Memories of Empire page 2

continued from Memories of Empire

Chapter 4

The worst part, perhaps, had been telling Piers that she was not leaving with the Stargazer II.

When Vader was finished with her that first day-after a strange hour-long session in which he had left her spreadeagled on the contour chair, his ungloved left hand fastidiously tracing every curve and crease of her body, caressing and exploring her, until she felt troubled and disoriented-she had been frogmarched by stormtroopers to a common detention cell dozens of level down, in which the rest of the crew had been confined. They were sitting on the floor or on narrow plasteel bunk beds, talking in hushed voices, their faces creased with worry. When the troopers brutally propelled her inside, Piers sprang to his feet to help her keep her balance.

"Syrie! Are you all right?"

She nearly burst into tears on his chest, but something stopped her-she hardly knew what. Instead, she just nodded, searching his face for traces of an Imperial interrogation. He was somewhat dirty and disheveled, but obviously not hurt.

"What did they do to you?"

"Nothing-much," she stammered. "They wanted to check-that I had really uploaded the Shi'sla docks coordinates to the Stargazer's nav computer."

"Syrie, you were away six hours! And they kept asking questions about you. The Intelligence officers-and Lord Vader."

She stared up at him. "Piers, who is he? You know, don't you?"

"Of course I know. Everyone knows of Darth Vader, the last Lord of the Sith-the Emperor's own Jedi."

"I don't," she said in a small voice, looking around at the others. She saw that even in captivity, the fishing party's social differences had been respected-Piers's Alderaanian friends, Sertis Celchu, Zander Rodes and Vimer Breira, all sat on cots while Derjek, the chief mechanic, huddled in a corner with Petah Roven, the Thyferran systems expert who doubled as a copilot, and Adil Sonb, the Sullustan guide. Piers led her to the last empty cot and helped her as she sat down gingerly.

Holding a mug of tepid water between his hands, Derjek stood up and came to her with careful steps. "We've had no food, but I've kept this for you to drink. The climate control on this ship is very dry."

She gulped down the water gratefully. Piers shot a dark look at the older man, and Syrie realized he hadn't thought of saving some of his water ration for her. Partly to divert his attention, she repeated: "Piers, who is this Lord Vader?"

"The Emperor's right hand man-the last of the Jedi Knights. He hunted them down and destroyed the Jedi Order for Palpatine. He is his Majesty's adviser-aide-Fleet Commander-executioner if need be. The whole Empire fears him."

"You have met him before."

"I've seen him at Court, Syrie. One doesn't meet Lord Vader-save in circumstances few have lived to retell."

She hung her head in silence, remembering the invisible talons constricting her throat-and Vader's strong fingers invading her mouth. Piers was looking at her out of narrowed eyes. "What exactly happened to you there, Syrie?"

She shook her head wordlessly, very aware of the huge instrument still secretly embedded in her, stretching her inside; and felt herself blushing.

"Answer me, Syrie!"

The others were watching them now. "I was-asked-about you," she whispered.

"What were you asked?"

She raised her eyes to his stern face. "He wanted to know if I was a member of-your family. I said no, I had been hired by you."

She saw Piers exchanging quick looks with his Alderaanian friends; and because it reminded her all of a sudden of the little cliques at the Ridell Academy that had excluded her, she asked: "Piers, why did you tell him-about-us?"

"About us?" Piers Harlan repeated. "Who is 'him'? Lord Vader?"

She nodded.

"Look, Syrie, there's not much point in evading questions when an interrogation droid is hovering near your face," he said; and she heard the petulance in his voice. He heard it himself, it seemed; and added "What does it matter? We don't know what they want from us. These are Imperials, not some pirates who would hold us for ransom."

In the silence that followed, Syrie shifted her sitting position on the narrow bunk bed, and winced as Vader's contraption moved painfully inside her-a reminder of his mastery over her. From the corner of the room, Derjek was still looking at her. "Syrie, are you hurt?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. The chief mechanic once more rose to come and sit next to her on the cot, holding her hand. Piers glowered as he saw his territory invaded and took half a step closer, chin high as if about to speak-then retreated. Of course it's not really his bed by right; we'd have to take turns to sleep if we were held too long here, she thought. But we're not. They will be freed, and I am staying.

Vader had said she should tell the others, but she didn't know how.

"Whatever you do, save yourself," Derjek was saying in a very low voice, holding her hand in his cool, callused ones. "Don't be heroic, and don't feel shame. Just stay alive."

Her eyes flew to his kind, weatherbeaten face. Her lips moved in a silent "How?" How does he know? Does something about me show?

"I've worked on Imperial ships in my time... and you're a very pretty girl."

She shuddered. Piers was watching them intently. "What is it you're hiding from me?" he finally asked, in a calmer voice than before. She looked up into his handsome face, and thought, there's no point in delaying.

"You are all going to be released. I-I am staying."

"You are what?"

"I-Lord Vader-said-he doesn't need you. He knows the Stargazer II came here by mistake. My mistake."

The others had heard, and stared at her in a mixture of relief and horror. "Syrie, that's ridiculous," Sertis Celchu said. "Anybody would have made that mistake. The Shi'sla dockyards were still a civilian operation last year. My brother used them, he always said their mechanics were superbly trained."

His brother was a star pilot in the Alderaanian Navy, she remembered now. Very young, the reputation of an unrivalled ace. She had a half-smile. "Thank you for saying so. I've been berating myself since this morning."

"You should not be punished for this, or we should all be," the slight, brown-haired Celchu insisted.

Why did I not see what a nice man he is? Because Piers swept me off my feet. Because Piers is a Senator's son, the heir of the noble family of Harlan. Because I was stupid.

"I don't think she's being punished for that," Piers voice was saying slowly. "I don't think she's being punished at all. I think our Syrie prefers to stay-as an Imperial Navy whore."

The contempt in his voice cut like a whiplash. Syrie turned as white as the bunk beds' rough synthlin sheets. She felt Derjek's hand squeezing hers, in an attempt at reassurance. Their eyes were all on her, now-Zander Rodes and Vimer Breira with a kind of leer; Petah Roven with a disgusted expression; Adil Sonb and Sertis Celchu watchful but not unkindly.

