maggot of a flag officer.

Troppert would be getting his turn next. For being such a fucking toad about bringing Hollie's friend back to her.

They all looked up when he came in through their front entrance. There was a woman beside him, a small middle-aged one. Another redhead, this time with green eyes. This one did not look like she was another sister for their harem. Too old. Too dowdy. Too common, among the exotic flowers of the Sith's concubines. A sunflower among tiger lilies, hot-house roses, anthuriums and orchids.

When Hollie saw her, she jumped up from her seat and ran to embrace her friend.

"Thank the Gods," the Southern Belle exclaimed, giving her a bone-crushing squeeze. Isis hugged her back, tears threatening to well up again. "You're safe. I was so worried. Are you going to be able to go home now?"

Vader spoke for her. He didn't tell them very much. "This woman's name is Isis Andrews. Isis, the Ladies you don't know are Melynda, Heather, Kelly, and Kim." He indicated each one, in turn, with his gloved hand. " I'm sending her on a mission," he rumbled through the vocoder, voice cold and flat. "She is leaving in three hours. Do not ask her for any details. I've told her to remain silent about where she's going and what she's doing.

"I'm entrusting her to your care, until I send for her."

"When is she coming back?" Isis' friend asked, concernedly. Her lord did not answer her question. Instead, he said, "Isis will need some more appropriate clothing, something suitable for a hot climate. Please try to accommodate her." And then, with a slight bow, he left.

The consorts just looked at each other. "What the hell," Kelly remarked, totally confused.

"Ladies," Isis said quietly, "I know this is very unusual. I'm sorry to be crashing in on you like this. I can't say anything about my mission, but I can tell you this: if it's successful, it will help your lord very much. If I fail, then he loses nothing. I will do my best not to fail."

"What happens to you if YOU fail?" This from Hollie, who knew what her friend was trying not to say.

The little Terran woman gave them a very small smile. "If I fail, then I won't have to worry about getting home. But in the meantime, is there a `fresher I could use?"

While Isis was in the `fresher, the consorts of the Dark Lord had a council of war. They quickly got to a consensus about what to do next.

Their lord was sending a woman from their planet, with no desire to be in this galaxy or involved in the affairs of the Sith, on an extremely dangerous mission for which she was not trained, and on

which she could die. That much was clear. The Dark Lord might be harsh, and he might be severe, he might be vicious when crossed and merciless to his enemies, but Isis had done nothing to him or to the Empire. Except to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

There had to be much more going on than they were being told, that was certain. The intrigue and malice of their lord's world hadn't entered the harem before. Now that it had, the Sith's concubines decided it was time to develop their own methods of finding things out, create their own ways of taking action. It had been long overdue, Mel pointed out. They'd been indolent, complacent. It was time. Heather and Kim agreed, whole-heartedly. Kelly was very eager to start working on how to broaden their involvement in their lord's life, and on what happened on the Executor. She was ready to bug Ozzel's office right now.

Hollie appeared quiet and thoughtful, but was probably the most distressed and dismayed of all of them. Isis had been a friend and neighbor. She deserved better, at the hands of the Dark Lord. If there were something the lovely blonde could do, to help her friend succeed in her mission, she would gladly do it. Even if it meant having to face the wrath of her lord. The Southern Belle had some wrath of her own, to give right back to him, that he hadn't faced yet. She never did buy that bullshit about him forgetting to meet her at the landing bay. A nice cuddle and a few kisses did not make an inadequate explanation acceptable, even if they were pleasing. Vader owed her. Even the Sith had to pay on demand in his own household.

When Isis got out of the shower in Hollie's quarters, she found an array of clothing laid out on her friend's bed. The consorts attempted to outfit her with some more appropriate clothing, and guessed at what might fit. All of them were taller than she was, and of course there was a wondrous variety in body shapes and dimensions among the five ladies of the Sith's harem.

She did find some things that fit. Isis came out of Hollie's quarters, wearing simple layers in black and brown. The girls had returned to their JD and were talking very quietly among themselves. They had a large glass waiting for her when she approached their gathering. Lord Vader's assassin took it gratefully, and drank about a third of it in one gulp. The alcohol warmed her right down to her toes, helped take the edge of her nervousness.

Hollie approached, and put a long slender arm around her friend's shoulders, her face looking pained and concerned. "Isis, you listen to me now. It is absolutely essential that you contact me and the girls, every day you're gone. And if you need help, you call us. You understand me?"

The Terran refugee nodded gravely.

All the girls gathered around her. Soft gentle hands patted her back sympathetically. The lovely Ladies of the Sith's harem looked at her as if she were terminally ill, and they were going to have to watch her die, Isis thought grimly. Maybe they were right. Somewhere, a chime sounded in the girls' entryway. She looked up curiously.

"It's Lord Vader," Mel told her, her voice expressionless. "He wants you to come to him." The Sith's dark-haired beauty didn't like this mission-business at all, not one little bit. It seemed so cruelly unfair. She took out a small flat piece of what appeared to be plastic from her pocket, and gave it to Isis. "This will allow you to contact us directly from your ship. Try not to lose it. Call us each day, even if nothing is happening. Let us know how we can help."

Vader's assassin nodded again. She embraced each of the consorts in turn, taking their wishes of good luck, and Heather said she would lead Isis down the little hallway that connected the harem with Vader's quarters.

As the two women walked down the narrow corridor, Heather spoke softly. "We're with you, Isis, wherever you go. Remember that."

The door to Vader's quarters opened. Heather gave her a quick hug. The Terran convict stepped into the Dark Lord's quarters, and the door closed behind her.

No one was in the bedroom, which was spare in the extreme. Isis walked through it and into the larger, main room. No one was there either. It had rows and rows of computers and controls lining the walls. A big black spherical object sat in what looked to be the middle of it, with a small pedestal next to that. It appeared to be open about three feet, along its notched circumference. The Terran risked a peek inside the object. A bunch of computer controls were in there also, plus a lot of machinery and a single black leather swivel chair in the center. No one in it.

Lord Vader didn't appear to be there. Isis looked for someplace to sit, but there were no chairs. So, she sat down on the floor, next to the door. And waited. A few minutes went by.

Then the great double doors opened. In walked a tall, slender, very young man. Perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Short blondish hair, with one long thin braid that brushed his shoulder, just behind his right ear. He wore some kind of tunic and trousers outfit, with heavy knee-length boots and had a long brown cloak. He stooped a little, as if he'd grown too fast, and his back muscles hadn't adapted to the additional height. In the dimness of the room, it was hard to tell what color his eyes were, but they were large and thick-lashed, and he had full pink lips. He was really very pretty, in that way very young men sometimes have, on the cusp of adulthood. It would give way in a few years to more conventional handsomeness, but right now he was faintly…girlish.

He appeared to be looking for someone. From her position on the floor, where apparently he didn't see her, Isis spoke up. "Can I help you?" she asked.

He turned towards her voice, not seeing her immediately. Then he looked down at the small, cloaked figure sitting on the floor, and smiled. It was kind of a wolfish grin.

"Hello there. I don't know if you can help me or not, but I'm looking for my mother," he replied.

His voice was done changing at least, the Terran lady thought as she smiled back. Then she wondered: was this boy's mother on the ship? Was he Vader's son? Or a nephew, perhaps?

"I'm afraid I haven't seen anyone here," Isis answered. "There's no one in this room but me."

"Good," the boy remarked, his smile becoming naughtier. He extended one brown hand down to his guest, to help her up off the floor. The Terran took it, and got to her feet. "What's your name?" the young man asked, his hand still holding hers.

"Isis," she replied, trying to extricate her fingers from his grip. He wasn't letting go.

"Isis," he repeated. "I'm Anakin." Then, to her surprise, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Pleased to meet you, Anakin," the older woman replied. Did folks here kiss each other when they got introduced? "Are you related to Lord Vader?" she asked.

"You might say that," Anakin remarked, smirking a little bit. He was still holding her hand.

"What does that mean?" The young man didn't answer, he just looked at her. Blue. His eyes were a sapphire blue.

"Can I have my hand back?"

"Sure," Anakin replied. And then, shockingly, he leaned forward again and began to kiss her lips, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth. She was so surprised she didn't know what to do. At first.

Then Isis jerked her hand away, stepped back from his kiss. "Good Gods, Anakin, control yourself! How old are you anyway? Do you often go around behaving like this to strange women?"

"Only to Terrans," he said. And then he backed her right into the nearest wall. "They're the sexiest women in the universe." He began kissing her again.

For one so young, he kissed well. But this was ridiculous. She almost old enough to be his mother. Isis shoved him back. He staggered a little, but was still smiling raffishly. Anakin approached her again.

"Keep your distance, young man," the Terran lady snapped. "Suppose Lord Vader comes in here! You can't be acting like this to people you don't know."

"Oh, I don't think he will care," the boy smirked.

"How do you know?"

"He's partial to Terrans himself. Isis, would you like to have both of us? I'm sure it could be arranged."

Isis gasped. "Anakin, what would your mother say?"

The young man stuck his full lower lip out in a slight pout, brow furrowing. "Yes, well, I did tell you a small fib. I'm not really looking for my mother. I know she isn't here. I left her behind on Tatooine."

Lord Vader's Terran assassin looked interested. "Are you from there?"

"Yes," he replied. "I was born and raised there."

What a piece of luck! Maybe he could help her. "Do you know someone named Obi-Wan Kenobi?" she asked him.

Anakin's lips curled back into a smile. "Oh yes," he replied. "I know him well."

"Do you know where he is now? Or if he's on Tatooine?"

"No, I don't know where he is," the boy answered. Wistfully. "But if he's on Tatooine, you could try tracking him down through a Toydarian named Watto. He owns a repair business near Mos Eisely spaceport. Most of the major business players on the planet purchase parts from him, at one time or another."

The Terran lady smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Anakin. I'll try that when I get there."

"You're going there today?"

"Yes," Isis replied.

"Are you on some kind of mission?"

Lord Vader's assassin nodded sadly. "You're frightened, aren't you?" Anakin asked quietly. She nodded again. "I can see it in your eyes," he observed quietly. "Do you know anything about this Obi-Wan Kenobi that you're looking for?"

"Only that he's something called a Jedi, and that he is an outlaw. Also he has some connection with Lord Vader. But I don't understand what."

"Do you know what a Sith is?"

"No," the Terran said. "But I've heard the term mentioned before. What is a Jedi, Anakin? What is a Sith?"

The demeanor of the boy in front of her changed before her eyes. He might look like a very young man, but all of a sudden he didn't seem like one at all. It was like someone else inhabited his body.

"Do you know of the Force, Isis?" he asked. Even his voice sounded deeper.

She nodded. "You know that some beings are more able to use it than others, and that it can be used in different ways?" The woman nodded again.

"Did you know that there are two aspects of the Force? A Light side and a Dark side? And that there are two groups of warriors that use it?"

Lord Vader's Terran refugee didn't know that.

"The Light side is the weaker aspect," he explained. "The Dark side is the stronger. The Jedi used the Light. The Sith use the Dark. That is the essential difference."

"So Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi warrior who used the Light side, and he was defeated by a stronger Sith. Then he was outlawed and went into exile. Correct?"

Anakin full lips smiled with pleasure. "Exactly. Very good, Isis."

"And Lord Vader is a Sith? Could he be the one that defeated Kenobi and drove him into exile?"

"Right again! I love intelligent Terran women…" The boy moved towards her, clearly wanting to take her in his arms. She stepped back. Ready to smack him if necessary. Oversexed puppy.

He seemed to read her thoughts, grinned even more broadly.

"Anakin, is there a such thing as a Jedi homeworld, where I could look for Kenobi? In case I can't find him on Tatooine?"

"Not any more." His grin got positively evil. He took another step towards her. Isis stepped back once again, ran into the wall. Cursed walls. Looking at the tall lad in front of her, a nasty smile curving his pouty, sensual mouth, an awful thought occurred to her. "The Sith drove them off it, didn't they?" she demanded of the young man. "The Jedi are no more, except a few here or there."

In a heartbeat Anakin had her pinned against the durasteel surface of the wall. "Yes, Isis." The way he was looking at her was melting her underwear.

She tried to push him off, but she couldn't. She reached up to slap him, but he caught her hand and stopped her. At that moment she had a flash of insight, and it made her gasp.

"The Emperor is a Sith, isn't he?" That was pure intuition on the Terran's part. "You're one too. Aren't you?"

The boy pulled her against him in arms that seemed not to be flesh. "You've guessed everything. Stop pretending you don't want my oh-so-willing tongue in your mouth, my lips on your breasts, my hard young cock inside your sweet body. Fucking you until you scream. Keeping it up all night long. You're not fooling anybody."

No sooner were the words out then he began to do it. His mouth ravaged hers, his tongue practically down her throat. After a few moments' token resistance, Isis gave in. She sucked at it wantonly. Her hand stroked his cock through his trousers, then reached inside, taking the rock hard member in her fist. Stroking it slowly. Firmly. Their kisses scorched each other's lips. The Terran moved her mouth up to his long elegant neck, and sank her teeth into it. Then sucked at the wound. Anakin cried out harshly, in a voice that didn't sound like his.

"Isissss.." he purred, writhing into her hand, "Isis, my she-dragon. Your tongue, your lips. I need them. Suck me."

Lord Vader's assassin dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth, her tongue dancing over its tip, entering the slit on the very end to taste his essence where it was pooling. His hands caressed her face, entwined themselves in her hair. Then she swallowed him whole, sucking his length eagerly. He threw his head back, hips moving slowly. The musky smell of him enticed her, incited her. Her hands caressed him. When he came, she drank him willingly, savoring his taste. So young and sweet.

"My she-dragon," Anakin whispered possessively, but it was more like a deep rumbing groan. "Lie down. Close your eyes."

Isis complied, panting a little. She did want him. Inside her. Right now. Even if it wasn't right. Even if he was too young. He wanted it. May the Gods forgive her.

Her eyes closed. The next thing she felt were two hands removing her leggings, pushing up her skirt, pulling off her sweater and shirt. He growled when he saw the underwear, but took them off carefully. The hands felt different to her. One felt like flesh, the fingers calloused, the hands broader than the boy's. The other hand felt…metallic. Then she felt lips kissing her breasts, sucking her nipples. She moaned as he stroked her inner thighs, the metallic hand gentle as it ran itself over her wet, swollen folds. Then the lips moved to where the hands were, licking up the juices that were flowing. They sucked at her clit, and she cried out. They licked and sucked there until she was shaking all over. Then he plunged inside her, his incredibly hard cock hilting again and again. Her back arched as her hips pressed down, embracing his hardness. Hands that didn't feel exactly physical ran themselves up and down her chest, squeezing her nipples. Lips kissed hers, and teeth bit her shoulder. Hard.

She cried out when she came. He crushed her to him, before releasing himself into her burning core. Two hands that felt like they were wearing leather gloves picked her up off the floor, so she was kneeling in front of him as he held her.

"Open your eyes, she-dragon," a voice ordered. It wasn't Anakin's. It was deeper than that.

Isis opened them.

It was someone she hadn't seen. He looked like a much older version of Anakin. His hair was long, wavy, a golden brown. He had the beginnings of a mustache. A frown line drew itself across his brow, as yet slight. His body was broader, more muscular. This was a man, not a boy. And this man was wearing the black leather, all-concealing suit that Lord Vader wore when she met him. Except that the cape and the codpiece were gone. Two black-gloved hands were supporting her. The controls on the front of his suit blinked. She heard no respirator. But there was only one person it could be.

She didn't understand.

"The Force," the man holding her explained, "can do many things, depending on the mastery of the one who uses it."

"You are Lord Vader. It was you all along," the Terran said slowly.

"Yes," he replied.

"Why?" the Dark Lord's lover asked, feeling near to tears. She felt…terribly deceived. And ashamed.

"I can read your emotions, your thoughts,” he said. "You feel that you were the victim of a deception."

Isis lowered her head, to hide her eyes. She nodded.

"Then you know, a little bit, how I felt about the Jedi. I was one, once upon a time. The Emperor Palpatine isn't who I thought he was either, when I became his Apprentice. I felt the guilt and shame you feel now." The Sith paused for a moment, then an invisible hand moved her chin up, so he could look into her eyes. "You're very intuitive, and very smart, but your desires can run away with you. That leaves you vulnerable. Be warned. No harm was done to you here, now, but next time the price may be much, much higher."

The Terran looked into Vader's sapphire eyes. They were solemn, almost melancholy.

She knew in the moment that she wasn't his little she-dragon. All he was thinking, when he made love to her, was about the mission she was to undertake for him. This was just a parting lesson, a final warning.

He let go of her. While she got dressed, he replaced his helmet, breathmask and vocoder.

"Now," The Sith lord said crisply, "I have some things to give you. Come with me."

She went. Just then, she couldn't wait to get off this ship. Even if it meant she was going to her death.

The Terran refugee left the Executor with around five hundred thousand credits, some in platinum coins that she wore in the money belt around her waist. The rest were draw-able from a bank at any planet that recognized the jurisdiction of the Empire. She also had a tunic, trousers and a cloak that had been cut in half, and a lightsaber. When she found Kenobi, she was to give those things back to him. And she had to memorize a message, from Lord Vader, to the disgraced Jedi. She didn't know if she could say it to Kenobi without blushing.

Lord Vader gave her no weapon. He told her she'd just get into trouble with one. She must avoid the Law, and any dealings with it, altogether or she'd find herself in prison. Possibly for the rest of her life. The Sith wouldn't come to bail her out. It was unthinkable for him to risk his reputation on her behalf.

Isis was not to mention Lord Vader's name at all, to anyone she contacted except Kenobi. It would only harm her in the end, he told her, if she did. She was not to contact the Dark Lord either, until she'd succeeded with both parts of her mission. The drone ship was programmed to take off from Mos Eisely, on Tatooine, three standard days after her arrival there. It would then take her to Coruscant, on the second programmed trip, and would return to the Executor seven days after landing on Imperial City. Isis had exactly ten days to fulfill her mission.

Nobody saw her off. Not even Vader. He did not wish her luck. He did not say goodbye. He didn't say anything. He just turned his back on her and left the room, leaving her to find her own way to the drone ship.

The Sith, standing alone in his bedroom, couldn't bear to watch his Terran assassin go. She might never return again. His little she-dragon.

