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

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

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

Warning: M/M

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

Prologue

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

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

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

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

Obi-Wan slept, and dreamed deeply.

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

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

The Sith dreamed. Quite intensely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The doors closed after them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Since a Jedi became one, Anakin!"

"STOP CALLING ME ANAKIN!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenobi was just a little bit shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fight was on.

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

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

Not again.

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

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

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

Zero to 60/Far & Away

(Ten Hours Later)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Indeed, he was feeling no pain at all.

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

He just wanted to be left the hell alone today.

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

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

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

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

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

Isis' cat was loose again.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was going on here anyway?

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

"Hollie!" she shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cursed Immortals. Never, ever trust an Immortal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course, Sir," the lieutenant said.

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

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

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

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

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

And he smiled again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did he steal it? This valuable thing?"

"In a matter of speaking."

"What was it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's play reality TV!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck you."

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

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

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

"Spoilsport," replied Mel, saucily.

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

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

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

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

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

She loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was another chorus of agreement from the women.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither heard the urgent beeping coming from the desk comboard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dark Lord reflected on this a little more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lord Vader was a management problem from the very beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Terran visitor swallowed hard. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew what he needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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