"We are all tired and tense," Celchu said quietly. "Piers didn't mean this, Syrie."

"Shut up, Sertis!" Piers spat. "I meant every word-and I don't want any of your blasted interference."

Syrie's hands had flown to her ashen face in dismay. "Look at her, you'll know I'm right," Piers taunted.

"You're way out of line, Harlan," Derjek snapped. They all stared at him: they were used to his soft-spoken manner; but now his voice had been curt, almost harsh, not unlike the Imperial officers who'd questioned them. Now what kind of work did you do on Imperial ships in your time, Derjek? she wondered. Strange how people reveal themselves under pressure. I thought Piers was a sweet boy. But still, he doesn't deserve to die.

"Please don't fight," she said softly. "We have no choice here."

"Don't flatter yourself that I intended to fight over you," Piers shot back. "I'm not interested in some soldier's leavings."

She closed her eyes as if he'd hit her. In some way, perhaps this makes things easier. She opened them again and saw Sonb and Celchu had come close to the bunk where she sat, her hand still in Derjek's. Sonb's large jowls quavered and his large ruby eyes blinked, a rare occurrence for a Sullustan; and evidence of great emotion. The small guide wheezed in a low tone: "This is true, isn't it? You are staying so that we can go."

She tried to smile. "Adil, truly this is not the case. I would not have been allowed to leave in any event."

"But there is some sort of a deal," Sertis Celchu said in a low voice.

She assented, touched by his unexpected perceptiveness: "I promised I would-cooperate. It could be-for the best," she murmured. "I'll get... less hurt this way."

"This is revolting," Celchu said.

A better man, but a child of privilege all the same. She had a small smile, but it was Derjek who spoke: "She's right, Sertis, even if I don't like it any more than you do."

"We are greatly in your debt, Syrie," Celchu said after a moment's pause. She shook her head, unable to speak-she could withstand insults, but kindness brought her to the brink of tears. The young Alderaanian took her hand and kissed it simply, without flourish. "Please stay out of harm's way-when they release you, I wish you will come to our house on Alderaan, and make your home with us as long as you want."

She nodded with a tremulous smile. She could see Piers glaring at their little group from another cot, but it didn't really matter any more. And then there was no more time; stormtroopers came to take them away, and eventually led her back to Vader's chambers, after the Stargazer II had left the docking bay.

° ° °

And I will never see Sertis Celchu's house on Alderaan, she thought, lying alone in Thrawn's bed in the Grand Admiral's private quarters on the Chimaera. Tarkin ordered the destruction of Alderaan, but Darth didn't object, didn't mind; and I am tainted by this great sin too, since I would not leave him. Sertis is dead, his parents dead; and Piers and Senator Harlan; Zander Rodes and Vimer Breira too... Sertis Celchu's young brother had survived and flew for the New Republic, she'd heard. She imagined the bleak devastation in the unknown Tycho Celchu's heart, and shuddered. What am I doing here? I could love Thrawn; perhaps I already do; but I cannot live with his war, his hegemonic dreams-and his cloned dark Jedi. She could smell him on her skin and on the sheets, a dry, clean, faintly musky scent. It brought back sharp memories of the very first day of their affair, nine years before, at the art gallery.

I went there hoping to meet him, and my hopes were fulfilled. All my hopes. Sitting back that day on the cushions of the grav-cab Thrawn had finally hailed to take her back across the ferrocrete and transparisteel canyons of Imperial Center to Vader's dark palace, reliving their frantic lovemaking in her mind, she had found herself crooking her neck, bending her head to her shoulder to catch his elusive smell on her, and being nearly overcome by it. Some residual sense of danger had made her shower immediately, throw away her jumpsuit and her ruined tank top, erase all trace of her bout of madness-except in her mind, in the memories of her skin, in the sweet soreness of her flesh. Vader had not touched her for almost three months, entirely consumed by his war against the Rebellion in the Outland Regions-always driven at the service of the Emperor, he had of late become obsessed. Something pulls him there, and he won't tell me what it is, and perhaps he doesn't even know. I am of no use to him now, and there is no-one I can trust-except someone as brilliant and as lonely as Thrawn, who has no friends or allegiance here.

Of course, later on, she had understood. First Vader's old Jedi Master; then his own son. Vader had not told her much, but enough that she could understand how Luke had become more important to him than the Emperor. Even the scant knowledge she possessed terrified her; she was afraid of betraying him, and afraid that he would destroy himself. For the months that Vader was away-and didn't take her with him-she hid in his Imperial Center palace or his beach fortress rather than risk crossing paths with the courtiers, with a Xizor, with Palpatine himself. The only one who had no interest in it was Thrawn. She found safety in the very different danger of their affair.

Again and again, vivid snatches of her past danced in her mind, competing reminiscences of the last twelve years, until she felt physically overwhelmed by it all. She rose from the bed, shivering, grabbed one of Thrawn's shirts and wrapped herself in it, pacing the small bedroom like a caged vornskr. I have to end this, to put this life behind me, no matter what...Nuruo...wants of me. Then I shall see if there can still be anything between us. But first I have to lay a ghost to rest.

She walked into the sitting room and went to the datapad linked to the holovid deck. It was more recent than the models she'd last used, on Ferrier's ship, but not so much that she didn't know how to enter a data query. She tapped a few keys, and pages started to scroll in the space above the deck. She stared at the reams of material available, then narrowed her search, and sat down to study the results.