Lord Vader was alone with his anguish, feeding it to the Darkness within him as he stood alone in the quiet dimness of his room. It tasted of rust and bile, and his Dark Side ate it up greedily. When he was calmer, he reluctantly recalled that his Master wanted to talk to him. The Dark Lord had been ignoring his repeated requests for communication for nearly a full standard day. He felt his insides tie themselves into knots. He'd never disobeyed Palpatine before. He'd never dared, hadn't actually wanted to, before now.

The knots tightened. He felt dread descending on his consciousness like a gray putrescent fog. The Sith blessed the Dark, was ever thankful for its frigid toxic fire- thanks to his Master, the engines of his power were being well fed this day. His Emperor knew how to punish. He was a Grand Master of the Payback. There would have to be payment for his neglect.

There was nothing for it now, he reflected grimly. Time to get out his bankbook.

Black armourweave cape sweeping a graceful arc, he turned and strode to where his holograph projector pad was. As he knelt, it turned itself on and sent a message to the Emperor, that his Apprentice was awaiting his pleasure. Vader didn't know how long he was going to have to stay there, on his knees, before Palpatine decided to talk to him, but he didn't expect it to be too long. His Master would know that his cybernetics could hold this position without discomfort for hours and hours. Keeping him waiting there was wasting Imperial time, not the Dark Lord's, and it didn't hurt him any.

It wasn't very long at all before the connection was made. A huge digitally-generated image appeared over his head, of his Master hovering over his still, relatively small form.

"What is thy bidding, my Master?" Lord Vader asked respectfully, formulaically. As if nothing at all had happened.

"I presume you have a reasonable explanation for why I've been kept waiting to hear from you for the last Imperial standard day." Palpatine didn't sound mad, but he rarely did. Especially when infuriated.

"No, Master." Why lie about it? He didn't.

"You don't?" the Emperor repeated, after pausing a moment. The huge image straightened so that its phantom head brushed the durasteel ceiling of the Dark Lord's huge chamber.

"No, Master."

"Granted, no excuse is sufficient, and there can be no acceptable reason for such behavior on your part, but before I order your execution, I thought I would do you the courtesy of asking for one. You have nothing to say?"

"No, Master."

This was probably as demoralized as Palpatine had ever seen his young Apprentice. He wondered if he went too far the other night. The initial spike in hatred and anger he sensed after the act, and for several hours thereafter, was most gratifying. Passion that intense was a gift; the Sith Master had given his charge a marvelous opportunity to grow his power with this splendid new hatred, but there was no sign of it now. He'd thrown it away. Why?

"Lord Vader, there are any number of ways I can have you die, or make you wish for death and yet withhold it, to increase your pain. Why do you provoke me?"

"There are none that you can accomplish all the way from Coruscant, Master. It would take another Sith to capture and destroy me, and there isn't one. Did you plan to come here and do it yourself?"

"You think I wouldn't?"

The holographic image of the Dark Lord shrugged. With plus-perfect indifference.

"Must I return to repeat your last lesson on the pleasures of hatred, my young Apprentice?" The image smiled. It was gruesome. "You do seem to be a slow learner. I've remarked on it before."

"I am not pleased to hate you, Master."

That shocked the Emperor right down to the soles of his cold talon-like feet, in their obscenely expensive slippers. "What?" he expostulated, "You are not pleased to hate me? What does that mean?"

"It means that hating you gives me no pleasure."

A Sith, receiving no pleasure from hatred? Palpatine personally couldn't imagine that ever happening to him, but he knew that not everyone derived as much pleasure from the Dark Side as he did. It wasn't necessary for his Apprentice to enjoy all of his hatreds, but it was helpful for the primary ones. The Darkness required tremendous amounts of emotional energy to sustain its power, and if one didn't enjoy feeding it, that made so many duties within it a chore. It could lead to a gradual power loss, over time.

That was a cause for concern, for the Sith Master.

Hatred grew from fear. Fear always came from the exercise of Power. Fear, in order to be maximized, required a component of the unknown, an element of surprise or a twinge of anticipation, to be as effective as it should be. Once a fear was actualized, when the initial hate and anger were internalized, it often lost its power.

It seemed to His Imperial Highness that he'd inadvertently actualized a fear. For a few seconds, Vader's Master thought about what that could have been. Looking at the kneeling figure, helmeted, masked and caped, projected on his desktop, a thought occurred to him.

Perhaps Lord Vader believed that his armor and breathmask shielded him from his Master. He'd felt safe behind them. Untouchable. Perhaps he'd lived behind a mask for so long, he'd become fearful of exposure. Now his Emperor had exposed his Apprentice's weakness, his inability to continually shield his thoughts, his incapacity to physically resist when his Master violated his body. Reinforced what they were both very well aware of: that Vader never would be powerful enough to defeat him. Now that they both knew how weak he really was, perhaps Vader wasn't afraid of him anymore. He'd faced his fear and still survived. He was daring his Emperor to come over and kill him. Knowing that he probably wouldn't.

No hatred. No anger. Little fear. No pleasure.

Maybe it was time to put the fun back into it for Lord Vader.

"Well," said the Ruler of the Galaxy, appearing to consider. "Perhaps I shall repeat your lesson. Soon. You will prepare for my arrival." The connection was immediately cut off right then and there, and the giant image was gone.

The Dark Lord rose and stepped off the holo platform, feeling very smug indeed.

In spite of his threat, Palpatine wasn't going to be coming to the Executor any time soon. His Master was bluffing. The Rebels planning another offensive. This time they had some new kind of weapon prototype. The intelligence reports indicated that it was an electro-magnetic disruption field bubble that would disrupt power supplies on its target ship. There was no way it could be powerful enough to engulf the entire Executor and cut all its power, but it could do some damage if it were aimed at particular areas of the ship. It was possible that their weapon could knock out electrical systems on an entire Star Destroyer, however, if the reports were true. It was critical that the Executor be on hand to defend the rest of the fleet from the coming attack. If the prototype worked, it would be important to capture or destroy the weapon. In any case, his Master wouldn't risk coming into a battle zone to deal with something as minor as a disciplinary problem with his Apprentice.

The responsibilities of the Emperor Palpatine always took precedence over those of Darth Sidious. That was the reality that governed much of their relations as Master and Apprentice.

If Palpatine were not absolute Ruler of the Galaxy, with larger concerns than a recalcitrant Apprentice, Vader knew he would be a lot more worried about what was clearly an attempt to frighten him. If Palpatine were not Emperor, the Dark Lord would be a great deal more fearful of disobeying his Master. If Palpatine were not the head of the Empire, completely preoccupied with expanding and consolidating his power, the man who had been Anakin Skywalker would be a better Sith. No question about it.

It was time to get rid of his Master. He was holding him back, slowing him down. Much as Obi-Wan had done. Perhaps for similar reasons.

Back on Coruscant, in his private office, His Imperial Majesty sat fretfully in his great gilded chair. His thoughts were dark and concerned one thing and one thing only: his Apprentice. Lord Darth Vader, who had formerly been known as Anakin Skywalker.

He wasn't afraid of him anymore.

Palpatine knew this day would come. In the torturous journey of a Sith Master with his Apprentice, there would be periods where perceived intimacy and familiarity would breed contempt and disrespect. It was entirely normal, and a Master expected to deal with it not just once, but many times during the training years. The next logical step would be for Vader to attempt to kill him.

Sidious thought he would be spared this, because it was impossible that his Apprentice would ever become powerful enough to destroy him. They both knew it. It would be foolish for the Dark Lord to try. Yet, all the signs were there, that an assassination attempt was coming.

As Emperor and Sith Master, he lived with the shadow of Death behind him at all times. It fed the Fear nicely; Palpatine enjoyed it very much. One would think that Lord Vader, who was, for all practical intents and purposes, an artificially animated corpse, would find himself experiencing the Fear on a moment-by-moment basis. Disconnect him from his life support, and he would know mortal terror. Unplug him for long enough, and he would die.

Unplug him.

The Emperor sat back in his chair, with his corpse-white hands in his lap. Thumbs twiddling. Contemplating.

It would be far too crude to strike at his Apprentice's life support system directly, or make another physical assault. Besides, it was more than simple cybernetics that kept Lord Darth Vader alive anyway. That fed his physical and emotional energies. That gave him the strength to defend the Empire. And defy his Master. Much more.

His concubines. In particular, his Terran concubines.

Sex was more than just a physical release for his Apprentice. He had some kind of strange affection for his paramours as well. That was very clear. He set great store by his Terrans, kept them near all the time, took some of them with him everywhere he went. There were even a few on the Executor. Most of his harem, though- twenty- one or twenty-two of them- were to be found at Vader's castle, at Bain. Beautiful, spoiled and cosseted darlings of the Sith Lord, kept well away from prying eyes and Imperial interference. There were probably eight or nine more Terrans among them. The majority of his treasures.

One of the cold pale hands reached for a touch pad on his companel, and pressed it. A voice spoke on the other end. "Yes, Master?" It was Mas Amedda.

"Arrange for a special detail of assassins to go to Bain Castle at once. Private mercenaries, not affiliated with any of the military services. They are to go to Bain and kill every living creature in the Castle. Including the concubines. Especially the concubines. It must be done on an individual basis, no liquidations from space. Simple executions, nothing drawn-out. No torture. No mutilation. A single shot through the body. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," he replied. Red eyes glowing in his pale blue face. The huge horns atop his head swayed as he nodded respectfully.

"And then I would like for the concubines to be interred on the Castle grounds, in the manner of the Naboo nobility. Send another group of contractors to deal with the bodies, and I want you to go there yourself to ensure that everything is as it should be. Incinerate the rest of the corpses. Spread the ashes around the perimeter of the Castle."

His assistant nodded again, careful to keep his face solemn and composed. He loved these little jobs his Master sent him on, from time to time.

"And then, I would like for you to get me a list of every one of Lord Vader's other consorts, and their present locations."

"Shall I arrange for an additional detail for them as well?"

Palpatine held up one forefinger in a stern warning. His assistant was getting ahead of himself. "Not yet! I just want the list, that's all for the present."

The being lowered his huge head, horns down in submission.

"I'd also like to review the intelligence files on the concubines aboard the Executor. Within the hour."

Without waiting for any further response, His Imperial Highness cut the communication off with a flick of his wrist. This was nearly as gratifying as Order 66.

The Emperor smiled his horrid smile at the empty room. He had no use for women himself, although he kept a harem for political reasons. There had only ever been the Dark Side for him. It was all he wanted, all he needed. There had been very, very few exceptions to this in his entire life. Those exceptions had all died by his hand. He'd enjoyed that too. Especially the murder of Plagueis.

Killing Lord Vader, though, might be the death he loved the best, and he wanted the process to last a long, long time. He would entice his Apprentice's heart, soul and mind forth from his living body a little at a time. He'd do it slowly, gently, with a lover's tender touch. That was what they were, after all. Lovers of the Dark Side. Bound to the Dark Force that permeated the universe.

Vader couldn't replace him, not after Mustafar, would never be powerful enough to defeat him. But he could provide some much-needed grist for the mills of the Sith Master's Darkness, and finally give up his existence to sustain Palpatine's. A Sith knew no sacrifice too great, to uphold his Order, and Lord Vader would be giving all he still had for the best possible cause. His Master, and the Order, which would live on forever.

The Emperor closed his eyes for a moment, thinking far ahead into the future. He would plan a noble public exit for his former Apprentice, of course. His memory would be honored. He would be buried on Korriban, with the other great Lords of the Sith. And then Palpatine would forget him and find another cipher to feed on.

Mas Amedda was a very efficient servant of the State. His work was his pleasure.

Within the hour he'd contracted with the assassins his Master requested, and he'd also arranged for the burial team to go to Bain at the same time. A large mausoleum, of the fairly elaborate kind his Master requested, would take perhaps two or three days to complete, and the bodies of Lord Vader's consorts could hardly lie around for that long. So he took it upon himself to order a team of embalmers to preserve them.

The Naboo nobility were interred in their burial sites dressed in elaborate robes, and surrounded by flowers. Those items would have to be flown in too, but the contractors handling the burials agreed to handle those arrangements as well. For an additional fee.

The price for this task was becoming staggering. But the Force knew, Palpatine could afford it. When it came to the business of maintaining and preserving the Sith Order, mere expense was not considered a factor.

Mas gathered up his data files on the concubines on the Executor for his royal Master, and sent them over, but had a look at them himself first.

Five Terran women, in varying stages of their second and third decade of life. Three redheads. One blonde. One brunette. They would be considered lovely by human standards. Highly intelligent and restless, fierce in their devotion to their lord. Fiery in disposition, every one of them. One favored a lightsaber. Another had strong Sith leanings. A third was learning to pilot a shuttle. Two had been with Vader's harem longer than two years, the others less than that. Three had been added in the last two months alone. One as recently as three standard days ago. The Dark Lord kept them firmly sequestered, in something close to complete seclusion, aboard the ship. The existence of the harem on the Executor was officially denied, although there were rumors. A sensible precaution, given the large number of clones and other males aboard the ship.

Executing the Terrans there wouldn't be easy, but it could be done with minimal disturbance to the officers and crew. The Emperor's assistant hoped he wouldn't be asked to come up with a plan to deal with the bodies, in the event his Master gave the orders for their termination. On military vessels, the dead were routinely jettisoned or incinerated, so as to minimize the fuss large numbers of casualties caused. Bad for morale. This situation was quite different, though, from dealing with corpses in war. The Terrans should probably be interred on Bain, with their fellow consorts.

Without asking permission, but knowing that one of his principal points of value to Palpatine was his almost uncanny ability to anticipate his Master's desires, Mas ordered five additional burial spots to be added to the mausoleum plan for Bain, with a possible expansion for ten more.

That should take care of it.

Isis spent the flight aboard the drone ship, bound for Tatooine, in a mental state that veered between dread, exhilaration, despair and anticipation. That tattoo stopped hurting some time ago, but her heart was still aching. A lot.

She was homesick. She was heartsick for her friend, aboard the Executor. She was just plain sick about making love to the boy Anakin, only to find that it had been Lord Vader all the time. And he didn't want her, didn't care for her, was sending her to probable death. That hurt the worst. If it weren't for the vial of blood still resting between her breasts, proof of a violent and despicable crime that demanded payment, she would have told the Sith that deceived her to shove his mission up his ass. Gods knew she wouldn't have had anything to lose, considering the matter in retrospect. Isis Andrews was as good as dead anyway.

She hoped Obi-Wan Kenobi was less cruel, easier to deal with, but she really had no idea. Recalling the message the Dark Lord made her memorize, to give to him, the only thing she could assume was that the Jedi meant a great deal to the Sith Lord. And the Sith appeared to be very confused about how to express it.

The Terran assassin looked at the cut-up Jedi robes, with the warrior's lightsaber, sitting in the bag next to her. She wondered if the `fresher did clothing repairs as well. It seemed kind of low-class to return hacked-up garments to their owner without trying to fix the damage, even though she hadn't caused it. Getting up to check, she saw that the laundry slot had that feature. She put the garments in, set the controls. It would take about fifteen minutes. Then she had a look at the lightsaber.

A button on the side of it looked like it activated the weapon. Isis pressed it, and immediately a bright blue-white laser blade, about a meter or so long, appeared from the handle. It hummed steadily. The silvery grip vibrated strongly. It would take a lot of strength to fight someone with this. It took a fair amount just to hold onto it. She swung it around a few times, marveling at its powerful swift energies. An elegant weapon. Perhaps the Sith used them too.

The power cell rating indicated that it ate a lot of power when it was activated, so Isis turned it off. She didn't want to run it down for Kenobi.

The ship would be landing in perhaps half an hour. Isis took her sweater off, tied it around her waist, removed her socks. That left only her tee-shirt, skirt and light cotton leggings. Hot climate, Lord Vader said. She took her shoes off and put on the sandals, braided back her hair so it was off her neck and away from her face. When the Jedi's clothing was repaired and laundered, the Terran refugee took it out of the laundry slot in the `fresher and stuck it in her large leather bag, along with the lightsaber.

The ship began its landing cycle. Isis put on her cloak, slung her bag over her shoulder, and put up the hood. The drone touched down easily, and the ramp came down to the sandy landing bay floor with a soft thud. The Sith Lord's assassin exited the ship, and she headed out into the wretched hive of scum and villainy that was Mos Eisely Spaceport.

She set her timepiece to alert her about four hours before her three standard days were up. Let the games begin.

It was pitch dark, and very late at night on Bain, when the strike force landed. Their ship had already destroyed the satellites and relay stations orbiting the planet, ensuring that the Castle had no communications going out, and no capability of receiving any coming in. A few finely-targeted blasts from one of their lasers destroyed the power generators from the air. Most of the occupants of the castle would be asleep in their beds anyway, and wouldn't notice the outage. Two teams of twenty assassins debarked from their spacecraft, weapons at the ready, to do the Emperor's bidding. They were, after all, being handsomely paid.

When the power was cut off, the blast doors automatically closed all the entrances, putting the Castle in lockdown. One of the techs attempted to use a portable power supply and a decoder to crack into the security system controlling the doors, but failed. The Bain Castle walls were nearly a meter thick, of native stone that would take a substantial blast to break through. Blowing a hole through the wall would completely eliminate the element of surprise. The strike team taking point on the operation was obliged break in via the roof gardens on the east side. The skylights were of course transparisteel and impossible to penetrate, but eventually they figured out the best place to enter the Dark Lord's private home.

They fired through the large ornamental fish pond in the middle of the gardens, blasting a large hole in it. It was the thinnest part of the roof, the only part not protected by durasteel or titanium alloy defenses. Decaliters of water and exotic fish cascading through the roof did cause quite a commotion inside, and security immediately scrambled into the area, but they were quickly overwhelmed. After that, it was easy. The servants and employees of Lord Vader were killed, trying to defend the Castle and each other. The concubines died simply, quickly, quietly, most in their beds. Except for the Terrans.

The Terrans fought like hell. One was shot five times, defending a wounded sister, before she finally fell. Another bludgeoned two assassins to death before she was smashed against a stairwell and then blasted through the abdomen. A third set fire to a squad of fighters from above, and she was shot up so bad that the embalmers had to give up. They covered her completely with flowers and cemented the coffin lid shut. The consorts of the Dark Lord of the Sith all died like soldiers, in their expensive frilly nightgowns and silken robes. The one who was shot clutching a blood-stained kitchen knife in her hand was buried still holding it. As a mark of respect. She'd killed three men, trying to protect the gardner's five-year-old child.

