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Title: A Day in the Life of the Dark Lord

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Graner, where is Troppert?" Vader demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The young major swallowed hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yikes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was just plain wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Give me the short version," Vader ordered.

The Admiral cleared his throat. "Nothing conclusive."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He. Really. Hated. That.

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

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

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

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

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

"What is thy bidding, my Master?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the hologram of His Imperial Highness disappeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Graner shook his head. And walked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impossible. This was impossible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Palpatine constantly forgot that he wasn't a woman.

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

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

Never.

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

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

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

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

And today they would do their job.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is thy bidding, my Master?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Murderer.

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it, Karesh?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dark Lord's feelings were in great turmoil.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was driving her crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you think?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounded like Obi-Wan Kenobi to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it you want here, Immortal?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because everything the Immortal was saying was true.

"You were not the Chosen One, Obi-Wan," Karesh continued. "Anakin Skywalker was. He stood between the Council and the Chancellor, at that one critical moment where the battle lines were drawn. It was clear to him that the Jedi were willing to sacrifice him; that you were not willing to stand by him. You didn't love him enough to help him, but at the same time you loved him too much to let him go. You couldn't bend that mighty pride of yours-- that pride in yourself and your power that you used to justify your existence as a Jedi-- enough to understand his need. You couldn't let your