° ° °

Forty-seven levels below the Grand Admiral's private quarters level, a viewscreen lit up in the small ops room hastily created by Captain Pellaeon and manned by five computers, two droids and a young, thin lieutenant with a rumpled look about him. His olive-green jacket was gaping at the neck; the regulation crease in his uniform trousers was a distant memory; his left black boot bore distinct marks of brown polish; and his straggly blond hair, thinning at the temples despite his youthful countenance, frizzed in an unkempt halo about his pale face. He had been reading a datacard, but the low buzz of the screen brought his pale blue eyes up, and his entire body seemed to straighten up. At last, something to do. He checked needlessly that the material scrolling down the awakened viewscreen was being recorded and encrypted, with automatic compilation of keyword summaries. It was: he had gone over his setup several times since he'd been installed in the airless, dark-gray plasteel-walled cubicle just off the galleys of the techs' mess room. A strange place to set up a monitoring center-the smells from the kitchens wafted through the reinforced door to his nostrils, sometimes pleasing; occasionally offensive- but Captain Pellaeon had impressed on him the need for discretion. Not that this was very necessary: Lieutenant Vikram Nyerere had few human friends on the Chimaera.

"Sir, this search is being narrowed by sources," one of the droids, a customized T3, said. "The searchcode is first-level Imperial, but outdated."

"Yeah, I can see that, Terry," Nyerere said, tapping the droid's oblong metal head affectionately. "Find out who it was issued to in the first place."

"Yes, sir."

Nyerere smiled. He was looking forward to the ideal assignment: alone with his droids and his keypads, and a puzzle shaping up in front of his eyes. He leaned back in his straight chair and watched.

° ° °

The mass of information available when one punched the name "Darth Vader" was disheartening. A great deal of it was also completely useless-propaganda, hearsay, fantastic stories spun by the hologrids, military reports that were little more than sentences piled one upon the other in an attempt to disguise fear and ignorance. Even the Alliance-sourced documents-and there were quite a few; obviously Thrawn managed to have his databanks updated with New Republic material fairly regularly-were hazy when it came to the Battle of Endor. The Rebel forces had annihilated the second Death Star and the Executor. Much was made of Lando Calrissian and Wedge Antilles's run on the half-completed space station. Of Vader-who in Imperial documents was on occasion presented as a martyr like Palpatine-there was little. Even Luke Skywalker's presence was simply acknowledged. That, in itself, was strange. Syrie found it difficult to believe Luke would only have been a spectator in the battle that saw, in effect, the end of the Empire. No matter what Thrawn calls it today, can there be an Empire without the Emperor?

The listing for several classified documents appeared in the viewspace, asking for an authorization code. She closed her eyes and typed from memory. In a moment, the pages scrolled down at her command. "The Rt. Hon. Lord Darth Vader of the Sith, reg. nob. ImpCal. 23.XXXII.12... She scrolled further, and found a long list of demesnes: whole systems listed and detailed under "fiefdoms" and "protectorates." Well, Nuruo was right-just these, with the landrights and mineral rights and trading rights, represent a huge fortune, even if half these worlds have claimed complete independence since. And I know there was much more.

She tapped the keyboard again. A new code was requested. I am running out of Imperial codes. She closed her eyes again, tried a first password, was thrown out; tried a second password, and was in. They say bacta therapy plays havoc with your memory, well I am proof it's not true. She opened her eyes.

Darth Vader, regicide. The assassination of our Emperor by Darth Vader and the Jedi Skywalker must be avenged. All Hands are IFwqIFUiBTS09 CUIuQS4sIENvbaaaGHaaH9yI...

The text was corrupting itself in front of her eyes. Frantically she started hitting combinations of keys as she'd been taught, to no effect. She tried going back in her search, then to escape. Back to the previous list, she called up the document again. No response. It was as if the document had never existed. She tried her codes again, and was rejected by the system.

Luke and Darth, together against the Emperor? Could it be true?

I must know.

She remained sitting at the desk for a long time, then stood up and turned to the holovid deck itself. The holonet channel, as Thrawn had told her, was open. She took a deep breath, and typed in a number and a code.

° ° °

When Lieutenant Vikram Nyerere presented his first findings to Captain Pellaeon, looking even more rumpled than usual among the crisply-attired officers on duty on the Chimaera's bridge, the older officer twirled his moustache for a minute, then decided to go in search of Grand Admiral Thrawn. Once again, his enigmatic chief had been proved right-but Pellaeon knew better than to follow all the orders he'd been given, and take action himself.

Furthermore, he knew exactly where he could find the Grand Admiral. He made his way through corridors and in turbolifts to the upper aft gymnasium. Passing the lap-pool where he had twice watched with a tinge of admiration Thrawn's powerful underwater breast-stroke, Pellaeon saw across the half-deserted facility the Grand Admiral lifting weights from a cross-bar at shoulder level, and paused to observe him for an instant. Whatever species Thrawn belonged to-and the captain hadn't forgotten his admission to a half-human heritage-he was a splendid specimen, with elongated muscles and broad shoulders. What could be seen of his body under his khaki singlet and shorts was practically hairless, the pale-blue skin smooth as a marble statue. Pellaeon thought of the woman who had arrived 36 hours sooner, and reflected that she could after all have been genuinely attracted...

Except that she had just proven she was playing a double game.

"Admiral," he began.

Thrawn turned his head, nodded to Pellaeon, and slowly set the weights back into the notches of the cross-bar. "Trouble, Captain?"

"Sir, we've had a first report from the monitoring of your holo and comm channels."

The Grand Admiral looked at him with narrowed eyes, drying his face and shoulders with a towel; then held out a hand for Pellaeon's proffered datapad. "I gather I had better look at this."

"Yes, sir."

Thrawn punched a key, and stared at the signs on the small screen, his face unreadable. He lifted his glowing eyes after a few minutes. "Come with me, Captain." Walking to a small office in a corner of the large room, he motioned to the gym administrator to move away from his comm and holopad desk. The man hurried away, surprise and awe blended on his face.

"This is Thrawn. Patch me to Lieutenant... Nyerere."

The young lieutenant's thin, pale face appeared in the viewspace above the pad. Seeing his Commander-in-chief didn't seem to faze him. "Lieutenant, can you run the holo transmission you say you intercepted through this station? But keep it protected?"

"Yes, sir. We got a long data search as well."

"I have that, lieutenant, thank you. Good work. Now send this transmission, please."