The final score was Assassins 106: Security 9. Terrans 7. The team of assassins left with their wounded well before planet dawn. Mas Amedda's ship arrived on Bain shortly after they departed, to supervise the work of the building contractors and embalmers. His work was done in four days, and then he left- requesting the contractors to stay and repair the damage indoors, and rebuild the fish pond on the roof garden.

But since there would be no one to feed the fish, Mas didn't order the pond re-stocked.

Lord Vader fell grievously ill, in his meditation sphere, the evening his consorts died at Bain Castle. He was positive that his castle was under attack, his Ladies in mortal danger, and he tried repeatedly to hail his Castle security. But he got no response. None whatsoever. He couldn't send a Destroyer out to do a reconnaissance mission, not with the Rebel attack imminent, but he did deploy a small cruiser with some of his most trusted men, to Bain. They probably knew it before he did, that it was already too late, but they went at once, and with all speed, to the castle of the Sith Apprentice.

The Dark Lord's recon force arrived just in time to be told by Mas Amedda, who was supervising the burial of the dead, that they were to maintain communication silence until further notice, and remain in orbit around Bain without landing for the next six standard days. By direct orders of the Emperor.

The Emperor's first assistant communicated the success of the mission at Bain to His Imperial Highness. Palpatine thanked him, complimented him on the thoroughness of his work, his impeccable attention to detail, and ordered him to return to Coruscant. He had another job for him. Mas' great horns bowed in humble submission, but his eyes shone. He'd pleased his Master, pleased him well. That was what he lived for. He was so proud of himself, his maroon eyes glowed almost purple. He ended the communication, ordered his ship to return home.

The Sith Master sat on his onyx throne and smiled beneath his black hooded cloak. He couldn't stop smiling. This action pleased him better than a hundred dead Jedi. Well, maybe not that much. But almost.

Time to tell his Apprentice what had happened, but it would be… immodest…to tell Lord Vader himself.

He'd let Ozzel do it. He hoped the pompous ass would do it privately, but it hardly mattered. As long as he got the job done.

Still smiling broadly, he called the Executor, and asked to speak with the commander of his flagship. Immediately.

Admiral Ozzel was on the bridge, going over attack plans with General Veers when he got the message. He almost broke both legs rushing to his private office, to take the call from His Imperial Highness. Palpatine hardly ever communicated with him personally, even though Ozzel knew that his appointment to command the Super Star Destroyer was the result of political manoeuvring from the Emperor himself. Ordinarily, the flag officer of the Executor received his orders via Lord Vader, or through the High Command, Privy Council or Senate. This was a rare honor.

Stepping atop his holographic projector, he knelt humbly and reverently. Waiting for His Highness to speak. The pudgy officer didn't even look up to see the digital recreation of Palpatine I, hovering over his head, until he was addressed. That would be presumptuous.

"Admiral Ozzel, I have a delicate task that I would like you to perform for me," the smooth orator's voice of Ruler of the Galaxy said, and he made it sound like he was conferring a great favor. "It is a personal task, one that I hesitate to ask of you, but I feel that your skills in diplomacy and natural tact make you a good choice," the Emperor continued.

The Admiral was practically purring, there on his pedestal. Flattery got you everywhere with Ozzel, Palpatine knew. He was completely predictable. That's why the Sith Master liked him.

The bland face of the officer finally looked up, and when he did, he saw the apparently grave and terribly concerned face of His Highness looking down at him. Palpatine looked distressed. It would have fooled everyone except Lord Vader.

"What can I do, Your Highness, to assist you?" The question was asked in all earnest sincerity.

Good dog. "There has been…" and here the Emperor paused dramatically, appearing to bite his digital lip, "an unfortunate incident at Bain, the home of Lord Vader. One of his enemies, I am not certain who at this point, mounted an attack. I have just been informed that everyone inside the Castle is dead. No one was spared. No one at all, Ozzel. Not even the women and children of the household."

Admiral Ozzel tried not to gasp, to maintain a professional dignity, but he completely failed. Gods. Everyone dead, at Bain Castle. And then it took absolutely every ounce of control that the flag officer had not to smile. After the public humiliation he'd suffered at the Sith's hands, after that incident with the beautiful concubine he'd abandoned on the landing platform, it was only payback. All of the Dark Lord's staff dead, at Bain Castle. Including his consorts. The Admiral of the Imperial Star Fleet wanted to laugh out loud, but he dared not. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he feigned an emotion he was not feeling at all.

"Your Highness," Ozzel replied, sounding shocked and grieved, "This is terrible news. Does Lord Vader know?"

Palpatine saw through it at once, and inwardly smiled at the fraud.

"Not yet," His Imperial Majesty answered, looking just as grieved as Ozzel did, but he faking it very much better. "He should be told as soon as possible. I would like you to do it for me, Admiral." Here Palpatine paused for dramatic effect, as if extremely reluctant to go on, but he knew he must. " I don't like to ask it of you, but I am in the middle of conducting an investigation into finding the criminal who did this, and arranging for decent burial of the dead. I consider it a matter of honor, that the members of Lord Vader's household, in particular the concubines of his harem, should be properly interred. I should devote my time to handling these urgent issues right now, but if you feel that this is too much, that you couldn't—"

"Oh, no, Your Highness," Ozzel interrupted, then realized that he'd just cut off the Ruler of the Galaxy in mid-sentence. He gasped for real, and apologized profusely. "I beg your pardon," he said, finishing his groveling. " Of course I will inform Lord Vader, and to do anything I can to assist your Highness in your work. Just tell me how I can help."

Palpatine smiled benignly at the flag officer. What a weasel. That was another reason why he liked him. "Thank you, Admiral, but if you can deliver the word to Lord Vader, as gently as you can, that will be quite sufficient."

Ozzel nodded gravely. There was a brief pause.

"One more thing," His Highness continued, one digital hand raising itself slightly. "I'm sending a team of auditors to the Executor. They should be arriving in a day or so. I'm interested in getting an outside opinion on the efficiency of your internal security operations, especially under fire. Particularly in view of the failures in security at Bain Castle. Keeps everyone sharp."

The Admiral's face fell. Auditors? Auditors on his ship, before an important Rebel engagement? He gulped, in spite of himself. "How many shall I prepare for, Sir?"

The Sith Master pretended to consider, counting in his mind. "I think ten should do the trick. They will need unfettered access to every part of the ship, and be able to come and go at will."

Ozzel bowed his head in submission to Imperial demand. "Of course, Your Highness. It will be done."

"Touching this other matter, Admiral Ozzel, it occurs to me that Lord Vader may wish to go to Bain Castle after he hears the sad news." Palpatine's yellow eyes seemed to bore down into the Admiral's. Scaring him rather badly. "Please let him know, from me, that I will completely understand if he wishes to go. In fact, I will make it easy for him: tell him I'm ordering him to return to his Castle immediately. I'm sure you and your staff can handle things by yourselves for a few days."

"Yes, Your Highness," the flag officer replied, bowing slightly from his kneeling position. If he went down any further, he'd fall right on his face. Palpatine was saying that he wanted Vader off the ship? During a Rebel attack? And auditors? This made no sense whatsoever.

The Emperor smiled broadly. It was a horrible sight. "Thank you, Admiral Ozzel. It is a great comfort to me, to have you there. Managing things."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

Palpatine's image abruptly disappeared, and the holoprojector went dark. The audience was over. The Star Fleet commander in charge of the Executor got off his projector, pulled down his tunic and strode out of his office, in search of Lord Vader.

Auditors, he muttered to himself as he went. Auditors. Why was Palpatine sending auditors? Why was he sending the Dark Lord, whose tactical brilliance was so needed in the upcoming battle, away to Bain when everyone was dead there anyway? It made no sense.

But Ozzel was not a man who questioned orders. He liked certainty. He liked clarity. He liked hierarchy, and he liked not having to think about who was in charge. The Emperor ordered it. His instructions came from the very top. He would do as he was told. The Admiral would make sure that the auditors had everything they needed to do their job, and that Lord Vader left the Executor within the hour.

The Sith Apprentice was in his spherical chamber, inside his quarters. He'd heard nothing for hours from the recon force that went to Bain, so he began to meditate. It didn't take long for him learn what happened. It was as if the spirits of the dead were crying out to him, through the Force.

Through his Dark Side vision, he saw the whole thing. The forty assassins that shot through the roof, to get into his home. The pain and death of his retainers. His Terrans, fighting the invaders both fiercely and bravely, but dying anyway. His other Ladies murdered in their beds, before they could even rise to defend themselves.

His anger and hatred knew no bounds. Their Darkness was incredibly powerful. Lord Vader savored it, channeled it further into his power, and allowed it to tell him who was responsible for this act. As if there had been any doubt in his mind.

His Master. His Master ordered the murder of his consorts at Bain

Palpatine wanted all of him. All of his hatred. All of his fear. All of his rage. All of his pain. It was going to be the Sith Lord's pleasure to give it to him. He would have all of it, except for what belonged to the one other person in the universe that had a legitimate claim to a piece of it. His old Master. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The Dark Lord of the Sith prepared himself. There was work to do that needed to be done right now.

Isis found herself walking through the sun-drenched streets of Mos Eisely, grateful for the hood of her cloak that helped shield her eyes and face from the glare of Tatooine's twin suns. It was fucking hot, and she was glad she'd braided her hair back and taken off as much as she dared. She knew she could not expose the tattoo on her leg, so she made sure that it was covered, but for all she knew, she might be arrested any time for indecent exposure- just for having her feet uncovered in her sandals. There might be modesty laws here that would make Talibanic restrictions look like Miami Beach dress codes. Isis could not afford to get arrested, so she kept the hood over her head, her hands hidden in the ample sleeves of the cloak. She didn't want to offend anyone. But she had an even bigger problem.

The Terran didn't know where she was going. She was hoping to find somebody that sort of looked human, and ask about where to find this Toydarian named Watto, but so far she hadn't spotted any being that fitted that general description. They all looked alien. She was beginning to panic a little bit.

It seemed like there were no such thing as traffic laws on this world. Vehicles of varying descriptions were coming at her from every direction, and she had to hug the walls of the bland beige buildings at the side of the so-called roads. Weird creatures, robots of every imaginable kind, created foot traffic that was as chaotic as the vehicular traffic. She almost crashed into a being turning a corner, and then found herself being almost run down by some kind of motorized bus as she tried to avoid the collision.

Isis was freaking out. She needed to collect her thoughts, to try to get her bearings. Maybe there was a restaurant or a bar, or something that she could go into, just to get off the street, for just a minute. To sit down and think. To get accustomed to being in a strange world, on a hopeless mission, to find a man she'd never seen and did not know, who plainly didn't want to be found. To realize that she'd never been more frightened in her life.

The Terran refugee started to look for someplace that it seemed like beings were going into, and coming out of. Across the road, a few meters away, there was a long low structure that looked like there were creatures coming in and out of. Some vehicles were parked outside of it as well. It could be a public toilet, for all she knew, but she had to start somewhere. Isis decided to go in and see. Before she got picked up for loitering or vagrancy.

Lord Vader was in his meditation sphere, finishing his task, when the door chime to his quarters rang. He checked his security system cameras outside. Ozzel. The Sith opened the doors for his visitor, resumed his helmet and breathmask, and opened his hyperbaric medical chamber about one meter. Turning his chair around at the same time.

The Admiral marched, almost parade-style, into the room and right up to his Commander. It had been the flag officer's experience that it did not good whatever to try to make news this bad more palatable. The best thing was not to try. He waited for the Dark Lord to speak first. Protocol. It was a great help in situations like this.

"Yes, Admiral, what is it?" Vader asked formally, vocoder flattening the tone nicely.

"My lord," replied Ozzel, not bothering to sound regretful or even sad. He was a messenger, nothing more. "There has been an attack on your castle at Bain. Everyone there has been killed. The Emperor orders you to proceed there immediately."

"I am aware of this," the Dark Lord stated in a very matter-of-fact way. "I plan to depart for Vjun shortly."

The fat flag officer swallowed hard. Lord Vader already knew? It was known that the Sith had extraordinary powers, but this…did he say he was already planning to leave?

"Yes, my Lord," Ozzel replied, a bit obsequiously. Then he turned to go.

"Admiral," the Dark Lord called him back, holding up one black-gloved finger. The Imperial Commander stopped dead in his tracks. He had no choice in the matter; he couldn't move his feet. "My Lord?" he inquired humbly. Once more, he turned to face his military commander.

The Sith had not used the Force on him before. It frightened him.

"While I am off the ship, I am making you personally responsible for the safety of my concubines. Before I leave I will place the harem section on secure lockdown, but a murderer has succeeded in killing one hundred six beings at my Castle. Until this criminal is apprehended, I cannot leave anything to chance. You will ensure that no harm comes to my Ladies. Is that understood?"

Ozzel swallowed again. The Auditors, coming here at Imperial Command. What if they want to inspect the security arrangements of Lord Vader's harem?

"Your thoughts are transparent," the Lord of the Sith stated menacingly. The Admiral's throat began to tighten, and it wasn't a natural consequence of his extreme nervousness. "I see in your mind that the Emperor is sending Auditors here. He has requested that they receive full access to every part of the ship."

The flag officer nodded, starting to sweat. Trapped between two Sith, Master and Apprentice, was not someplace he wanted to be. At all.

Lord Vader, for his part, added this new outrage to his burning anger and hatred of his Master. The additional Dark energies were most welcome. Especially for what he was planning.

"Yes, my Lord," he replied. "I am to grant full and unimpeded access."

The black helmeted head nodded once, curtly. "And so you shall. But you are servicing auditors, not enabling assassins. No harm must come to my consorts. I trust threats are unnecessary. Are these instructions in any way unclear?"

"No, my Lord." The political appointee was regretting he'd ever joined Star Fleet.

"Good. You are dismissed, Ozzel."

The plump flag officer almost ran out of the Sith's quarters.

What the hell was he going to do now? The Admiral wondered hysterically as he hurried back to his office.

If the Auditors were indeed Assassins, and they wanted to be let into Lord Vader's harem, he would be disobeying a direct Imperial command if he didn't allow them access. He could be executed as a traitor to the Empire. And he probably would be. Slowly. Painfully. If he obeyed his Emperor and allowed the Auditors/Assassins in, and they murdered the beautiful ladies of the Dark Lord's harem, Vader would kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

Either way, he was a dead man.

Ozzel prayed that the Auditors really were Auditors, and would not request access to Lord Vader's private part of the ship. He really hoped so.

But there was one thing he knew he could do, to help ensure the concubines' safety. As soon as he got to his office, he would give the necessary orders.

The Dark Lord of the Sith boarded his personal shuttle, which was already prepped and ready to fly when he got to the shuttle bay. He'd locked down his consorts and made a death threat to Ozzel, who would no doubt make extraordinary efforts to keep his Master's minions out of the harem. It should be very interesting, the Sith thought to himself with a smirk, to find out what happens. The Commander of the Imperial Star Fleet was an unimaginative and rather stupid man, but such men could be capable of something approaching genius when they think they might in mortal danger. Vader hoped that this would be the case with Ozzel.

He did have a backup plan, however, just in case. It was already in operation.

Vader enjoyed flying. He always had. As his ship rocketed out of the shuttle bay, he could feel the blood lust within him rising, and he loved that almost as much as the freedom of space. The thrill of the hunt; there was nothing quite like it. Yes, his Master had been behind the killings of his darlings, but he used others to carry out his will. The Sith Apprentice would hunt down every last one of them and they would all die. Slowly. Painfully.

The Dark Lord's concubines aboard the Executor were not pleased at being placed in lockdown. No man was permitted to see them anyway; there were no cameras, no holoprojectors, no vidphones in the harem anyway, and the blast doors that shielded them from the other areas of the ship were close to a meter thick. It wasn't as if tight security was something they didn't know anything about, but lockdown meant no additional service droids, no deliveries of supplies unless absolutely essential, and all message traffic would be routed through their lord's private servers and security filters. That meant he could (and probably would) read all of their mail and other messages. Something was happening. They didn't know what, and Vader wasn't telling them anything. He'd just left the ship, on an undisclosed errand and no estimated return date. That was all the word they got, and this came from the calendaring function of their lover's office computer.

The girls were in their common area, as they often did since Hollie joined their number, trying to shore each other's morale up. It wasn't working.

Mel thought it sucked to an outrageous degree, that their lord hadn't told them why and for what they were being locked up. She was brooding about it, nursing a scotch and soda. Kim and Kelly were playing cards, and Kelly was cheating. She was in high spirits since her cast had finally been removed, but now that they were in lockdown, she couldn't get into their lord's gymnasium to work on building up the muscles in her leg. That irritated her, because she really needed to. Her gait was suffering somewhat. Heather was practicing her lightsaber forms, and she was quite mad about not having access to the gym as well. She'd chopped up six battle droids on an average day, ten on a good day, and four on a bad. Now she couldn't hack up any droids for an indefinite period, and that stank. Hollie was disappointed that her shopping trip had been postponed, but what really pissed her off was that it appeared her lord was treating everybody shabbily. Including her friend, Isis. Who, for all they knew, might be dead by now. They'd received no word yet from her.

Hollie thought about playing cards with Kim and Kelly, but hated playing with cheaters even though no money was involved. So she poured herself a glass of Jack Daniels, sat down next to Mel and watched Heather do her routine. She was quite good at it. The effect was rather hypnotic.

It would be difficult to imagine their surprise as a service droid entered their domain, bearing five blasters and five practice targets. It put the items down on the large front table, and floated towards them, engaging its holographic projector. It was a message from, of all people, Admiral Ozzel.

"My Ladies," the projected image said, bowing slightly from the waist. The grey Imperial uniform did absolutely nothing for his ageing, portly figure, "please forgive the intrusion. By now you've heard that Lord Vader has departed the Executor on an errand, and that you are in full security lockdown. This was done for two reasons. The first is that we are about to go into a major engagement with the Rebel forces in this sector, and your security is paramount. The second is that there has been an attack on Lord Vader's castle at Bain, and everyone there was killed. Including all the rest of your Lord's consorts. I understand that several of them were from Terra."