The young man's pleasant face faded away-to be replaced within moments by Syrie's, biting her lower lip. Pellaeon understood they were seeing the entire transmission from the moment she activated the holonet channel, not just the actual conversation. As contact was made, a second face appeared in a halo to the right of the main picture. A human, middle-aged, non-descript, on a background of sculptured stone that looked familiar.

"New Republic Government House, good day, what can I do for you?"

"I need to get in touch with Luke Skywalker."

"Many people would like to do just that, Miss. Perhaps you'd like to record a capsule."

Pellaeon saw the indecision in the young woman's face. "This is rather... confidential."

"You can mark the capsule 'confidential', Miss. The thing is, it may be some time before Luke Skywalker gets round to open it. He receives quite a lot."

"This is rather urgent. Perhaps you could let me know at least if he's on Coruscant."

"I'm afraid I don't know that myself, Miss. I don't get told of every ship's arrival or departure, nor of officials' movements."

On the main hologram, Syrie's hands fluttered up to her mouth. "Operator, if I give you a code, can you patch me on to someone who will know?"

"Depends what code, Miss" the man said in a slightly doubtful voice.

"Sapphire-Riezalt-Devaron-Elom."

Pellaeon heard a hiss issuing from Thrawn's lips. He himself wasn't familiar with the code; but the Grand Admiral obviously was.

"Don't know that code, Miss," the operator said, his voice now distinctly peevish. "You can record a capsule, if you like."

"No, wait. Input that code into your switchboard. You'll see it opens up restricted-access extensions. Just connect me with someone who will help me get in touch with Luke Skywalker. He will be thankful that you did so."

"That's assuming the Rebels haven't deprogrammed the Palace switchboard," Pellaeon heard Thrawn mutter under his breath. He cast a sidelong glance to the Grand Admiral. His face was calm, as always, but his eyes were riveted to the hologram.

Meanwhile, the operator had reluctantly keyed in the code-with visible results. "This is getting to an extension all right. Connecting you now, Miss."

His face faded away, and Pellaeon saw Syrie close her eyes as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest. An instant later, a woman in a military uniform appeared. "Palace security here," she said in a clipped voice.

"Hello Lieutenant," Syrie said. "I have information for Luke Skywalker. I need to contact him personally."

"Does he know what this is about?"

"No, but he will want to."

"Who is this information from?"

Syrie seemed to hesitate. "This is a personal-a family matter. I need to speak to him."

"He is away at the moment. I can pass on a message and ask that he call you back."

On the main holo, Syrie was obviously nonplussed. "I can't be contacted. But I can call him back if you'll give me a time."

"Can you give me at least a message-an indication?"

She hesitated. "Yes. Please tell him it's about his father."

° ° °

Skywalker's father? Again, Pellaeon glanced at the Grand Admiral. Thrawn was staring at the rest of the hologram in complete silence, his lean profile unreadable.

"It could be a code, of course" Thrawn finally said as the hologram faded out after Syrie logged off. "We'll find out more tomorrow, when she said she would call back. Meanwhile, Captain, we'll get your lieutenant Nyerere working on the Vader fiefdoms and protectorates. That should start yielding results soon enough."

"And it was in our memory banks all along," Pellaeon muttered.

"Ah, but she knew where to look," Thrawn said, striding out of the small office. "Now your slicer has her passwords."

They had reached the pool, and the Grand Admiral stripped off his singlet. "I will join you on the bridge in forty-five minutes, Captain. No, make that an hour. I think I may pay another visit to my private quarters." He stepped to the edge of the lap-pool and dove head first, the water closing silently over him, leaving the Captain to watch him in uneasy fascination.

Chapter 5

Somehow being taken back to Vader's chambers did not terrify her quite as much as the first time.

She wondered why she had been made to witness the departure of the Stargazer II. Standing to the side of the docking bay between two stormtroopers, she had not been allowed to speak to the crew and passengers. Piers had affected not to see her at all; but Derjek and Sertis Celchu had signaled to her-a defiant pilot's circled thumb and index from Celchu, which he must have learned from his brother; a surreptitious wave from Derjek. As the yacht rose on its repulsorlifts, she had experienced a desolate feeling-even if she had only met all of them three weeks before, an easy familiarity had grown between them which even Piers's affront could not sever. They were her last link to the world she knew.

And then they were gone.

The stormtroopers has manacled her again to the metal post in front of Vader's large comm/computer console, and she sat gingerly on the floor, very conscious of the instrument inside her. It was less painful than uncomfortable now. He said I had to be-prepared- for him. How long will this take? How-wide-does he want me? Will I be able to stand it?

There had been one girl from her high school who had become the mistress of a well-known politician on Ridell. Syrie remembered being surprised, because she hadn't expected it would be that particular classmate whose name got whispered in conversations by the time she was finishing the Academy. Saina was a quiet type, not especially bold or flamboyant-and the Maker knew there were defiant or brazen types in her class. Ridell's school system was public and unified, with students on the entire planet reading the same basic curriculum, and teachers appointed centrally from the Ministry of Education to ensure equal chances for all. All the same, over half the pupils in Syrie's school were more difficult "single-names." The others' parents-they had parents, after all-somehow knew how to get their children enlisted somewhere else, even if it meant requesting tuition in arcane subjects like Falleen, or Thennqoran art history, that weren't available at her school.

Everybody knew about Saina even though the holonets never mentioned her. Her lover was much older and very self-important and, naturally, married. Syrie recalled meeting Saina by chance in the street, and chatting for a couple of minutes with her, of course never mentioning the rumors, until a uniformed driver had come for her in a gravcar. The driver wasn't especially polite to her, and she did not look very happy. How did she fall into that relationship? Nobody bothered to ask.

She heard Vader's well-remembered footsteps and mechanical respiration, and rose.

"Come here, navigator."

Her handcuffs clattered down on the floor. I don't know how he does this. She walked hesitantly to the wide area in front of the viewports where he stood, staring out at the stars-or so she imagined: his black mask was unreadable.

"Don't you regret sacrificing yourself to save a coward like young Harlan? His ship still hasn't jumped into hyperspace. I can have it blasted with one single proton torpedo."

She froze. We were monitored. It did not matter. "My lord, please-no..."

" 'No' comes easily to your lips, navigator."

She took a deep breath. "No, my lord, I will not regret staying, if you let them go as you said you will."

"So you believe in keeping one's word, navigator?"

She nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Good."

In the silence that followed, she took one more step toward the massive black figure. "My lord, I promised that I would learn-to please you. Tell me-what I should do."

A low rumble came from the gleaming mask. "From now on I want you nude when you are with me. Undress."

She hesitated for an instant, then undid the fastenings of her yellow flightsuit. She was naked underneath-Vader had torn her underwear beyond repair earlier. She shrugged out of the suit, and looked around for a place to leave it.

"Throw it away. I will provide more becoming clothes for you when and if I decide you should be dressed."

She obeyed and stood in front of him, fighting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts.

"What exactly did young Harlan require of you?"

"My lord, I-I computed the ship's course-and-slept with him."

He took a step toward her, and she quailed. "I am not interested in astronavigation here. If words fail you, I suggest you show me precisely what you did," the electronically-amplified voice wheezed.

"We-I was-we made..." she started, blushing fiercely.

"Come," he interrupted her.

He led her across the room to the massive half-shell structure, set in the center of a sunken pit, which had puzzled her before. A command chair stood in the middle, surrounded by computers, holodisplays, and equipment she had never seen before. He seized her by the waist as if she were weightless and sat her on one of the consoles; then seated himself on the chair.

"Lie down over the instruments."

Hesitantly, she stretched out and positioned herself as best she could between the switches and the viewscreens, her pale body displayed in front of him on the dark plasteel of the complex machinery. Immobile, he surveyed her; then took off his left glove and ran his naked hand over her skin, surprisingly gently. She shivered.

"Are you cold, navigator?"

"No-o, my lord."

She heard the rumble she was learning to associate with his laughter.

"Spread your legs wider. There."

He raised her foot and rested it on the casing of a holo display; then grazed the baby-soft skin inside her thighs with his nailless fingertips until he reached her sex and the large prosthesis embedded in her.

"Ah, good," she heard him exhale, twisting it inside her. She moaned and his gloved right hand came to pat her hair, curiously reassuring. She felt the hard toy being wiggled inside, then yanked out, and she cried out in surprise. His bare fingers replaced it, probing imperiously, exploring her stretched passage, awakening strange sensations of mixed pleasure and pain in her.

"Yes... this is much better."

She heard the snap of his leather-gloved fingers; then he helped her raise herself enough that she could see a hovering droid emerging from behind the chair with a tray of shiny black implements shaped like male members in various sizes.

"I want you to chose the one closest to young Harlan's."

Her eyes widened in stupefaction. She found it almost impossible to connect these surgical-like devices and the feel of Piers's warm skin at night, their happy fumblings in the Stargazer II's bunk. The Dark Lord seemed to understand her hesitation, because he took her hand and brought it to rest on the tray.

"Feel them and pick the right one, navigator," he rumbled.

Very conscious of his scrutiny , she wrapped a small hand around several cold, black toys, until her thumb and fingers barely met in a circle when she held one. "This," she whispered.

"You will measure the length as well. With your mouth."

She brought the toy to her lips with a hand that slightly shook . It felt cool and dry. She brushed her mouth across its tip gingerly, then took it in and closed her tongue and cheeks around it.

"Deeper."

His hand pushed it until it filled her mouth, stretching her lips tautly around the base. She gagged and Vader released his pressure on the knobby handle.

"Well, navigator? Is this the right size, or do you want to try another one?"

She could only nod, and he pulled the toy from her mouth.

"This-is-right..." she said.

"Good." He motioned for the droid to come closer, and selected two more prostheses from the tray, one very thick and long, the other appreciably smaller; then he sent the droid away. His gloved fingers stroked her cheek.

"Tell me what you will do with these. Precisely. Imagine what can please me most."

The three toys lay on the dark deskspace near her hip. She twisted a little to her side, facing him. Her face was suffused with blushes. He pinched her chin, while his naked fingers cupped one breast, stroking her nipple. It hardened, and she felt her sex moistening. Vader chuckled behind the mask.

"Your arousal pleases me too, navigator. Now speak."

She took a deep breath. "My lord... I think you will want me to take all three inside me."

His fingers squeezed her nipple harder and harder, until she gave a little whimper. "Tell me how. Now."

She pointed tentatively to the largest toy. "This-goes into my-me-to widen me-for you. She touched the one she had picked herself. "This is-for my mouth. This-"

"Did young Harlan use you in all three?"

She shook her head.

"Did you want to be?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Do you want to be?"

"If it-pleases you, my lord."

He growled. "It does please me. Turn around. On your hands and knees."

She half-rose on the console, straddling the controls to the left of the main display, and turned her back to him.

"Lean on the holo projector box, there. Spread your knees."

Her elbow hit a switch, and suddenly a holo materialized over her body, a dark-hooded figure breaking over the curve of her hips and buttocks in a halo of blue-white light. She heard a mesmerizing, strangely echoing voice that started "I have a task for you..." before Vader switched it off. "Wider, girl. Spread yourself for me. Now!" The electronically-modulated voice was harsh. Syrie stumbled on her knees, trying to balance herself on the hard plasteel without leaning on any more commands. She felt his hand on her buttocks, then the cold toy probed her. She contracted in fear: "My lord..."

"Is this the docility you promised?"

She hung her head. An instant later she felt torn apart by the hard tool he drove inside her in one push. She screamed and almost lost her balance. He seized her waist to support her with his right hand; it could easily encircle half her middle. "Is this the first time you are opened up this way?"

"No-o, my lord," she sobbed.

"Who did it to you last?"

"It was-on Ridell-at the Academy."