He paused. The girls looked at each other, shocked. No wonder. No wonder their lord had left without a word, placing them in lockdown.

"Before Lord Vader departed, he entrusted you to my care," he continued. "I wish to take no chances. I'm sending you each a blaster, and a target to practice with. The power levels are set at their lowest possible setting, so that no one will be hurt if one of you should accidentally hit one another. But they can be powered up if need be, through setting the energy dials as this droid will show you. The droid is instructed to remain in your quarters, and assist you in learning how to use the weapons. It may also convey any messages to me that you deem necessary."

The figure in the message paused again. Mel and Hollie grinned at each other. This might be fun! "No one at all has authorization to enter your area," Ozzel concluded. "No one. If any should enter, or attempt to enter, shoot them. No exceptions. Thank you, my Ladies, for your attention in this matter."

And then the holograph shut itself off.

The girls got up from where they were, and approached the table with the blasters. Each took one, began to examine the weapon.

"Do you have a name?" Kim asked the droid, looking at the targeting sight piece of the black lethal laser gun.

"2DXR," it replied. "I have been programmed to answer to the word, "Dex."

"Okay Dex," said Heather, putting the lightsaber back on her belt and picking up a weapon, "How do you work this thing?"

Isis entered the long, low building with some trepidation, but tried to look like she was just another native. She passed another cloaked creature on the steps with a long greenish snout. It somewhat resembled a bipedal aardvark. It was the oddest thing she'd seen yet, and she tried not to stare. The off-worlder from Terra did stare, though. It caught her looking, spared one glance at her. Apparently bored, it looked away and went out into the hot afternoon. Isis put him right out of her mind.

The place was cool inside. Cool and dimly lit. As she passed the door portal, a faint blue glow emanated from some kind of device, and a weird sound accompanied the light. Isis guessed it announced customers coming in. The establishment resembled a local cantina of some kind. There were two apparently human men tending bar. Creatures she'd never imagined in her worst, most vivid nightmares were scattered all around the room. Most of them were in pairs but there were some at tables, with three or four beings sitting at them. Conversing with each other. Or something like that. A band of skinny bug-eyed aliens were playing something that sounded like muzak in one corner. Muzak you might find in any office building elevator, in any urban area in middle America.

As completely surreal as that was, to find this mundane music on a faraway planet, Isis relaxed immediately when she heard it. It was like a piece of home. Something familiar, in a place that was utterly foreign.

She noticed that no one else had their head covered, so she threw back her hood. There were some humans lounging at the bar. They were regarding her with a little more interest that she felt comfortable with, so she approached the Barkeep on the otherside of their group. When she finally got his attention, he gave her the sourest look she'd ever seen. Isis waited for him to ask what she wanted. He didn't. So she spoke first. "I'm looking for a Toydarian named Watto."

The Barkeep grunted once and gestured towards a table, in a recessed area to her right.

"Thank you," the Terran responded, with a bright smile and a slight wave of her hand. The man sneered at her. Isis saw it, smiled again and walked towards the table he indicated. He had a face that would curdle Cremora non-dairy creamer. But who knew, maybe on this planet, belligerence was good for trade.

There were three beings sitting at the small round table. One looked sort of like a small elephant seal with delicate arms and hands, and fairy-like wings. One was apparently human, an attractive fair-skinned man with a full red-gold beard. He badly needed a haircut, and he wore a cloak similar to hers. The third was an extremely tall ape-like being that looked like he had ammunition belts slung over his massive hairy shoulders. He grinned at her toothily.

Isis bowed in greeting to the three. "Good afternoon," she said politely, hoping that it was afternoon. She had no idea what the local time was. "Which of you is Watto?"

The creature that was the seal with wings spoke in a gravelly voice. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm afraid you wouldn't know me, Sir," the Terran replied politely. She sure hoped Watto was male. "My name is Isis Andrews, and I'm looking for someone. I was told you might know where I should begin looking. I'm trying to track down the whereabouts of a person named Skywalker."

The man with the beard smiled slightly. Watto began to curse, banging his tiny fist on the table, wings flapping agitatedly. "I sold that woman twenty years ago," he insisted, finishing his flood of invective. "Why does everyone keep asking me about Skywalker?"

Sold. Sold. They have slavery here? Oh that's just great, thought Isis. Lord Vader didn't give that little piece of information. She could be caught and sold as a slave on this world instead of going to prison, and wind up rotting in servitude for the rest of her life. Marvelous.

"I didn't intend to irritate you, Sir," she answered, still on her best behavior, determined not to offend. "If the subject of Skywalker is aggravating to you, then I will leave it out. But I have limited time here, and I must find this person. I have a message, and some items of interest that I have been asked to pass on."

The red-headed man frowned. Watto smelled a possibility of a profitable deal. "I would have to check my old records, to tell you where I sold Shmi Skywalker. But they will be difficult to locate. It might take several days to find the information."

Isis groaned inwardly. She didn't have several days, but Isis was sure this was a ploy. Watto wanted a bribe. Maybe it was time to start negotiating. That's what Lord Vader had given her all that money for, after all. Bribes, blackmail and under-the-counter-trade. "I am rather pressed for time," she said, smiling pleasantly at the weird creature. "Is there any way to expedite the search process?"

Watto spread his tiny hands and appeared to shrug. His wings fluttered. "I can make it worth your while," the Terran wheedled. "Are they stored nearby?"

For the first time, the bearded man in need of a haircut spoke up. "I might be able to help you," he told her. The Toydarian glared at him, growling something under his breath. "May I ask what the message is, that you are to pass on?"

The Dark Lord's secret assassin looked from the man to the Toydarian and then back again.

"I'm afraid I can't repeat it except to the person for whom it was intended."

Obi-Wan Kenobi read fear and embarrassment in her mind, and then he was certain. He hadn't been entirely certain, until that moment, that this woman was an emissary from Lord Vader. He didn't recognize her, but he would bet she was Terran. And not a member of the Sith's harem, because he'd not seen her on the Executor. Very interesting.

The large hairy creature sitting beside the Jedi opened his mouth full of sharp, pearly white teeth and barked at her. Isis' eyes widened in surprise, and she stepped back, startled. "It's alright, Chewbacca," Kenobi assured his old friend. "I think I know what this is about."

"If you do, Sir, then you know more than I do," Isis was feeling just a little irritated. Then she realized who this man probably was. She looked at him sharply, green eyes narrowing in the gloom of the cantina, but said nothing. The man nodded slightly. The Terran understood his gesture. They needed to talk privately.

Watto saw the look, realized what was going on and that his deal was going down the sand trap. That stupid human, Ben Kenobi, had ruined his action. The female was clearly willing to pay, probably very well, for the information she was looking for, and he was just going to give it away. Assuming he even knew anybody named Skywalker, which Watto very much doubted. He wondered sometimes why he bothered keeping in contact with this human lunatic from across the Dune Sea. If he weren't good at getting accounts current with some of his dead-beat customers, the used-parts-shop-owner wouldn't give him the time of day.

Force knew that Kenobi didn't own either a timepiece or a window to throw it out of.

He had to go. Time was wasting. If she wasn't interested in doing business now, Watto told the out-world female crossly, then he was leaving. The Toydarian had wasted more than enough time talking to her already. Flying off, he bade farewell to Chewbacca, who yowled once and waved one hairy paw.

"Chewie, would you excuse us?" The Jedi clapped a callused hand on the Wookie's shoulder. He bent his head in assent, and the strange hirsute creature eased himself away from the table and went out.

"Won't you sit down, Isis?" Obi-Wan invited, indicating a seat beside him. The Terran took it gratefully, placing the large leather bag she had slung over her shoulder on her lap.

"Who are you really looking for?" the Jedi asked. The little Terran was rather pretty, he noted, even in the dim light of this dilapidated place.

Ah, a smart one. He must be, Isis mused to herself, or he wouldn't still be alive. "I think I'm looking for you," she answered. "But I need some proof of your identity. I have something in this bag," the Terran said, indicating the satchel. "Something that may belong to you, that was left behind on one of your recent travels. If you can tell me what it is, then I will know I have found the man I'm looking for. If not, then I will have to go back out and find Watto again, because my time here is limited."

Kenobi was having difficulty reaching her mind. She had good shields. He looked at the soft leather bag on her lap, thought about what could possibly be in it. After a moment, it came to him. His clothes. His clothes that had been left behind on the Executor.

"I believe you have a set of clothes in that bag," he replied. "A set like the ones I'm wearing now."

"Go on," Isis encouraged. It probably was Obi-Wan Kenobi, but she wanted to be absolutely sure. The message had to be delivered to Jedi, in person, and to no one else. The Dark Lord insisted on this.

Kenobi thought for a moment. What else could be in there? His eyebrows raised themselves as he recalled the other item he was missing. His lightsaber. Vader was returning it, not keeping it? His lips twisted bitterly. The Sith Lord who was Darth Vader would have kept it, as a trophy. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker would have immediately returned it, but he would have delivered it himself. The large aqua eyes of Obi-Wan closed in remembered pain. Anakin. His former Padawan. His cherished friend. His beloved brother, who now both hated and perversely lusted after him. Who had thrown him off his ship not one week ago. The Terran saw the pained expression, and she knew that she had her man. She waited for him to speak, though.

"Do you have a lightsaber in that bag?" He asked. Isis nodded, reached inside it and handed the weapon to him. Obi-Wan just held it in his hands, and looked at it for several moments. Without speaking.

"That message you're carrying. Was it intended for me, or for Skywalker?" the Jedi inquired at last.

Isis leaned close to him, and whispered, "You are Obi-Wan Kenobi?" She just wanted to hear him say it. He nodded, whispered an affirmation, eyes bright with what might be tears. She couldn't be sure. It was so dark in this bar. "Then the message is for you. But I have to whisper it in your ear. Will you permit it?"

For answer, Kenobi leaned close to her, bent his ear down. The Terran scooted closer, and quietly relayed the message Lord Vader made her memorize.

"You are a liar, Obi-Wan Kenobi," The Sith Lord's message went, "You don't hate me. It isn't in you. You love me, and you want me, but you're not man enough to admit it. If I ever find you again, Jedi, I will show you what Darkness is. I will do to you everything you have done to me, and then I will make you love me. Before I kill you, and take your head to my Master.

"Do what this Terran tells you to, and maybe I won't come looking for you. Do what she says, and perhaps I will let you live. For a while," Isis had a hard time getting the last two words out. She paused a moment, and then repeated the last bit of the message. "For a while. My love."

The Jedi couldn't speak. For several minutes. The Terran sat in silence next to him, trying not to look at his face, but she couldn't help herself. As difficult as it had been to deliver this message to the disgraced, defeated Jedi, it must have been much harder for him to hear. Kenobi looked like he'd lost his last, best friend in the universe.

The other beings in the cantina laughed and chatted, in more aural methods and visual communication cues than Isis could even guess at. Smoke from water pipes and other apparatus floated towards the dirty low ceiling, and various intoxicating liquids flowed and gurgled in the pipes over the large rectangular bar. Muzak played. More than at any other time in her life, the woman from Terra wanted a drink. She'd be willing to bet the contents of her money belt that Kenobi could use one too.

She placed the leather satchel beside him, got up and went back to the bar. The Bartender scowled mightily at her, but handed her two drinks. She took them back to the table.

The Jedi hadn't moved at all from his position. Emotional devastation was written all over his face.

Then his hands moved to attach the saber to his belt. Isis put one of the drinks down in front of him, and sat down again beside him. Silently Kenobi's hand reached for his glass, and he downed it in one gulp. The Terran sipped at hers cautiously. It wasn't bad. Sort of like absinthe and crème de menthe, with a dash of sugar. It warmed her pleasantly right down to her toes. She drank some more. Waited for the Jedi Master to speak. He didn't say a word. In a low voice, and in a gentle tone, Isis spoke again into his ear.

"Obi-Wan, I need some information. Can we go somewhere less public?"

"We can go to my home," Kenobi replied. "We can go by local taxi."

Isis nodded. The two of them got up and left the bar. Nobody showed the slightest interest. The heavily cloaked, dark-green bipedal aardvark, watching from the shadows of a shop across the street, was the only one that saw Kenobi and the Terran get into a cab. He saw them go off into the desert together as he withdrew his comlink and transmitted his report.

Lord Vader's shuttle made it to Vijun in excellent time. He plotted his course to approach the planet from behind its moons, and turned off his transponder identification beam before he left hyperspace. If there were any of his Master's agents lingering in the space around his private refuge, Vader wanted to know about it.

He didn't find any ships in orbit, unfortunately, except the one that had his reconnaissance team. Switching his identification beam back on, he hailed the recon ship. The Captain, Reez, responded immediately.

"I'm glad you've arrived, Lord Vader. We were to maintain communication silence and forbidden to leave orbit by Imperial Order when we arrived. Are you ready to receive my report?"

The Dark Lord had been ready to receive it for days. "Proceed, Captain," he ordered.

"When we arrived, we found the Emperor's assistant, Mas Amedda, already here, There were two other ships with him. We were ordered not to land, to uphold a communications black-out, and to remain in orbit for six days. Since we could do nothing else, we monitored and recorded all communications we were able to intercept from all three ships. We can beam them to your ship's onboard computers at your command."

Reez was a most efficient officer.

"Commence transmission of your recordings at once," he replied, "but give me your conclusions about their contents now."

The captain of Vader's elite force was more than willing to do that for his lord. He hated the Emperor Palpatine intensely for personal reasons, and that was a powerful motivation for him to serve Darth Vader so loyally. He knew the Sith hated his Master too, and that gave them something in common. Quite a lot, actually, as it turned out.

"The assassins were private mercenaries, contracted by Amedda. The other ships we saw land on Vijun were to make funeral arrangements for the dead and to build a mausoleum. Amedda hired them to, and supervised the work. I think Amedda planned the whole thing, in advance." The officer left off the obvious part about His Imperial Highness having given the order. They both knew who was responsible. No reason to belabor the point.

"Did you see the assassins leave? Do you have any identification on them at all?"

"No, Sir," Reez answered. Vader could hear the regret and disappointment in his voice, but he had no patience with it. Time was working against them finding the murderers that did this work.

"Reez, land your ship on the Castle grounds and inspect the buildings. Try to pick up any clues you can. Check the security recordings, if there are any. I will rendezvous with you in the Great Hall in three hours."

"Very good, my lord," the officer replied, and within a few minutes Reez's ship turned out of its orbit and prepared to land. The Sith Lord was right behind them.

Reez made a thorough search of Bain Castle and was extremely disappointed. Mas Amedda's contractors had done an excellent job of masking any evidence of the massacre, and repairing all the damage that had been done. Everything was left in good order. Even the concubine's beds were neatly made, their personal effects in place. Walls had been resurfaced and repainted, floors and stairwells refinished and cleaned, even indoor plants repotted. The security records were all either erased, removed or deleted. Nothing was left. Even the service droids were either deactivated or destroyed, their memory chips confiscated.

Lord Vader made his own tour of his residence while Reez was making his inspection, looking for different kinds of clues. The fear and pain of his retainers, their families and his Ladies left behind their own signatures through most of the castle. It fueled his rage and hate, and that was very good, but didn't tell him very much that he didn't already know. He also sensed that some of the assassins died here too, close to half of them either killed or injured. His security force had killed several of them, and his Terrans did almost as well as they had. His Terrans…his beautiful, sensual, passionate Terrans…

The Sith Apprentice was seething with rage by the time the three hours were up. Nothing was going to stop him from taking his revenge on the agents of his Master. Nothing.

Reez was waiting for him in the Great Hall, with his lieutenants and men, when the Dark Lord arrived. Vader could tell by looking at him that his Captain hadn't found anything, but he permitted the man to make his report anyway. He hadn't expected that the officer would find anything much, but it was always good to be thorough.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Reez finished, bowing slightly.

The Sith nodded once, curtly, and said nothing for a moment. Then he spoke again. "I see that a large stone mausoleum has been constructed on the North side of the main hall. Did you search there?"

"Yes, Sir," the officer replied. "But all we found were freshly sealed graves."

"I will go there now. Accompany me," Vader ordered, turning on his booted heel, great black cape swirling behind him as he strode away.

Reez had to trot to keep up with his lord. Together they left the hall and went outside to the area that had been the private gardens. The white stone building housing the remains of Lord Vader's consorts was situated near the center of them.

A variety of flowering plants had been put into the landscape around the mausoleum, and a fountain plashed at the entryway. Clearly this monument had been planned for in advance, and executed well. The best contractors that credit could buy had done the construction. Reez sensed the irony, the malice and the hatred that lay behind it. His commander must be beyond livid at this point.

The Sith Apprentice slowly toured the graves inside the new building, in the gathering afternoon gloom. The Terrans were all buried together, next to one another, in their own section. As the Dark Lord passed in front of the slabs that bore their names, he thought his heart would burst into flame, with the intensity of his hatred for his Master. Even Reez found his outrage renewed at the sight. It was a despicable act, to murder these women, he thought to himself. Despicable and cowardly.

The captain followed a pace behind his lord, and when Vader stopped in front of one marker, Reez paused too. They stood silently together for probably five whole minutes.

This was the tomb of Lady Katherine. A single red-petalled flower adorned the small crystal vase beside her name, as it did all the others. The special-forces officer maintained a respectful attitude, as his commander meditated.

Suddenly the Sith took his lightsaber off his belt and ignited it. The molten red glow of its length lit up the wide white stone passage. Slowly, carefully, Vader cut the seals on the grave, until it was free of its mooring to the wall. He held the marker as he cut it free, so it would not fall to the floor and crack. When he was done, he handed it wordlessly to Reez, who held it carefully. Using the Force alone, the dead Terran's lover drew the coffin with its drawer out of the wall slot and set it down carefully in the passageway. The lightsaber was used again, to unseal the coffin itself. Once it was loose, the Sith Force-lifted the coffin lid away and looked upon the body of his consort. His Kitty. Reez lowered his eyes, turning his head away, not wanting to presume to look upon the remains of his lord's beloved. Even so, he was on fire with curiosity as to why Lord Vader was desecrating the grave. Surely he could let the dead rest in peace. Lady Katherine had been through enough.