In her last year, she had had an affair with the astrophysics professor. He was over twice her age, an abrupt, sardonic man who found her talented and coached her after classes for the interplanetary exams she was ultimately never fielded for. He had had jaded sexual tastes and introduced her to some decidedly exotic practices. But he was fond of her, and she was so grateful for his tutoring and his dry affection that she had acquiesced to all his demands, even taking part in a threesome, which she had hated.

"And did you like it?"

"I-grew to like it, my lord."

"And now?"

"This-hurts, my lord."

"But you will wear it to please me."

She nodded.

"Good. Turn back to me."

Her knees on the hard plasteel ledge, she found purchase for her hands and carefully lay down again in front of him, spread over the consoles in front of his command chair. She gasped several times as she tried a semi-reclining position, stabbed by the foreign toy in her rear. She could hear his breathing through the mask's respirator.

"Tell me about young Harlan. Did he force you to become his lover?"

"No, my lord."

"Ah? You were willing?"

"We were-on a fishing trip-to Ceti III, my lord. It was a holiday. One evening-he kissed me-and it started from there."

"Was he a good lover?"

Was he? Yes, probably. "Yes, my lord."

"Did he share you with the others?"

"Oh-no, my lord."

"Would you not have liked it? With this-Celchu boy?"

She shook her head fiercely.

"He seemed to care for you more than Harlan."

"You were-monitoring our cell?" she whispered.

"There is a young Celchu who has just been admitted into the Imperial Navy. A remarkable pilot."

"That's-his brother Tycho, my lord."

"Tycho Celchu, yes. He is exceptional. I am a pilot myself."

She stared at the mysterious mask. A pilot. It was the first thing she could comprehend of him.

"You find this interesting?"

"I-can pilot myself, my lord. I wanted to apply for the Imperial Academy but-I was not pre-selected."

"There are almost no women in the military. Perhaps I will have you fly an Interceptor to see what you can do."

Her eyes lit up. "Thank you, my lord."

The low rumble came from the mask again.

"Ah, so you care for this. Tell me, is young Harlan a good pilot?"

She wrinkled her nose. "He is-not bad. Reckless."

"But not good enough."

"No."

"Why?"

"He has-no instinct for space. He doesn't feel where the other starships are coming from. He doesn't-anticipate."

"But you do."

"Sometimes... my lord."

A distinct chortle. "Would you rather be piloting a ship than where you are right now?"

She glanced up into the disconcerting mask. "It's not-the same thing, my lord."

"Unarguable."

His gloved right hand pinched her chin. "Now, girl, show me how you pleasured Harlan."

Syrie looked down at the toys, and took the one she had herself picked.

"My lord, he liked-me to suck him."

"Good. Show me."

Her back half-supported by the holo casing, so that her head and throat were almost upright while the rest of her body was still splayed on the console, she brought the black member to her mouth and started carefully licking the length of its underside. The prosthesis was very realistic. She ran the tip of her tongue delicately up to the rim, then swirled it around the head. When it glistened with her saliva, she took the top into her mouth, closing it over the rim, then slowly working with her cheeks and lips to take progressively more in. Her blonde hair bobbed a little as she sucked, eyes downcast, concentrating on her task. It felt strangely exciting to be watched like this. Vader must have sensed her confusion, because he moved closer and ran his left hand over her belly. She shivered, and her hips arched. His naked fingers entered her sex, and she knew he would find it wet and throbbing.

"You are enjoying this."

She blushed, her mouth still full of the hard black plasteel cock. His hand probed her, alternately gentle and brutal. She moaned when he stroked her most sensitive spot, bewildered by both his expert touch and her own fiery reaction to it. I never felt like this with Piers. I can't remember ever feeling like this. I like being completely powerless for him. At least there is no pretending.

Vader's gloved right hand squeezed her breasts as the bare left one worked her gaping sex. She moaned louder and threw back her head, the toy still in her mouth. Her hips rose rhythmically to meet his hand, legs spread wide. She heard his low rumble.

"You are very passionate, navigator."

Eyes closed, she abandoned herself to the sensations washing over her. Just as she felt herself submerging, his hand left her, and she cried out softly.

"You know what I want of you now."

She stared at the gleaming black mask, then nodded, and looked around her almost eagerly. The largest prosthesis lay on the console next to her hip. She picked it up, a small shiver running through her body at its size and width. The circle of her fingers didn't close over it by a good inch. She stroked its cool surface with her fingertips and looked at Vader mutely-she was still gagged by the other one.

"Insert it yourself."

Holding the black plasteel toy to her engorged sex, she started rubbing it up and down along her slippery inner lips, and sighed.

"Don't make yourself come," he snapped. "You have to take it entirely in first."

Her hand stopped. She took a long breath, then applied the huge tip to her vulva, and pushed slowly. The toy felt cold and hard, and at first she thought she could never penetrate herself with it. Then, trembling, she pressed on the handle and forced the instrument inside her. She gave a series of little half-muzzled cries as she felt stretched wider than she imagined possible. It displaced Vader's other contraption, excruciatingly spearing her rear. She stopped, the huge toy sticking out of her vagina like a monstrous appendage.

"Deeper, girl."

She pressed a little more, and cried out in pain. With no warmth or elasticity, the prosthesis suddenly felt just that again: a foreign, surgical implement.

"Well?"

She raised anguished eyes at him, trying to convey a wordless plea; but he only moved to the console and with his gloved hand pushed the tool all the way inside her. She screamed in agony behind the gagging toy, her eyes blurred with tears, feeling ripped apart. The pain was worse than anything she'd experienced before, increased by the soreness left by the previous session. Would she have to wear this for hours too? She tried to repress the great sobs racking her, feeling his invisible gaze upon her. It flashed through her mind that he enjoyed the spectacle of her distress as he had enjoyed watching her earlier arousal.

"The first thing I require of you is your absolute obedience, do you understand? You may cry if you can't help yourself, but you will do everything I tell you to."

She closed her eyes in helplessness, acutely aware of the three foreign objects penetrating all her openings.

"Do you hear me, girl?" said the deep mechanical voice.

She felt the huge prosthesis inside her sex being twisted, and cried out. Vader jerked the black plasteel member from her mouth.

"Yes-my-l-lord."

"Good," he growled, thrusting the toy between her lips again. She whimpered and caught herself. He did take in her efforts to control herself, for she heard his low rumble again. His left hand came to rest on the side of her taut cheek and neck, stroking them almost tenderly, soothing the tension from holding in the artificial cock for so long.

"I knew you were brave from the start, when you said you had plotted the coordinates to Shi'sla. You will be brave for me now."

She nodded mutely, fresh tears coming to her eyes. His bare hand ran down her neck to her breasts, caressing her nipples, one after the other, till they stood erect; then stroked her belly, her hips, her long thighs at length, until she started relaxing.

"You think your body is invaded and violated because I have entered its natural ways with these... things; because I am training it to be more responsive and more pliable. You have no idea of how invaded and violated a human body can be."

She tensed in renewed terror, but his hand pressed her waist in-reassurance? "Not yours, navigator, not yours. Yours will never be charred and mangled and rebuilt from plasteel and silicon and synthflesh. Yours is for my enjoyment and pleasure, and to remember the feel of bare skin."

If it hadn't been for the rhythmical breathing and the deep electronic tones, she would not have believed it was his voice. It was musing, almost dreamy. It trailed off and Vader continued tracing the curves of her body in silence, until she began arching under his fingers, her nipples hard, her skin tingly.

"Ah, you please me very much, navigator."

His hand entered her soft blonde fur, caressing her mound, grazing her clitoris, and she jerked under his touch. She heard his rumble behind the mask.

"You have been so very good, my child. Now, before I let you climax, I will allow you to be freed from one of these. Choose which."

He pulled out the toy from her lips. Her mouth ungagged, she took great uneven gulps of air, looking up at him. "My-lord?"

"Which shall it be? Your mouth? Your bottom? Your sex?"

She closed her eyes, biting her lips, anxious for the feel of his hand on her skin again.

"My lord, did you-enjoy-that I wore these for you?"

"Yes, navigator, I did enjoy it," he said, stroking her cheek.

"Then-my lord-I would rather-wear all three-when you give me pleasure."

She heard a low growl behind the helmet grille. He stroked her cheek again; then his naked fingers traced her lips before penetrating her mouth. She kissed and licked them, sucking on them as she would on his sex. He made a noise like a sigh, then finally pulled them out and replaced them with the black toy around which her lips immediately closed. He patted her hair, then laid his left hand over her palpitating sex. Her hips arched to meet his fingers, and she trembled violently when he started stroking her inner lips around the big implement, then inched up to her engorged button. She moaned and shuddered when he touched her, her body taut and glistening with sweat. Relentlessly, his fingers circled her most sensitive spot, and she finally screamed out, overwhelmed by a riot of sensations so strong she felt she had never experienced anything like them before. Contracting on the toys she wore, her inner muscles brought her to a second orgasm, then a third, almost continuously, the rush of intense pleasure mingled with the soreness of her invaded flesh. Eyes closed, face convulsed, splayed on the console boards, she rode the wave interminably, or so it seemed. When she opened her eyes, her breathing short, she saw Vader, watching her.

° ° °

I was his from that moment, of course. As a pet; as a lover; as-something more, I think. I believe.

He did trust me, and-love-me, in his way, during those years. Even if his quest ultimately turned him away from me.

And now I need to know how he died, from his son's mouth. And do what's right, if truly he renounced his hatred.

Her shoulders were tense from sitting at the holopad; she had been staring at the empty viewspace for a long time; she didn't know how long. A noise in the antechamber brought her to a sudden awareness of where she was. Thrawn. He wanted me to wait for him. She fled into the bedroom, shrugged off the shirt, and slid into the bed, drawing the crumpled sheets over her and closing her eyes. Moments later she heard his footsteps entering the room. She didn't dare open her eyes, for fear that he would ask what she had just been doing. Better to wait for him to undress and join her; it would be more natural that way. His tenderness made her forget the past; his strength pushed the disturbing memory of the Vader years safely back. She craved his lovemaking, which had something vital to it-a closeness that swept away the need for games and pretence.

She heard him stop in the middle of the small room. She lay very still, expecting to hear the rustle of his uniform on the carpet, and to feel his smooth skin against hers. But there was no noise at all for a long while, until her spine literally tingled while she forced herself to breathe evenly. He seemed to remain there, immobile, for ages. Then she heard his steps again, walking out of the room before she could think of a way to pretend that she'd woken up. An instant later, she heard the door to the antechamber slide shut. He was gone. She pushed back the covers and sat up, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

° ° °

He had recognized the shirt at once.

Crumpled on the floor near the bed, as if thrown away in haste; the shirt she had been wearing in the holo; one of his regulation white shirts worn under the immaculate high-collared Grand Admiral jacket. He did not think Pellaeon had noticed it; or the duty security officer at the Imperial Palace... New Republic Government House, as the Rebels seemed to want to call it now. And they call us pompous.

But whereas his personally-redesigned quarters were perfectly anonymous, with no Navy-issued furniture or equipment in sight, any analysis of the holo could yield an identification for the shirt. He didn't know what made him more coldly angry, her carelessness or her dissimulation.

Despite pushing himself to his limits in his taxing forty-minute swim, Thrawn had not quite been able to banish from his mind the image of Syrie materializing over the desk of the small gym office. Riding down the turbolifts from the upper aft gymnasium, he had briefly indulged in the hope that he would find her waiting to explain herself, even though cold logic told him this would not happen. Logic equally destroyed a dagger-like intuition, which had almost stopped him in the water, that it had all been a Rebel plant from the start-her escape from Ferrier's ship; even her scars. Ferrier would never have had the nerve.

Her breathing is much too quiet. She isn't asleep, only pretending. Surely this was better: he didn't entirely trust himself to maintain an unconcerned charade in bed. He allowed himself a pang of regret that after the second altercation with C'Baoth, he had decided to go work off his tension at the gym before returning directly to his quarters, as he had promised Syrie. Pellaeon sought me out me at the gym; he wouldn't have disturbed me a second time in my private apartments. Not with this kind of news. Had he returned immediately to her, they could have resumed their interrupted lovemaking. It would have been as perfect as we ever knew. It's all over now.