The Emperor's Apprentice saw that his Lady had been most carefully dressed in elaborate and beautiful robes, in the manner of the Naboo nobility, but the robes were black as befitted a Sith consort. There were small white flowers in her long dark hair. The undertakers concealed the wounds of battle on her corpse, but Vader knew, of course, what they were. Through the Force, he'd seen everything that happened. How she fiercely fought the killers, stabbing three of them before being killed herself by a single shot through the abdomen. The assassins had so respected her bravery that they'd entombed her still holding the knife that killed their companions. The blood still on it.

Gently, very gently, Lord Vader's gloved hand removed the weapon from the small pale hand that gripped it. Placing the hand back in its position, he then Force-lifted the lid back on and returned the coffin into its drawer.

"Reez," the Sith Lord instructed, holding out the bloody knife, "have this blood analyzed. I want to know what species it is, and where it comes from, the genetic profile of its owner and everything else that can be known from it. By tomorrow morning. Then I want your men to reseal this grave and prepare to leave. We are heading to Coruscant."

"Yes, my lord," the officer said, taking the knife. The Dark Lord took the grave marker from him, and he hurried out of the mausoleum. Placing it down carefully, next to the wall, the Emperor's Apprentice remained behind, alone, in the stone monument. There he swore an oath to the shades of his Ladies, that he would avenge them, in the ancient language of the Sith. An unbreakable oath, that required that he act on it at once.

He left for his ship after that. He needed to check in on his remaining Terran consorts aboard the Executor. There was danger for them there, he knew, but Lord Vader believed he had minimized it. He would need to keep very close tabs on them from now on.

And then there were the reports from his spies on Tatooine to review. Concerning the other Terran. His little she-dragon.

He wondered if she'd found Kenobi yet.

The lovely Terran consorts of Lord Vader aboard the Executor were doing very well, learning how to use their new blasters. Dex showed them how to maximize the features of these latest models. It taught all of them to shoot at least adequately before it left the harem.

Heather still preferred her lightsaber, but always appreciated learning another weapon. She wore both of them on her belt. Kelly took to it, with great enthusiasm. She clearly couldn't wait to kill something with hers. Kim and Hollie didn't care for blasters, but Hollie was an excellent shot. She'd learned how to shoot as a girl. Kim figured out that she could combine some of the settings to get something like a fire-thrower, and that made her quite happy. She could nurture her inner pyromaniac with it. That was very good.

Melynda wished she could have had knives instead. The kind you throw. The kind that can kill from a fair distance away, depending on one's skill level. That killed almost silently and usually took victims by surprise. It didn't seem like you needed that much skill to kill with a blaster, but she didn't know this for a fact. She hadn't killed anything with one. Yet. Hanging it on her belt anyway, she thought it was time to convene a little group meeting. To plan out what to do, in case they were attacked, maybe drill a little bit.

Their lord wasn't going to have to mourn their deaths. But he might have to heat up some excuses to his Master for the ones they would inflict on anyone or anything that entered their sanctuary. Whomever entered was a dead man. No matter who it was.

On the bridge of the Executor, Admiral Ozzel paced the deck alongside General Veers. The reconnaissance reports of their scouts reported that the Rebel armada, some ten Destroyer-class ships and an indeterminate number of smaller fighters, were about four hours away. It was unknown if they planned to employ their new energy weapon, but Ozzel was ready to deploy the Executor to protect the rest of the fleet, if necessary. The range on it, if the reports were to be believed, was insufficient to do much damage to the Super Star Destroyer.

Veers was a battlefield ground commander, not a Star Fleet admiral, but he knew Ozzel was pitifully inadequate to direct any kind of military action. He'd made himself available, in Lord Vader's absence, to help out. The flag officer was glad of the help, and wasn't too proud to admit it. He still couldn't believe the Emperor ordered the Dark Lord off to Vjun, just before an engagement. Didn't he read the reports that came into him regularly, about rebel activity in this sector? Or did he just not care?

The two of them were discussing maneuvers when Captain Piet hurriedly approached them. His face was impassive, as usual, but Ozzel could tell the man was agitated. He looked like his uniform was strangulating him. He was also a little out of breath.

"Admiral, I've just been informed that the Imperial auditors have arrived," he told his commanding officer. "They are requesting permission to begin their observations."

Ozzel had been expecting this. He nodded. "Tell them to proceed. Give them whatever assistance they need." As the young captain turned to go, the Admiral called him back. "Who is in charge of the group, Captain," he asked, "and how many of them are there?"

One of Piet's eyebrows shot up. Was it possible that Ozzel didn't know? "There is no one in charge, Sir," he replied. "They are all droids. Ten of them. Models I've not seen before."

Droids? The pudgy commander thought to himself, completely taken aback. The Emperor sent droid auditors? He'd never heard of such a thing. "Did they bring any equipment with them?" the Admiral of the Imperial Star Fleet asked the young officer, mentally crossing his fingers. They shouldn't need anything, since droids could record and reduce to electronic data all of their observations, without any additional tools.

Captain Piet nodded. Five very large packing cases, he told his commander. He had no idea what (if anything) was in them, but the droids also had an anti-grav sled to take the cases with them as they moved through the ship. The cases appeared to be fitted up for cold storage.

The Admiral's junior officer didn't permit any of his misgivings or opinions about what the cases were for to show on either his face or in his voice. But he did immediately conclude that they were to store trophies for the Emperor. Probably bodies.

Ozzel began to feel very nervous, but also hid it- just nodding at the Captain's report and then striding back to his office. Leaving both Piet and Veers staring after him. He sent for 2DXR as soon as he got to his desk, and when it arrived, he composed a new holographic message to the ladies of Lord Vader's harem.

The Sith Apprentice was in his ship, reviewing the downloaded message traffic collected by Reez, and his other informants on Tatooine, when the analysis of the blood came in.

The communications between Mas Amedda and his agents hadn't yielded very much new information, except that this process of burying the dead and building the mausoleum had been extremely expensive. Well out of proportion to what the costs should have been. His captain had been correct in his conclusions: it had all been arranged in advance, and by Imperial Order.

The blood analysis yielded by far the most important information he'd seen yet.

Species: Phyrgian.
Gender: Male.
Tissue Type(s): VIIIA
Phenotype(s): Three different varieties, most likely from three different males, but genetically very similar.
Presence of Marking Code Identifiers: Yes.
Equipment Identity: VRT234SF90875-123KL
Cloning Process: Sparti Location of Cloning Facility: **Classified**

Interesting, thought the Dark Lord. His Master had his own private cloning facility that his Apprentice knew nothing about. In a location that was so secret, Vader's own agents weren't allowed access to the information. And he'd found about it because one of his dead Terran concubines had been buried with a knife bearing the blood of three of the clones that tried to kill her. Lord Vader had proof that Palpatine was linked to the murder of his consorts. Cold, bitter rage seized him once more.

Vader was heading to Coruscant in a few hours, to get a few answers from his Imperial Master. They should be most illuminating, he mused, smiling slightly behind his breathmask. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker adored watching the Ruler of the Galaxy squirm. It happened very rarely, and was all the more delightful to witness when he got to do so in person. Which he would shortly get to do. Perhaps in front of the whole court.

Things were proceeding in a most satisfactory manner. The reports from the Imperial spies on Tatooine indicated that his Terran Assassin arrived safely to Mos Eisely, and had already managed to find Kenobi's location. The Force was with her. That was clear. He'd sensed that from the first moment he'd seen her, even though it didn't appear that she had more than minimal Force ability. Some beings have a natural affinity as tools of the Force; they move with its ebb and flow as easily and facilely as an artist manipulates his medium. Isis was clearly one of them. Lord Vader didn't know what she would accomplish in the end, but by setting her on this path, with goals that he set for her, she might do just about anything. He had faith in the Force. And in her.

His she-dragon.

It was planet dawn on Vjun. Time to leave for Imperial City.

"Now let me get this straight: You want to go to Korriban, to ask for the help of the Sith Lords of the past, to kill Palpatine?"

"Yes."

Obi-Wan couldn't believe his ears. "Isis, why would *they* help *you*? Palpatine is the Sith Master who destroyed the Jedi Order. Who rules the galaxy. Who's fulfilled every Sith objective. They're not going to help you. They have no reason to."

"They'll help because he's failed to provide for the continuance of the Sith Order. He has an Apprentice that can't kill him, you said so yourself. Think about it, Obi-Wan. What's the point of keeping and training an Apprentice who can't be a Master? Even if Palpatine plans to live forever, isn't it a sign of cowardice, that he won't tolerate a rival to his power?

"And what if he fails? What if he dies, and this weaker Apprentice takes over as the head of the Sith Order? Isn't deliberately allowing the possibility of weak leadership guaranteeing extinction to the Sith?" Vader's assassin paused, searching her host's face for some kind of response to her argument.

The Jedi sighed, face still impassive. Isis was applying logic to the Sith, and that was futile. He knew that well enough. But she wasn't done yet. The Terran was tenacious, he had to grant her that.

"Okay, Let's pretend for a moment that he does figure out how to live forever. Doesn't having the same being at the head of the Sith Order for millennia after millennia make certain eventual decay and deterioration, through stagnation, especially since he won't tolerate rivals to power?"

Kenobi shook his head. She had a point, but probably the wrong one to bolster the argument she was trying to make. "Then, logically, the solution is for the Sith Lords to kill Vader, not Palpatine, and force him to find another Apprentice," he replied.

"He's made the same mistake before. You told me about Dooku and Maul. It's a pattern. He doesn't choose to align himself with equals."

"No Sith does, Isis. There is no equality, only hierarchy, in their Order. I see your reasoning, but the Dark Side doesn't bow to logic. I knows only passion." The Jedi Master covered his face with his calloused hands, sat back in his seat. "This is madness, my Lady. If you go to Korriban, you will be inserting yourself into the affairs of the Sith. You may never be able to get yourself out again. You could find yourself compelled to be involved in many more things you want no part of. Like this entire mission you're on right now. Is that what you want?"

The Terran pursed her lips. It wasn't what she wanted, but once Palpatine was dead she could return to Earth. Vader promised her. Surely her homeworld, in another galaxy very far from here, was beyond the reach of the Sith. Wasn't it?

"Don't count on it," Kenobi said, reading her thoughts, as he lowered his hands and slumped down ever further on the couch. "The Sith are wherever the Force is, and the Force is EVERYWHERE."

Isis threw up her hands. "I'm out of options then, Obi-Wan. I can't kill Palpatine myself. You've said you don't think you can either. If you have another idea, I'd love to hear it."

She got up and began to pace the small living room floor of Kenobi's house. Her host just sat and watched her, from his position across from her. He was having a great deal of difficulty understanding why he was even having this conversation. With this woman. In his house. About this topic. But what bothered him most was that he did want to help her. And he knew he shouldn't.

"I also have in my pocket a vial of blood," the Terran continued. "A vial of blood that is proof of a violent and despicable crime. Someone needs to be punished for it. I can't just let it pass, Kenobi. There must be justice for it somewhere."

Obi-Wan grimaced. Justice. He was a Jedi. It had been his calling to be one of the guardians of peace and justice, in the old Republic. It grieved him, now that he had to shirk this responsibility for the sake of expedience and other duty. The man he had been eight years ago would not have considered it.

The nature of the crime itself also disgusted him. As one who had trained an Apprentice himself, he was outraged. Sexual violence was a genuinely despicable method of motivating a pupil. The fact that the man who was the victim of this crime had once been HIS apprentice did not enter into his feelings about it. Kenobi could distance himself from it at least that far. He was still Jedi enough to be able to do that.

"Don't delude yourself that you're doing seeking justice on Vader's behalf," The Jedi Master cautioned. "The Sith don't believe in justice. They recognize only Power. The weak deserve what they get, in their Order. If you're hoping to punish Palpatine for what he did, then do it because it's what you feel you have to, because you believe in the ideal of justice, not because anyone else is asking you to. Lord Vader will not thank you for it, nor will the Sith. Any Sith." He pointed a finger at Isis' pocket. "All that vial would prove to them is that the Sith Apprentice, whose blood is in it, is not worthy of Apprentice-ship."

"Exactly," replied the Terran. "That's it exactly. I want the Sith Lords on Korriban to be outraged at Palpatine's incompetence, and decide they need to do something about it. Perhaps the proof in this vial might just do it." She sighed. "I didn't come to this galaxy to assassinate heads of state, Obi-Wan. This is all way over my head. All I want to do is go home, and I can't, until the Emperor is dead."

Isis sat down again next to Kenobi, and looked at him pleadingly. "My ship is a drone. I don't know how to program it to get me to Korriban. If you won't come with me to take my case to the Sith lords, then I'll try to muddle along by myself. But I need your help to get the ship to their homeworld. Will you help me?"

He knew this request was coming. He'd been expecting it for the last half hour. But he didn't know how to answer her.

He'd been to Korriban before. He'd been there with Anakin, in fact. He knew where she needed to go, to find the tombs of the Sith. He could summon the Lords of the Sith for her, so she could make her case to them. He could help her. Besides Lord Vader himself, he was probably the only one who could. If the Sith Lords would help her to kill Palpatine, and they managed to do it, perhaps it would be worth it.

That was a very big `if.' He could also wind up dead. As could she. It was a very big risk, and he knew it. If it were just himself, he wouldn't hesitate. But there was the son of Anakin Skywalker to consider.

In thinking about young Luke, Obi-Wan came to his decision. Part of his job was to make sure the child stayed well-hidden from Palpatine. If the Empire ever found him, on Tatooine, and through him, Anakin's son, Kenobi didn't know how far he could protect the boy. If Palpatine or Vader truly wanted him, there would be no stopping them from taking him. If Palpatine were dead, Luke would be safe forever. Lord Vader wouldn't look for what he didn't know existed, and with an Empire to rule, wouldn't need to look for imaginary threats. He'd have plenty of real ones to deal with.

Safe forever. A piece of Anakin, safe forever. That was worth the gamble. For the sake of the friend and brother he'd harmed so much, and loved even more.

"I will help you," Obi-Wan told her, taking her small hand in his and giving it a little squeeze. "We'll leave as soon as you're ready."

"Let's go now," Isis said, eyes shining. She so hoped he would help her, and now he was actually going to. He was a true Knight after all, despite what Vader had told her. With flaming sword and everything. A perfect, gentlemanly warrior that would come with her on her quest, to win justice for a wrong and set a galaxy free. It was adolescent, irrational and silly, she knew, to be thinking about it like this. But she'd been so frightened at the prospect of having to go it alone that she was almost ready to cry with relief. Clothing the Jedi in a rose-colored romantic mist was probably inevitable. Hopefully it was forgivable too.

It didn't hurt anything that he was very handsome as well. Except for the beard. The perfect image, the perfect illusion of Sir Lancelot. Far into the future, and in a galaxy far, far away, of course.

Leaning over slightly, she kissed Kenobi on the cheek. He squeezed her hand again, looked into her sea-green eyes. "Don't think too much of me, child," he told her sadly. "It is largely because I failed that we're in this mess to begin with.

"The man you know as Darth Vader was once my Apprentice. Did you know that?"

Aboard the Executor, Hollie got a message from her friend. She and Kenobi were going to a place called Korriban, to get help from the Sith Lords entombed there. Isis would contact her later, when she knew more, hopefully in a day or two. And not a word was to be mentioned of this trip to Lord Vader. It didn't make a lot of sense to the beautiful blonde consort, but she promised to relay to her sister consorts all messages that came in from Isis. Going to Melynda's rooms first, she told her the news. The Sith's Dark Side gift was genuinely horrified, when she heard they were going to Korriban.

Force only knew what they hoped to accomplish there, she mused aloud. And to herself, she wondered if, once these Dark Lords of the past had been called up from their slumber, they would do what they were bid. And only what they were bid. They might have other ideas about what should be done with the Emperor. And his Dark Apprentice.

Mel re-iterated to Hollie that she must not say a word to their lord, about where Isis and Kenobi were going. The Southern Belle promised, and she was a woman of her word. She never mentioned it. The other ladies remained silent also. Together, they commenced their invasion/counter-attack drill in the common area of their harem.

Lord Darth Vader did not know, then, as he streaked through hyperspace to Coruscant, that his former Master and his little she-dragon were on their way to the Sith homeworld. To tell the Dark Lords of the Sith that he so admired and respected how weak he was, how helpless, and how he deserved to have his Master removed for that reason.

If he had known, he would have ordered the Executor off its assigned course, to hunt down Isis' ship with them in it, and blast it into a hundred billion pieces.

Obi-Wan always hated flying. So he decided to let the drone do most of the work. He programmed in the coordinates for Korriban, the necessary stops and hyperdrive jumps, and let the ship fly itself. The trip would take several hours. He spent them with his pretty traveling companion.

Isis found herself developing a crush on the handsome Jedi. It was entirely unintentional. His gentle humor charmed her. He was so kind. He had such wonderful stories to tell, about his travels and his life. His smile caused her heart to turn over. The twinkle in his azure eyes made her sigh with longing.

For his part, the Jedi Master discovered that he both liked and admired the Terran. She was strong-minded and brave. She had quick intellect and was eager to learn. She had a wonderful sense of humor, and she made him laugh. Her soft femininity, her delicate prettiness, was a pleasure to be around.

It surprised both of them when they found themselves nestled together in the cargo hold, almost in each other's arms. Then they were in each other's arms. Obi-Wan found his arms wrapped around her waist, and before either of them knew what happened, they began to kiss each other.

Kenobi didn't realize how much he missed the touch of a woman. His adventure with Lord Vader's concubines didn't count as a tryst, as they'd had only vengeance on their minds. Not one of them really wanted him. This woman did. His lips parted hers eagerly, his tongue exploring her willing mouth. Her hands went up his back, holding him close, pressing herself against him. His hands pushed off her cloak, reached under her tunic, cupped one full breast, stroking it gently. She moaned, opened her mouth wider. One of her hands rested itself over his stiffening member, caressing it over his leggings. He shuddered, groaning her name.

Together they lowered themselves to the grated floor, tearing at each other's clothing. Obi-Wan's aquamarine eyes glazed with desire as he kissed and caressed her pale body, wanting to run his tongue over every surface of it. Isis parted her legs, so Kenobi could pull off her silky panties (borrowed from Melynda), and the Jedi began to lick her inner thighs. Her soft wet folds. Her hot pink pleasure center. The Jedi thought he'd be happy to die there, between her legs, the taste of her on his tongue, her softness beckoning, as he kissed and caressed her. Sinking into her sweetness.

The Terran was having a hard time keeping still. She wanted him inside her so much. When his finger entered her, as he raised himself back up to her lips, she gasped with pleasure. Then two fingers. Firmly, expertly, they found the special spot that made her gasp and shake. They kissed and kissed, as if it was impossible to get enough. Obi-Wan undid his leggings, and together they slid his engorged cock into her. After that, they moved as if one body, seeking each other's pleasure, the Jedi moving faster and harder within her, she moving with him, until she climaxed. He released himself into her then, and they clung to each other. Panting. Kissing some more.

Pretty much, the Jedi and the Terran spent the rest of the trip to Korriban that way.

The immortal being Karesh, on his home planet very near the Core, was examining his astronomical charts. The alignment of the planets Tatooine, Coruscant, Mustafar and his own were favorable. The five suns around his home-world (three of them at the end of their life-cycles--brown and white dwarf stages, one large blue-white and one smallish yellow sun) were also positioned well for what he planned to do. It took a lot of energy, that kind of deep meditation, and he'd already failed in his purpose once. He'd been waiting for another opportunity to try again. Now looked to be a very good time.

Karesh was attempting to use the past to re-shape the present and future. Of course his race of beings did not possess the ability to alter Time, but they could- through meditation- touch the minds of individual beings and alter their perceptions of the past. The Immortals are pacifists; they do not involve themselves in the petty squabbles for power and whatever passes for money that so engross mortals in the galaxy. But they will sometimes intervene to help individuals. He was trying to aid Lord Darth Vader and Obi-Wan Kenobi in working out their differences. He was not a mediator; neither side wanted his help, which was a significant handicap. The best he could do was bring them both into the same location, at the same time, and add a suggested imperative. The rest was up to these two men, who had done such terrible damage to one another.

The Immortals are amoral as well as pacifistic, as many have discovered to their dismay. But they are not immune to the experience and exercise of compassion. Maybe no one but Karesh would ever know why he did what he did, and certainly the men he tried to aid would, if all went well, never know or need to understand. They might only inquire should he fail and matters worsen. He had no intention of letting that happen.

Karesh settled himself down and started his meditation.

The Dark Lord, within the hyperbaric chamber aboard his personal shuttle, was also meditating and carefully nurturing his rage. He was deep in the black frigid heat of the Dark Side when it hit him. It was like someone suddenly cutting the power on a carefully calibrated instrument in full operation, sending it wildly out of balance and spinning out of control. He was floating free in space and time, with no sense of orientation at all. No direction. No future. No past. Only now. Only the freedom of open space, where he seemed to float. Bodiless. It was not an unpleasant experience, but it was very disorienting.

Then his consciousness coalesced and started descending. He was coming closer to a small red planet. He'd been to this place before, he realized. Then the memory of it was utterly wiped out, as was all sense of his travelling here through space and time, and he suddenly awoke.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was dozing peacefully aboard the Imperial drone ship, his pretty Terran companion in his arms. She was out like a light, and no wonder. With all the strain she'd been under, and after the intense lovemaking they'd just shared, she needed her rest. The Jedi Master deliberately stopped himself from thinking about what awaited them on the Sith home-world, when they got there in about four hours. It would be up to the will of the Force, what happened after that. This trip wasn't his idea, but he'd had little choice in the matter. Between Isis' pleas and Vader's threats, plus his own scruples, there was nothing else he could do but take her to Korriban as she requested. The errand was a mad one, maybe the most insane one he'd ever been on, except the trip to the Executor.

He still couldn't believe that he'd gone there, at the behest of the Immortal, Karesh. Yet the Jedi still carried around with him the crystallized tears of the Dark Lord. His heart carried the wounds of their last meeting, to add to the already frightful ones--hardly healed--from Mustafar. Isis' message re-opened all of them.

He needed rest too. There could be some hard fighting ahead. As he allowed himself to sink into sleep also, he centered himself emotionally as best he could. He did pretty well. He felt no fear. He had no expectations. He knew no desire. There was only peace within him. In some ways, he felt more like the Jedi Master he was than he had in a long time.

Unconsciousness took him then, suddenly and deeply.

The volcanoes were erupting again on Mustafar. On a planet filled with them, awash with their molten lava floes, this wasn't an unusual occurrence. This time almost all of them on one hemisphere were spewing gas and liquid rock, poisonous vapor and fumes from a planet burning itself up. The magnetic field abruptly re-polarized, followed by a vast earthquake.

Something was happening. The planet was waking up again.

When Obi-Wan came to consciousness once more, he found himself standing on a landing platform. It was next to what appeared to be a control center, on a planet that seemed to be one big volcanic landscape. There was a sea of lava to his right. There were rivers and tributaries of lava, running in all directions to his left. Cone-shaped mountains spewed it in the distance. Holes in the ground oozed it. The air was hot. It was arid in the extreme. Cinders and particulate matter swirled sullenly in the oven-like breeze. The planet seemed to shiver briefly. This must be Mustafar. He'd heard about this place, but hadn't been here before.

He didn't know how he got here. He didn't know why he'd been brought to this place. He didn't know what, or who, he was supposed to meet, or if there was something that he had to do. In some ways, he wasn't sure he was actually on this world. He thought he remembered being somewhere else, just moments ago. This place felt real, yet how could it be?

The ashes and soot blackening his beige Jedi robes as he stood in the hot wind, and the smell of hot burning boot leather coming from the general direction of his feet was not his imagination, though. Within his heart, he felt an increasing dread. Something terrible going to happen. He knew it. He could feel it.

"What are you doing here, Obi-Wan?"

The Jedi's head whipped around towards the building. It was Anakin's voice. He almost didn't recognize it. He sounded angry with him. It sounded like he was threatening him. Anakin. Threatening him. Why?

His former Padawan was wearing his dark Jedi robes, cloak included, even in this monumental heat. His hood was down, and his eyes seemed almost as fiery as the landscape around them. They were glaring at him. Anakin was in a terrible temper. Oh Force, what was wrong now? Gods, he hoped his friend hadn't done something…ill-advised.

"I don't know why I'm here, Anakin," the Jedi responded, and he began to walk towards him.

His partner stiffened at his approach, drew back. Kenobi stopped, confused. He was even more mystified when Anakin turned his back on him and strode into the control center building. Angry or not, it wasn't like his former Padawan to be so rude. There was a major problem, then. Obi-Wan followed him inside. The doors shut behind him.

The air inside was much cooler. The atmosphere scrubbers filtered out the debris in the air, took out much of the smell of burning minerals and metals. The place was empty; there was no one in it but them. For that, Kenobi was grateful. If his young friend had done something stupid, he didn't want the whole galaxy to know about it. Perhaps it could be fixed; that's what friends were for. It wouldn't be the first time Obi-Wan had to help him out of a mess.

Time to find out what the problem was.

"Anakin, you're disturbed about something. Tell me what it is," he said. "You know you can tell me anything."

Young Lord Vader sighed with impatience, from the other side of the great room where he was standing. His former Master was such a superior hypocritical fool. Thank the Force that, in the New Order, fools died, or were neutralized. This fool, though, was his problem. He'd had him brought here for a reason, although Obi-Wan was totally in the dark about it. As usual.

Time to get on with it. "Trying to dig up some dirt on your old Padawan, Jedi Master?" he asked rhetorically, a slight sneer curling his full upper lip. "I can't believe you came all the way over here just to help me."

Kenobi was wounded by this accusation, coming from Anakin. It was entirely unjustified. But he kept his cool. It was one of the things he was famous for. "How do you know that isn't why I'm here? Suppose you tell me what the problem is, and then we'll see what I can do to help."

"You're the problem!" He shouted, black rage seizing him as he regarded the man in front of him: his former Master. Filthy spy, despicable traitor. "The Jedi thought everything was a problem to be solved, situation to be negotiated, or an emotion to be surrendered. Their lies have cost me dearly, Obi-Wan. I have come here to demand payment."

Kenobi was still, inside himself. Very still. Something terrible had happened. "Aren't you a Jedi too, Anakin?" He asked the question very quietly and carefully.

"Not anymore." The tone of voice coming from Obi-Wan's former student was positively chilling. It was cold. It was bitter. It was something else; it sounded almost triumphant.

"No?" The Jedi Master repeated, hardly able to credit it, not able to still the hand of dread squeezing his heart.

"No," his former Padawan stated firmly. "I am not."

Kenobi swallowed hard. "You have left the Order?"

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker curled his lips back into an unpleasant facsimile of a smile. "Not exactly," he replied. The tall slender figure in the dark Jedi robes shrugged out of his cloak, and his black-gloved hand removed his lightsaber from his belt. The cybernetic hand gripped it. At the ready.

All of a sudden it dawned on Obi-Wan. Or rather, it did not dawn. Night fell, with a dark moon rising. The Jedi Master's mouth dropped open in shock. "You…you…." He couldn't speak the words. He couldn't even think them.

"My name is Darth Vader," his one-time student told him pleasantly. "Lord of the Sith. My Master is Darth Sidious. You know him better as the Emperor Palpatine."

Kenobi was speechless. Palpatine, a Sith. Anakin, a Sith…a Sith…oh Gods…

"The Jedi will be extinct soon," he continued, his tone still civil, almost conversational. "Most of them have already died today. I've killed quite a lot of them myself." Vader was approaching his old Master slowly, stalking him lightly, like a great predatory animal. Kenobi found himself backing up as he approached. "Their lies and deceit, their power-grabbing, treasonous ways are at an end," he went on. "I expect a few are still around, here and there. In time I will get around to them too. It will be my distinct pleasure to eradicate every one of them.

"But you…well, you deserve my special attention."

The Jedi Master could hardly breathe, for the horror that gripped his soul. His brain wanted to refuse to understand the meaning of the terrible words, falling from the lips of the man he considered his best friend. And even more than a friend. A brother. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker was now a Sith who wanted him dead. Or perhaps worse than dead. By the blackness in his gaze, Obi-Wan could tell that his former student wanted to do something unspeakable to him.

Vader stopped his approach when he was perhaps two meters or so away from his quarry. He leaned nonchalantly against the edge of the large metal conference table, sitting in the middle of the room. Laying his lightsaber down on the surface next to him, he crossed his arms over his chest. His sapphire eyes regarded his old Master.

"You love me. Don't you?"

Kenobi's eyebrows flew up. This wasn't a question he was expecting. He thought about what to say for a moment. The Jedi did not love. The Jedi renounced possessions and passions. Obi-Wan didn't know if his feelings for his old Padawan amounted to passion, but he did feel something for him that was more than the requisite compassion or comradeship bond. In the end he decided to tell the truth. Anakin knew it anyway.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Not very Jedi of you, is it?"

The Jedi Master sighed. "No, I suppose it isn't."

"I love too," the man who had been Jedi Skywalker said, uncrossing his arms. He leaned back on his hands as he lifted himself up on the table, sitting down on top of it. "I love Padme. You knew that, didn't you?"

No point in denying this either. Anakin wore his heart on his sleeve; he always had. "Yes," Kenobi responded.

"Did you know we were married?" Obi-Wan shrugged. He hadn't actually thought about it.

Vader read his thoughts. Typical. The blind fool had seen it all the time, and refused to believe it. Fool. Idiot. Jedi.

"You loved a woman once. Didn't you?"

Kenobi wished he would drop this line of inquiry, but he was in no hurry to stop talking. If they stopped talking, they would begin fighting, and Obi-Wan would rather do anything but fight this man, his closest friend.

"Yes, I loved a woman," he admitted. "It is not against the Code to feel the emotion, only to let it control what you do." Here he paused, remembering his love with great regret. "I let her go. I had to. What I felt for her was too strong. My loyalties were divided, and a Jedi cannot afford such division. Siri supported my decision wholeheartedly."

So he'd felt that way about Siri Trahi? Humph. Interesting. "Would you let me go?" The Sith Lord's beautiful blue eyes bored into him.

Moisture welled up behind the azure orbs of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master. "You've already gone," he whispered.

"From the Order, yes. But not necessarily from you." Vader slid off the table, got back on his feet.

The man who was among the very last of the Jedi looked up into the eyes of the Sith in front of him. "What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means that the Jedi are to be destroyed, but I need not take your life. If you love me, it is enough to spare you."

"I don't want to be spared," Obi-Wan protested quickly, then he realized what he'd just said. He might be the last Jedi Master, for all he knew. If his old Padawan destroyed him, the Order might go out of the universe for good. He must remain alive.

Of course, the Sith read his thoughts. Good Gods, how predictable his old Master was. Not an original thought in his brain. He could only think the way the Jedi taught him to think. Always the Order first, his Order. His filthy Order. Well, the Dark Lord would just see about that.

"Yes, you do," Vader contradicted. He slowly began to approach Obi-Wan again. He stopped once more, much closer.

Kenobi was silent. He didn't know what to say. "What's the problem, Obi-Wan?" the Dark Lord asked his former Master concernedly, in an eerie reversal of their usual roles. "Are you ashamed to love me?" He asked, feigning hurt on his handsome features.

"No. Yes. I don't know," the Jedi admitted, confused and deeply disturbed. This was terribly difficult for him. One hand passed itself over his brow. The Sith recognized it as a sign his old teacher was seriously off-balance.

Lord Vader came over and placed his hands on his one-time friend, one on each shoulder. "You don't have to answer," he told him gently. "But if I am to justify keeping you alive to my new Master, I will need to be able to explain it some way. I'd need some proof, that you love me and would not harm me. Harming me would harm the Sith, and he would never tolerate that possibility, no matter what I might want."

"What kind of proof?" Kenobi didn't intend for the question to sound as suspicious as it did, but he really wasn't sure that he understood Anakin's motives. Standing this close to the Sith unnerved him. He couldn't read this Dark Lord's thoughts, and that was very unusual. Anakin had always been so transparent. He was also having a hard time focusing. Obi-Wan tried to reach through the Force to touch the strength of the other Jedi, use their Light to help him, but it was impossible. His sense of it was gone. For the first time in his life, he felt totally alone.

"Oh, I don't know," the man who had been Anakin Skywalker mused aloud, his hands moving slowly from Obi-Wan's shoulders down to his upper arms, and back again. "Palpatine would probably want more, but I would take a kiss as proof enough."

The Jedi Master looked up at him, eyes wide with astonishment. His old Padawan wanted a kiss? He thought that extremely strange. But then, he considered. A kiss wasn't very much to ask, as a token of esteem. Such mild physical affection hadn't played a large part in either Obi-Wan's upbringing or in that he gave his own student, but it wasn't unheard of among the Jedi. If it would keep the Order alive a little longer, allow him time to work out a plan for how to deal with this new situation, he supposed it was worth it. Kenobi brought his lips up to Vader's cheek, and kissed it gently.

Lord Vader put his arms around his old Master, and hugged his body to him tightly. Kenobi hugged him back, tears welling in his eyes. He did love his old Padawan. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting him. Of fighting him and killing him. This man was his friend, his brother. He loved him.

Unconditional love, thought the Sith as he read his teacher's thoughts. Kenobi was truly a fool in full Jedi motley. A Jedi fool in a Sith court. Most appropriate.

The young man, who still looked like the Jedi he once, was drew back, looked into Obi-Wan's aquamarine eyes. The expression in them was a little regretful. "Thank you, my Master, but that wasn't much of a kiss, if you don't mind my saying so."

Kenobi smiled a little sadly. "I admit I'm a bit out of practice."

The former Jedi smiled back, a little wolfishly. "I'm not. I could give you a few pointers," he said.

The Jedi Master's grin got broader. "I'm sure you could."

"Shall I?" Obi-Wan's smile abruptly vanished. The Sith Lord sighed impatiently. "Obi-Wan, if I tell my Master the Emperor that I spared you because you gave me a kiss on the cheek, he will laugh. Then he will insist that I hunt you down and kill you for making a fool of me— and by extension, the Sith.

"Come now. Stop acting like a shy provincial maiden and kiss me. Kiss me like I was this woman you once loved."

The Jedi Master was utterly shocked at this request. He wanted to insist that he could not, absolutely would not. But if he didn't, that would surely mean that Anakin would fight him. He didn't want that either. He really didn't want that. Kenobi swallowed hard. "I don't think I can," he replied. To the ears of the Sith Lord, the denial sounded a tinge desperate.

Darth Vader was thoroughly delighted with the way things were going. Either the Jedi would fight him—and die—or he would embrace the Dark Side of the Force. That much was perfectly evident. The Sith just needed to apply a little more pressure. He stepped back a few paces, to Obi-Wan's obvious relief. The Emperor's Apprentice smiled sardonically. He found himself looking over the handsome Jedi Master before him, now without the support of his Order and cut off from all aid. In doing so he realized something else. He could get a lot more than a kiss.

The Sith reached his gloved cybernetic hand over and he began to unfasten his belt. Obi-Wan watched him, completely nonplussed.

"Did you have sex with this woman that you loved?" The man who had been Anakin Skywalker put the discarded belt on the table. Then he proceeded to unfasten his tunic and sash. Kenobi's heart began to beat faster. It was starting to dawn on him what was probably going to happen, and he was horrified.

"How far did you go with her, Kenobi?" The Dark Lord prodded.

"That's no concern of yours," the Jedi replied. Anakin didn't need to know whether he'd made love to Siri Trahi or not. Nobody needed to know that. Siri was dead, died long ago. Their love was ancient history, as far as Obi-Wan was concerned. He'd been a different man then. None of that past mattered now. The Jedi was starting to feel a bit…violated.

Violated, the Sith read in his mind. Violated indeed. He was only just getting started, violating his old Master.

The tunic slipped over his old Padawan's head, and now his chest was bare. It glistened with a slight sheen of perspiration. Obi-Wan lowered his eyes and bent his head, partly out of modesty and partly out of shame. He remembered how it had been, falling in love with Siri—and trying so hard to deny both his feelings and the expression of them. The Jedi kept emotion out of sexual release. The members of the Order didn't touch one another either, in that way, because of the dangers. He'd felt shame, desiring Siri as he had. He'd felt guilt for loving her.

Kenobi had always admired the handsome-ness of his Padawan, as he admired all beautiful things. He felt ashamed of his admiration, though, because it wasn't strictly impersonal. He felt guilt now too, over both his feelings of love and his admission that he loved Anakin. He thought he'd never be tormented by these feelings again. Not after all these years.

Vader walked back over to his Old Master. His gloved hand slid itself under his old Master's bearded chin. "I know you're not a virgin, Obi-Wan. " The sapphire orbs of the Sith looked into the azure pools of his Jedi teacher. "It's just a kiss I'm asking for. How would kissing me be different from kissing the many pleasure girls you've had in your life?"

"How was kissing Padme different from the pleasure girls you kissed in your life?"

The Sith lord smiled broadly. "Point taken, Obi-Wan." There was a brief pause. "I could make this easier, tell you to shut your eyes and pretend I was Siri Trahi, but that isn't the purpose of this exercise, is it? I take it that you've never kissed a man before."

"No," was the reply.

Excellent, thought the Dark Lord. Excellent. Not long now. The Jedi would be turned to the Darkness before he had any idea what hit him.

"Well I have," the man who had been Anakin Skywalker, the Hero Without Fear, said, his fingers moving to loosen the ties on his leggings. "It isn't any different from kissing a woman, believe me."

Kenobi's eyes widened as his old Padawan stepped back once more. He began to slide his leggings off his waist and down his hips. "Anakin, what are you doing?" he asked, utterly appalled.

"I want you to kiss me, Obi-Wan," the Sith explained patiently, ignoring his old Master's slip with his name. "You have no experience with other men. I do. I'm trying to make this easier for you."

Lord Vader was naked now, and the Jedi was dismayed to note that his member was becoming hard, beneath his leggings.

The Dark Lord was moving closer to him again. The gloved hand reached down to his sex, and he began to caress it. Slowly. His sapphire eyes were taking on an orange cast, making them seem almost purple.

"I like to look, when I kiss," he told Kenobi softly. "I thought you might, too. This isn't that easy for me, you know. You were my Master. We have been friends. This is difficult, but I want to spare your life and I don't see another way."

Vader's gaze was growing warmer. It was making his former teacher very nervous. "Your Jedi robes are a little intimidating," he observed. "Would you take them off for me?"

"You've seen me without them before," Obi-Wan whispered, as he watched his old Padawan touch himself. Beautiful. He was so beautiful. Perfect.

"Yes, but I've never seen all of you," the Sith whispered back, now only inches from Kenobi. "Please let me look at you. Let me see you."

The Jedi was becoming painfully, massively hard. He couldn't let his former student see that, he just couldn't. "No," he refused. Beneath the beard, he blushed.

"Then, Obi-Wan, kiss me" the Sith begged softly, his eyes closing as he enjoyed his own touch, as his sex became erect. His lips were right over those of his old Master. "Please kiss me. Kiss me right now."

It would to be possible for Kenobi, if it could happen at all, it would have to be now. He reached for Anakin, drawing him into his arms, and his lips closed over his mouth in a blistering kiss. The touch of the Sith's naked body under his hands immediately set his whole being on fire. Vader opened his lips eagerly to his former Master, and their tongues entwined around each other as they kissed passionately. The Jedi whimpered a little. The Dark Lord reached for his old teacher's hand and wrapped it around his now fully-aroused cock. Together they stroked it. Obi-Wan whimpered again, his other arm wrapped around this deadly enemy of his Order, sucking at his tongue. The Jedi's lips ravaged Vader's, pillaging the Sith's willing mouth. It was as if everything Obi-Wan felt for Siri, and all the emotion he'd felt for Anakin, combined itself into a perfect storm of unbridled lust.

"That's so much better," Lord Vader purred, when he could speak.

Kenobi expected him to stop, now that he had what he wanted, but he didn't. The Dark Apprentice wasn't done with him. He wanted more.

"Again," he demanded. They kissed once more, hotly. Lustfully. As he was ravishing the Sith Lord's lips, plundering his mouth, Obi-Wan was discovering something. He liked kissing Anakin. He liked it a lot. He liked touching him like this too. Even though it was dangerous, even though it was forbidden. He wanted more. He wanted even more. His whole body was aching for it.

The Sith broke off the kiss after a few moments, as soon as he sensed that the Jedi was ready for the next step. A little breathlessly, he whispered in Kenobi's ear. "Would you like to put me in your mouth?"

The Jedi, weak with desire, in pain from his need, nodded. He dropped to his knees, parted his lips and took Anakin's sex into his mouth. Eyes closed, his tongue caressed the organ and he sucked at it eagerly. The flesh of his former student was sweet to touch this way, and he liked this too. Gods, he had no idea this kind of sex could bring so much pleasure.

"Yes, Master," the Sith moaned, his hands fisting themselves in his teacher's red-gold locks. "That's it. Show me how much you love me."

Obi-Wan hardly heard him; he was completely absorbed in the sensual delight of sucking his Padawan's cock, his hands caressing the heavily muscled thighs and the tight firm bottom. The Jedi's own organ was painfully engorged, begging to be released. He moved one hand to remove it from its bindings, inside his leggings. Then his hands went back to work, fondling his Anakin's body. Every part he could reach.

"Yes, you like this, Obi-Wan," Vader observed softly, his voice deepening noticeably. He was near to climax. The Jedi was doing an excellent job, for one with no experience. He wouldn't mind keeping him alive, to perform this kind of service. It was only fitting, too, that he keep one of the hated Order around for this reason. Even Palpatine would have to agree with that. "You didn't know it could be like this, did you," he asked, looking down at Kenobi. He was sucking with utter abandon, lost in what he was doing. The Sith observed that his old Master was stroking himself also, on his knees, while he was tonguing him, and he found that unbelievably hot. Padme would have to learn to share, that was all there was to it. This was just too good not to have on a regular basis.

"Do you want more, Obi-Wan?" The Sith asked indulgently, seeing no reason not to be generous. Kenobi looked up at him, and his eyes held the Dark Lord's answer. Vader came inside his old teacher's mouth. The Jedi drank him, as much as he was able. Afterwards, he sat back on his heels, gasping and licking his lips.

It had been a little difficult for him at first, making love to his old Apprentice. Kenobi still preferred women, but he found that he enjoyed this kind of intimacy with Anakin. Enjoyed it very much. Too much, given the way he felt about him. The fact that he loved him. The Jedi Master vowed to himself that it must never happen again.

Obi-Wan still hadn't come. The man who had been his Padawan learner reached down and helped him to stand, then moved behind him, pulling him close, caressing him. His gloved hand reached over to touch his old Master's engorged sex, and he found it delightfully hard. Holding him even closer, he stroked it, whispering into Kenobi's ear. "Just relax as much as you can. I know a way to make this even more pleasurable for you." The Dark Lord's hand of flesh moved over, and two fingers sought entrance into the Jedi's mouth. "Suck my fingers," he directed, "make them nice and wet." Kenobi obeyed. His old Padawan's gloved fingers on him, fondling and stroking him firmly, were driving him out of his mind. After a minute or so, Vader withdrew the fingers and slid his hand inside his former Master's leggings. One of them worked its way into the Jedi's Master's entrance. "Relax," the Sith urged him, "this will feel good, I promise."

Obi-Wan tried to relax. It helped that Anakin was kissing his neck, licking it, as he stroked him. A second finger joined the first, and gradually they worked their way up to graze his prostate. Gently they massaged it. Immediately pleasure shot though Kenobi, and he moaned, trembling, shaking. In a short while he came, in his Padawan's arms.

Lord Vader held him for what seemed like a long time, kissing and touching him. Then he turned his old Master around and gently kissed his lips once more.

"I have all the proof I need now," he told him. The Jedi's lips, though, were succulent, the evidence of his capitulation to the Sith still on them. Another kiss followed that last one, then another. Delicious.

"Padme might be angry," the Jedi said, against Anakin's mouth.

He knew he should stop this, but he couldn't make himself do it. This was so erotic. Siri was the last person he touched, where it was anything like this. He'd forgotten what it felt like, to experience physical pleasure with someone he was emotionally bonded to. It had been so long, and there was a reason for that. It was too dangerous, that was why. It must never, ever happen again.

The Jedi Master broke off his kiss, took one step back. Breathing hard.

The Sith chuckled at the thoughts he sensed from Kenobi, the strictures he was putting on himself. Ever the Jedi. Foolish, so foolish, but how typical. Every time Obi-Wan found a new pleasure in life, he immediately tried to find a way to exclude or limit it.

"I left the Order once, when I was younger, then I came back to it," Kenobi told his former Padawan. "Did you know?"

"No," lied the Sith.

He didn't make a single move to dress himself. His naked flesh gleamed in the dim light of the control center. He was tall and slender and beautifully developed, and the Jedi Master was humiliated to discover that he was wanting to touch him again.

"Are we done here, Anakin?" Obi-Wan wanted to leave. To go, before he did something else he would regret. Before this Dark Lord made him have sex with him again. Before he disgraced himself by asking him to.

The Jedi needed to stop calling him Anakin. The Sith didn't correct him, though. Not at that time. Lord Darth Vader looked at his old teacher and slowly shook his head from side to side. Smiling slyly while he did it. Oh no, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Jedi Hypocrite. We're not even close to being done yet.

"Take your robes off," the Sith commanded, and he made it sound like a direct order. Before his old Master could even get his mouth open to protest, Vader cut him off. "Take off your robes now, or pick up your saber."

Completely baffled, not knowing what to do, the Jedi didn't move.

"Do I have to help you?" the Dark Lord asked, taking a step nearer.

Obi-Wan took off his robes. As the Emperor's Apprentice suspected, the traitor to his Empire was even more handsome without them, his organ large and well-formed. His skin was pale and his body beautifully developed. The Sith wanted him. All of him. Vader went up to him slowly, then put his hands on Kenobi. Without a word, he began caressing Obi-Wan's sweet, docile flesh, fingers running themselves over him wherever they would. He was quite enjoying this experience, with this deadly enemy—his new Jedi plaything. He wished he done it long ago.

His old Master just stood there, unresisting, as the Dark Lord took his pleasure. It was the only protest he could make.

"Don't try to pretend that you don't want me to touch you," the Lord of the Sith cautioned his Jedi teacher. "Don't imagine that I don't know that you want me to make love to you again. Your Order is no more. Its hold over you is fiction. If you were the Jedi your Order expected you to be, you'd be fighting me right now. It's time for you to accept that your Oath to it is meaningless."

Kenobi tried to focus, to not listen. He willed his body not to respond to Anakin's touch. But it wanted to. It wanted to.

"Touch me, Obi-Wan," Darth Vader whispered, close to his ear. "Touch me or fight me."

His old Master reached out his arms shakily, began to run his hands down his student's sides and back. "Don't do this, Anakin, please," he pleaded. Yes, pleaded.

Excellent, thought the Sith Lord, full lips smiling as he listened to Obi-Wan beg. The Jedi was crumbling.

"I'm not forcing you to love me," he replied, his hands now caressing his former teacher's face and neck, moving down to his shoulders. His skin was so soft. "I'm not making you fight me either. You're only doing what you want to do."

"How do you know that I won't fight you? Would never fight you?" Obi-Wan held the Sith at arm's length for a moment, looked into his eyes. They seemed to glow an unnatural orange in the dim light of the room.

"I don't. But I also don't think you don't want to be without this kind of love anymore," Lord Vader pointed out. "You've done without it too long. It was the Jedi that forbade it, and they're gone. There is no reason to deny yourself or me." The Dark Lord drew him closer, his lips hovering over Kenobi's mouth. It was softly parted, waiting. Gods, he wanted the Jedi traitor. Wanted him badly. Desire overwhelmed the Sith, and he kissed his old Master hard. His teacher kissed him back. Passionately. Sensuously.

"I can't imagine what could be better than a Fallen Jedi in my bed," he confessed, hands in Obi-Wan's silky red hair, his own head spinning a little. He didn't realize that he'd just let the truth of his intentions slip out.

Fallen Jedi. Fallen Jedi. Gods, thought Kenobi, a coldness gripping his heart as the warm hands of the Sith caressed him, his lips devouring his mouth all over again. So that's it. Anakin was attempting to turn him to the Dark Side. Of all the things he could imagine his former student doing to him, that was probably the last. Kenobi had been put completely put off balance, never saw any of this coming. Anakin making love to him was one thing; getting him to accept the Darkness was another. The dreaded, unlooked-for fight with his Padawan was going to happen, alright, but it was going to be fought on mental and emotional ground.

Obi-Wan wanted to fight back, take some control of the situation. Remember who and what he was. He pulled back a little, favored his old Padawan with a look that would melt durasteel, before rubbing his now erect organ against the Sith's upper thigh. He moaned sexily as he did so. Anakin's lips came down on his again, his tongue practically down the Jedi's throat.

When both had to stop to breathe, Kenobi asked shakily, "I know you prefer women, Anakin, as do I. What happens when you get bored with this, with me? Will you kill me then?"

Of course he would, assuming that happened, the Dark Apprentice thought to himself. That was a given. He wasn't going to tell Obi-Wan that, though. That issue was beside the point. He'd come here to give Kenobi an alternative to death. A quite good one, actually.

"Embrace the Dark Side," the Dark Apprentice whispered, panting just a little.

The Jedi in his arms was arousing him in a way he'd never imagined possible. Using sex as a tool for conquest was a new thing, for Lord Darth Vader. His old teacher, it turned out, had an unexpected weakness. He could be humiliated and brought down by passion. The act of breaking him was proving immensely pleasurable, and he was in no hurry to conclude it. He almost didn't care if the last Master of the Jedi Order turned or not. Almost.

"You need not become Sith if you don't want to," the Emperor's Apprentice continued breathlessly. Initiate or apostate, he wanted his old Master and he intended to possess all of him. "Why talk of boredom or death?" he asked a little impatiently, hands moving over him as he looked into Kenobi's azure eyes. "I've wanted this for so many years, I can't recall a time when I didn't want…" and here he reached down and gently cupped the heavy velvet sacks beneath his former Master's organ. The look he gave Obi-Wan through his yellowing eyes made the Jedi's insides turn into jelly and completely took his breath away.

"Love dies," whispered Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, when he could speak. "All love dies. All living things return to the potentiality of the Force after death, but the body is gone forever. We may love now, but now is all we have. Nothing can change that."

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker smiled down at his lover slyly. "What if I told you that the Sith have found a way to stop death? Think of it, Obi-Wan. Love forever! You could have me with you through all eternity, if you wanted, and nothing could ever part us. What would that be worth to you, Jedi Master?”

This was new information to Kenobi. He knew the Sith had forbidden knowledge, arcane and dangerous, but he'd never heard that they'd had the ability to stop death. Love that would never die. He began to listen attentively to the Dark Lord. It would be a fatal mistake.

"You have no Order to return to now," Vader continued. "Why continue to serve as a Jedi when the Order made you burn to ashes the only love you've ever known? That would ask you to give up this one, just to serve its need for control?"

Anakin had put his finger on a truth there, the Jedi thought bitterly. The joy of communion with the Living Force was a wonderful thing, something Obi-Wan had known and loved all his life. For all the knowledge and the power he'd found there, it did nothing to help in the middle of the night, when his flesh cried out for the touch of another like itself. He mortified that desire by gratifying it without love, but it left an emptiness within him that the Living Force could never fill. For failing to fill that void, he'd blamed himself. Maybe it hadn't been his fault.

"The Sith do not love," Obi-Wan whispered, sounding regretful. To his horror, he realized that he was actually considering his old Padawan's proposition.

The Dark Lord sighed. How little the Jedi Order understood of the Dark Side! Their myopic vision of the Force created such strange ideas about its true nature.

"Passion is passion," he told his former Master. "Every kind of it allows the Force to flow unimpeded, as it was meant to. Suppose you let me worry about how I will love you and remain Sith. Besides, If you understood passion, you wouldn't ask such a question. Does it really matter what name we call what we share together, as long as the power of it nourishes us?"

"It matters to me, Anakin."

"No, it doesn't," Lord Vader argued back. He was starting to get a little angry. He liked it when the Jedi whimpered for his touch, cried out in surrender to his kiss, but this concern over semantics was irritating. He needed Obi-Wan to stop nit-picking and focus on practicalities. "Obi-Wan, if it mattered to you what we called it, you wouldn't be here in my arms right now."

"You said you only wanted a kiss," the Jedi Master said softly, as if to himself.

"That was all I asked for," the Sith agreed. Elated, he could sense total victory was near. "You gave me a lot more--more than I ever dreamed of. I took only what you were willing to give."

"A kiss," Kenobi said again, his hands still around the Sith's slender waist, holding him close. His eyes squeezed themselves shut. Desire. Passion. Possession. The path to pain, to the Darkness. He was already on it.

"I gave you all I could, risked much to give it to you," the man who had been Anakin Skywalker went on. "My Master wants you dead. Either I have to deliver you alive, turned to the Dark Side, or I have to kill you. I don't want to do that, Obi-Wan."

The Jedi thought he could feel the heat of the Darkness, radiating off the man in his arms. It was brittle living fire and it was burning him. He was surrounded on all sides by it. One of the finest Masters of the Order in living memory was feeling trapped. There seemed to be no way out, and little reason to look for one. Obi-Wan was starting to feel himself letting go. Falling.

"Even if I did let you leave here, where would you go? What will you do?" the Sith asked, sounding nothing but concerned and reasonable but inside, he was brimming with excitement. His first Corruption of another! Power surged through him, and it was intoxicating in its intensity. "You would have to go into hiding," he continued, voice gentle and patient, following through towards his victory. "Do you want to spend the rest of your life running away from me? Running from this?" Darth Vader's eyes flashed yellow fire as he lowered his head and again captured the Jedi's lips. It was a deeply passionate kiss, one that seemed to entice Kenobi's soul from his body. The kiss went on and on, the Sith's desire mounting within it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight and Master, Fell under it.

Neither noticed the two stormtroopers arrive through the control room doors, carrying a struggling prisoner, hooded and bound. They threw their burden on the floor, then retreated outside. But before they left, they removed the hood.

Siri Trahi, hands manacled behind her back and feet chained together, blinked her beautiful eyes for a moment in the relative dimness of the room, adjusting to the brightness. The hood had effectively blocked off almost all light and she'd been in it for hours. As a result, the Jedi couldn't quite see the figures in front of her right away. As her eyes adjusted, it became plain who they were. Then her silver-blue orbs widened in shock. It was Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi. They were naked. And they were kissing and fondling one another like lovers.

She bent her head, turned it away, stifling a sob of despair as shock and dismay shot through her heart. There was jealousy too. Jedi Trahi would have been lying to herself if she denied it was there.

Siri had been on a secret assignment for Master Yoda, deep cover, for the past two standard years. Everyone thought she was dead, including Obi-Wan. Siri hated the idea of deceiving him, but it was necessary. The Council needed to know about the presence of a large and growing group of Force practitioners, powerful ones, in another galaxy, very far from their own. Their power was spreading rapidly, and they could be potential allies. She was to go there, observe and report back. But when the signal came out from the Temple, for all Jedi to return, she left for Coruscant immediately. Stormtroopers were waiting for her when she got there, at the smoking ruin that was the Jedi edifice of power. She was arrested as a traitor to the Empire.

First she was taken to the Chancellor's chambers. Former Senator Palpatine, now hiding his ruined face and body in the robes of a Sith Master and calling himself Emperor, had her tortured and imprisoned. Then she was drugged, bound and brought here. She had no idea where or what this place was.

Unable to look at the two men in front of her, Siri Trahi tried to center herself, to focus, to release her shock, grief and misery into the Light. Obi-Wan, the man she loved too well to condemn to a life away from the Jedi, was having sexual relations with his Apprentice. Her senses told her that he loved him. And that he no longer was the only thing he'd ever wanted to be. She was sad, so sad for him, and for herself. The Jedi Temple was gone, and the Emperor told her that the Order was being exterminated. Most were already dead. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the man who returned to the Jedi after having left it for love and then gone back to it at her bidding, had finally succumbed to his passion. And here she thought Palpatine had no sense of humor, sending her to this place to witness it. One could be wrong about people, she thought to herself wryly.

Siri wondered if she was to die here. If Palpatine had brought her to this place to die. It was wrong of a Jedi to despair, but she thought that no one would blame her for mourning the loss of the community that meant so much to her, and that of the one man she'd ever truly loved.

A soft sob broke the relative silence of the room. Anakin and Obi-Wan looked up from their lovemaking, towards the small tragic sound.

Kenobi was astounded at the sight before him, unable to speak or move or think coherently. Siri! Here! He believed she was dead, had died in his arms long ago. She was alive! Alive!

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker smiled broadly at the chained Jedi prisoner on the floor in front of him. His considerate Master had sent him a toy. How thoughtful, how charming! This particular toy might even prove useful in disabusing his Fallen Jedi lover of any notion that it was possible to go back to the Light. Lord Vader offered a silent vote of thanks to his Emperor. Then he reached down and began to fondle Kenobi's large, beautiful sex possessively, making sure she saw him doing it.

"Welcome, Siri," he said pleasantly, kissing Obi-Wan's bearded cheek and holding him closer. "Your timing is execrable, but then it always was."

Siri Trahi might be emotionally devastated, her Order and all it stood for dying in front of her eyes, but she always said what was on her mind. She could still touch the dry wit that the Jedi Master she loved enjoyed so much.

"Oh I don't know about that," Siri replied, trying to sit more comfortably in her chains on the durasteel floor. "I always wanted to see Obi-Wan without his robes, but I knew he would never take them off for me. His scruples wouldn't permit anything so…improper. This is quite an opportunity. Thank you for providing it."

Of all the times in his life when the man who had been Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted to say something, he found he couldn't say a word or make a sound. He was too stunned to do either.

"Thank my Master, he sent you here," The Sith replied smugly, kissing his lover's temple.

"You got his clothes off," Jedi Trahi pointed out. "Not Palpatine."

Force, Skywalker was beautiful, without his robes. Obi-Wan was trying to hide behind him, but it wasn't working. Kenobi, undressed, was the loveliest thing she'd ever seen. At least she'd die looking at something pretty.

"True enough," observed the man who had been called the Hero without Fear. "But you could have done it too. You may have just gone about it the wrong way," Vader was smiling as he caressed his lover, enjoying the situation immensely. He never got much opportunity to mock his old Master in front of his peers, and he took full advantage of it now. There weren't a lot of his peers left, after all. "Obi-Wan did plenty of things that were improper; the news just didn't get around much, that's all," he finished, giving Kenobi a love bite on his neck as he did so. This was such fun. His lover was utterly speechless, totally shocked. He'd never seen Obi-Wan in such a state. Darth Vader savored the satisfaction it was giving him, for the rare delight it was.

The Jedi Trahi shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps I was the wrong gender to begin with," she replied. "Maybe he liked it better when I could pass as a boy." This, she knew, was false and only a hair's breadth away from outright baiting of the man loved, but Light forgive her, she was only human. She was sensing that Anakin Skywalker was just as much a Sith as Palpatine now was. Anakin had Fallen and taken Obi-Wan with him. The Chosen One, turned to the Dark Side. Obi-Wan, leaving the Light. Gods forgive her, but she was only human. This was devastating, emotionally, to the young woman. She was releasing her sadness and pain as fast as she could. It just wasn't quite fast enough to keep a little bitterness from leaking out.

Lord Vader laughed gaily. "Don't torture yourself with such thoughts, Siri," he told her. "Obi-Wan loved you. His desire to let go of this love and remain in the Order was an honest one at the time. Wasn't it, Wan?"

The former Jedi's aquamarine eyes looked up into those of his Sith lover. Vader had never seen such pain in them. The Dark Lord drank in their agony, found that it refreshed him. But enough was enough. Wan needed to be prodded out of his shock-induced torpor.

The Dark Apprentice bent his head and kissed Kenobi's mouth, a long open-mouthed kiss. Kenobi's lips did not stir under his. When he raised his head, he asked Obi-Wan with deceptive gentleness, "What's wrong? I told you I wouldn't share you, not with anyone. Perhaps you're not so certain you want to commit to me. Tell me, shall I remove her clothing? Maybe you'd like to get a good look at you're giving up. Shall I…?"

"No," replied Kenobi, speaking quickly. "Leave her be."

He could hardly stand to look at her, he was so ashamed, but he couldn't turn away either. His eyes drank in the sight of her. He'd loved her so much; he'd mourned her although he shouldn't have. He missed her, but he concealed it from everyone, including himself. He'd hidden his sadness away so long he'd forgotten it was there. But it hadn't gone away. She looked outwardly calm, sitting in her chains. Peaceful and calm as a Jedi should, but he knew she wasn't. Inside, there was pain and grief. It mirrored his own.

`Siri,' he sent to her telepathically, `forgive me, Siri...'

`Wan, you turned away from the Light,' the former Jedi heard Siri's gentle voice path in reply, `it isn't my forgiveness you need.'

"Obi-Wan is mine," the Sith told Jedi Trahi aloud, in a tone that brooked no argument. "He has no use for you; he belongs to me now. You must die by Imperial decree in any case. I think it only appropriate that your one-time lover execute Order 66 on you immediately."

The former Jedi Master looked at Vader incredulously. "I will not," he shouted defiantly, pulling himself out of his lover's arms. Anger was replacing shock and humiliation. Darkness was descending on Obi-Wan Kenobi, and for the very first time in his life he didn't fight it. He allowed it to flow into him, strengthening him. It didn't feel good. But it didn't feel bad either. At least he could act. He had the strength to do that now. The Dark Side was helping him, and he was grateful, in that moment, for its Power. He needed it to resist the will of the Dark Lord.

Without a word, Darth Vader walked over and picked up his lightsaber from the table, clenching it in his gloved cybernetic hand. He strode back over to where Kenobi was standing. "If you won't do it, I will," he stated flatly. "She is a Jedi, and she must die for it. I have no reason not to kill her slowly, in repayment for all the Order has done to me. And to you."

The Sith's voice grew softer, milder as he leaned towards his former Master. "Obi-Wan, she refused your love, would not give herself to you because of demands of the Jedi Order. For that alone, I would be happy to kill her. Perhaps, if she had loved you, if you could have loved her, I would have been free to love Padme openly. Maybe none of this destructive conflict with the Jedi would have ever happened. But she didn't, and she still won't. She will never recant her Oath. She will never allow herself to love you." Then he turned to face the Jedi Siri Trahi.

"Will you, my dear?" the Dark Lord asked sardonically.

The Jedi Knight shook her head. The man she'd once loved was completely in thrall to the Sith, that was clear, and there was nothing she could do to change that. But there was one thing she could still do. She was a Jedi. Maybe she could show Obi-Wan Kenobi how a Knight of the Order could have a reason to die as one, even now. She could show him that it was still worthwhile to carry the Light within, even when there was nothing else left. The Order was unimportant, except as a path to the Light of the Living Force, but it was a path worth preserving. Maybe watching her die in the Light would give him hope. Hope enough to turn back, before the Darkness swallowed him into its prison of hate and fear.

She would willingly lay down her life, to give him that.

Vader reached out and took Obi-Wan's sword hand, opened its fingers and closed them around the lightsaber. His gloved hand then wrapped itself around his lover's, and his finger pressed the button to ignite the laser sword. The long narrow blade glowed blue-white in the dim light of the control center, illuminating the nude bodies of both men. It also cast its light field shallowly on the lone Jedi Knight, seated on the floor. Bound as an animal, for sacrificial slaughter.

"The Jedi didn't claim to be perfect, I know that, Wan," young Lord Vader was saying softly, gently, to his former Master. "But they ruined the lives of millions of beings. They took infants from their cribs and their parents, on worlds all over this galaxy. They denied the basic right of one person to love another. They went to war against life forms that just wanted to determine their own destiny, and killed hundreds of thousands of them. They tried to take over the Republic, threatened to assassinate the Chancellor. They were decayed and corrupt, but we rooted them out.

"This one will never stop being a Jedi," the Dark Apprentice continued. "You and I both know that. There is only one thing that can be done with her."

Obi-Wan just stood there, transfixed by the glowing blade and his Anakin's voice, not moving at all. His face showed his turmoil and uncertainty; the Darkness that had helped him moments earlier was retreating. Indecision did not feed it. The Dark Side wanted his soul before it would continue to lend him its Power.

Siri had never heard such twisted disgusting garbage in her life, and it pained her to listen to the Sith pour out his lies into Obi-Wan's ears. Yet she said nothing. The man she once loved knew the truth. If he refused to acknowledge it, that was his choice. She'd already made hers.

"Kneel, Siri," the Sith ordered. The Jedi complied, struggling to get herself positioned with both hands and feet tied.

"I know this is difficult for you," the man who had been Anakin Skywalker told Kenobi, his former Master and best friend. "So I will help. It will be a bonding experience for us. Your first step, into a larger vision. Look at her," the Sith directed.

Aqua eyes faced gray-blue ones. Anger, shame and pain faced calmness, peace and Light. All that Obi-Wan had been, wanted to be, he saw in those beloved eyes. Lord Vader positioned himself behind his old teacher, now only a saber's length away from Siri Trahi. His hand of flesh rested on Kenobi's shoulder while the other helped the Fallen Jedi grip his lightsaber.

"She is willing to die," the Dark Lord whispered. "If I kill her, her death must be a slow one, for the greater glory of the Empire. I have no choice in the matter. If she dies by your hand, it will be quick. Merciful. You are doing her a kindness, by ending her life in one simple stroke of this blade.

"She believes she is dying for you, Obi-Wan, that her death can have meaning if it comes at your hand. But I will say no more," young Lord Vader concluded. "Do as you will."

The Jedi Siri Trahi ignored the lying Sith, still continued to look into the eyes of the Fallen One who so resembled the man she loved. Summoning her strength, she pathed all the love she felt for Obi-Wan Kenobi towards the beautiful naked being in front of her. Then she closed her eyes. And with her mind, because she could never do so with her lips, she tenderly kissed him.

As the warmth of Siri's kiss penetrated Obi-Wan's mind and body, he felt his member swell, pleasure spreading through his large, beautiful organ, and outwards through the rest of him. It lit up his entire being. Then the light faded, and went out.

He took one step forward and swung the lightsaber in a single, rapid stroke, neatly decapitating Siri Trahi. Jedi Knight.

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker let go of his old Master, stepped back a few paces. Kenobi would never be more dangerous to him now than he was at this moment. He'd just turned his back on the weakness of the Light, and the Darkness had only lightly touched him. He would not recognize friend from foe at this point. He waited to see how his old teacher would react.

Obi-Wan stared at the glowing lightsaber in his hand for a moment, deliberately looking away from the body on the floor. Then he deactivated it, and looked up at the Sith Lord. Seeing him, the Hatred hit Kenobi like a brick wall. Rage followed right on its heels, bludgeoning him further with its red/black power. As their force swelled within him, the Fear seized his internal organs in a death-grip—icy cold and fiery hot at the same time. Yet he felt stronger now than he ever had in his life. The Jedi-Master-That-Was had his first real taste of the Dark Side.

He found that he did not like it. But he didn't dislike it either. The Power to act was most agreeable. He used it.

The man who had been Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, raised one hand. The Force seized Lord Darth Vader and threw him violently on top of the metal conference table. Before the Sith had time to react, Kenobi leaped on top of him, pinning him down, activating the lightsaber once more. The Dark Lord resisted all impulses to fight back, although only the Gods knew where he found the control to do it. Right now his former teacher was at the crossroads, the intersection. An unwise move would jeopardize his Turning.

Obi-Wan was sitting on Anakin's chest, gazing down into his old Padawan's sapphire eyes, which still had their yellowish cast. The expression in his azure eyes, lit by the laser sword in his hand, was unreadable to the Sith, although he noted that their color was looking a little…different. Another Sith, newly turned and in the same position, would most likely fight him for dominance. Kenobi would know the Rule of Two, attempt to strike him down. A Dark Jedi would probably not risk battle with a more powerful Dark being, having a different agenda from a Sith initiate. Embracing the Light once more might be possible too, and that would mean a duel to the death, but this was not very likely. Kenobi had just voluntarily killed his Light, in cold blood, as the price of his freedom from the Jedi and his sacrifice to the Dark Side.

The Dark gave nothing away. It always demanded something in return for its power, but once it had its blood-fee, the floodgates were open. The possibility of Power without limit.

Kenobi still sat above him, hadn't moved an inch, saber ready to strike. Would his old Master fight him after all? Vader decided to end the suspense, force a decision.

"Obi-Wan," the Dark Lord said quietly, "Don't force me to fight you. It's the last thing I want to do."

"Would you fight me?" The former Jedi's voice sounded odd, strained.

The man who had been Anakin Skywalker looked up into Kenobi's eyes, and said the word that decided both of their fates. He said it like a vow, knowing Obi-Wan would take it like one. "No," he promised.

The Jedi-That-Was deactivated the lightsaber and leaned down until his face was right over that of Lord Darth Vader. His lips were directly over the Sith's mouth.

"Liar," he whispered, accusingly. Bitterly. And then he seductively kissed him.

Karesh's eyes flew open, and he was panting, terrified. This meditation had gone wrong, horribly wrong.

"Wake up, Obi-Wan, wake up!" pleaded Isis, shaking the Jedi desperately. Kenobi was hardly breathing, pale as death, his skin cold and clammy. "Wake up, Wake up, please wake up!" She was starting to cry.

Abruptly the Jedi Master awoke, opened his aquamarine eyes. They were wide with fear and pain.

"Gods," he moaned, his whole body trembling and shaking.

He'd had a terrible dream, the worst he'd ever had. The Terran's small hands passed themselves over his face gently, tenderly, trying to comfort him.

"Are you going to be okay?" she whispered, concerned and fearful.

Obi-Wan tried to sit up. Isis helped him.

"I think so," he replied, trying to smile a little, to reassure his companion. But he felt deeply shaken, profoundly disoriented. Like something had torn him away from the Light for a time, and he was having a hard time getting his focus back on it.

"Have we landed yet?" The Jedi asked, one of his hands reaching for one of hers.

The Terran grasped the callused fingers eagerly, squeezed them.

"Yes," she replied. "We're here, Obi-Wan. On Korriban."

Lord Darth Vader came back to himself with a jerk that he could feel right down to his cybernetic toes, like he was being slammed back inside his body from a far-away place. It was a most extraordinary sensation. The hyperbaric chamber in his shuttle was laboring to keep the pressure inside stable, as if he had been running laps around this small sphere. What had been going on during his meditation?

Whatever it was, the Sith only knew one thing. He felt wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. His full rosy lips smiled their pleasure at the bland white walls of his chamber. His beautiful head tossed the golden brown curls out of his eyes, and his gloved hands began to call up his flight status indicators from the computer. Then he wondered where Obi-Wan was right now. With his little she-dragon, no doubt, on their way to Coruscant. To kill his Master.

She'd better not be touching him, the Dark Lord thought to himself as he lowered his breathmask and helmet over his head, in preparation for leaving the chamber. Kenobi was his. He'd better not be touching her either. Isis was his. The man who had been Anakin Skywalker did not share. Not with anyone. Obi-Wan and his Terrans, including the she-dragon, belonged to him and him alone.

He couldn't wait to get back to them. All of them.

On Coruscant, His Imperial Highness, the Emperor Palpatine was emerging from his customary Dark Side meditation. He was well-pleased with the results he'd had today. He'd enjoyed this session much more than usual.

The Force had seldom felt so strong for him. He felt that something fundamental had changed, in this illusion that passed for consensus reality. Something wonderful had happened. He couldn't wait to find out what it was.

Feeling positively genial, the Sith Master signalled that he was ready to begin the afternoon audiences.

Mustafar trembled and shook under the violence of its waking dream. Its axis of rotation had been changed by a series of catastrophic earthquakes, which hit one right after another. It had only just found its new center of gravity, and was still vibrating when all of a sudden, everything stopped. Then it began to spin in the opposite direction.

The immortal Karesh got up from his seat slowly, feeling quite dizzy. He walked over to his astronomical charts and looked at them again.

He had not looked at the position of Korriban, in examining his alignments. Gods above, he thought. What had he done? And more importantly, how could he correct it?

Then he wondered bleakly if it was possible that he could.

To be continued...

Home Fiction Adult Fiction Art Mail List Staff Links