When Thrawn stepped onto the bridge, he saw Pellaeon glancing in his direction, then immediately turning his eyes back to his status readouts. Sauntering to his command chair, he motioned to the captain.

"Sir?"

"Didn't we have a disinformation agent working undercover on Coruscant?"

Pellaeon looked bewildered. "Yes, sir."

"What has this agent been up to?"

"Planting a money trail between us and Admiral Ackbar's bank accounts, sir, as you ordered."

"Good. Is this achieved?"

"I think so, sir. I'll check immediately, of course."

"Let's assume it is. I want your agent to start assessing the possibilities of recruiting a network as close as possible to the Rebel Assembly and the... Government House cadres. We need personalities susceptible to blackmail-or, better, people who are beginning to regret the orderliness of the Empire, and dislike the endless bickering and the bureaucracy of the new government. Not a large network. Four or five people should suffice, as long as they occupy strategic positions."

Pellaeon started twirling his moustache. "But, sir, don't we already have Delta Source?"

The Grand Admiral smiled faintly. "That is for straight intel only. I want to plant dissent and disinformation from the inside of their administration. Rumors. In the next few weeks. For the moment, let your agent concentrate on hooking the proper people. I want them unable to refuse when we need them to work for us. Of course, they need not know who is ultimately employing them, if it can be avoided."

"I'll-let our agent know at once, sir..."

"Keep me informed of who is recruited."

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

Pellaeon was turning on his heels when Thrawn's coolly-modulated voice stopped him.

"She will lead us to Skywalker long before Master C'Baoth succeeds to lure him, captain," the Grand Admiral said softly. "And then, if your agent is worth his pay, it will be up to the so-called New Republic's last Jedi to explain his contacts with that jewel of our late Emperor's Court, my friend, the lady Syrie."

Pellaeon stared, and Thrawn's smile widened.

"Either way, we'll have him."

Chapter 6

Two TIE Interceptors shot out of the reddish, blinding sun, blasting fire.

Luke's X-wing navcomp blared in warning as both TIEs' quad lasers acquired a hard lock on his slower fighter. Just as his hand hit the commands in reflex, the X-wing shook from the impacts, its shields absorbing only part of the energy shock before going down, most of the systems jolted offline. In the silence that followed, Artoo's frantic bleeping filled the cockpit as Luke yanked on the etheric rudder.

"Artoo! I can't-it's not responding!"

More bleeps.

"I'm trying! The thrusters aren't functional either!"

The TIEs whizzed back in a narrow arc, like oversized, lethal flies, intent on finishing their job, the multifaceted black eyes of their twin wing reflector panels glittering. Luke hit the override switch on his ejector seat, to more electronic squeals from his astromech companion.

"It's the only energy source left! Now if only-"

Fed a short spurt of energy diverted from the seat's emergency power pack, the starboard rudder pedal awoke in a sluggish response, and Luke jammed his foot down on it, crushing it to the floor, throwing the X-wing into a desperate portward spin. As the stars gyrated wildly outside the transparisteel cockpit the TIEs overflew him, banking out too widely for a new approach vector. A few seconds won.

"Artoo! Bring the systems back online! Quick or we're fried!"

A desolate whistle. Luke could already glimpse the bolder of the two TIEs diving after the X-wing, tracking his spin in a graceful, deadly trajectory. This one is a precision artist. If I don't think up something quick, I'm dead.

Gritting his teeth, he slammed his fist on the seat's override switch again, leaving it there, willing the last dregs of power out, rerouted to the X-wing's failing systems-enough, just enough to accelerate the craft's mad whirl. It's only because I'm spinning out of control that he can't get a target lock on me. If I-

"Luke? Luke?"

The stars faded to white and the hatch of the simulator lifted to reveal his sister perched on the access ladder, concern on her face blending with a tinge of irritation.

"Everyone in the delegation is already boarded but you. We'll be late for our takeoff slot. What happened in here? I sensed you going scared."

His hair still sticky with sweat, Luke smiled ruefully: "I was. Someone has reprogrammed these sims, someone good. Two squints were having me for breakfast."

Princess Leia Organa, vice-president of the New Republic, frowned, took a deep breath-

"TIE interceptors," Luke offered.

"I have been listening to Wedge on occasion," Leia corrected. "Luke-I know you don't like these diplomatic missions. Perhaps you shouldn't come."

Luke recognized what she was doing at the very moment she was doing it, but this didn't prevent him from experiencing a twinge of guilt. His sister worked harder than anyone at strengthening the fledgling New Republic's influence across the Galaxy. It was only fair that he should contribute his support when she needed him. Especially now, with her twins on the way. "I'm sorry I forgot the time. I'll shower on the double and meet you at the docking bay. Let's go."

His sheepish grin disarmed her, as usual. He saw the tension in her arms relax, her face light up in an answering smile as she sprang lightly from the ladder. "Don't bother. They want a hero of the Rebellion, they'll get one complete with sweat and grime. Hop down."

° ° °

And now, strapped in one of the diplomatic transport's passenger seats-how he hated not being at the controls-Luke fidgeted. Almost an hour, and they still weren't off. His sister had vanished again into the pilot's cabin. He could have traded his lightsaber for a hot shower. I wonder if the 'freshers on this lumbering beast have water. Possibly. The recently-renamed Republic's Pride had seen service as one of Palpatine's own cruisers. Did the old ghoul like his creature comforts? Yes, probably. They had largely scattered by the time the Rebel Alliance had taken Coruscant; but there had been a Court, a Household, a harem of concubines...

"Damn, damn, damn, damn!"

He stared up at Leia erupting from the command room, eyes flashing, white robes flaring. He could sense the dismayed surprise of the four older career diplomats in the cabin. "What is it? Technical trouble?"

"We're not going. Those mynocks of the Lyran system have made a deal with the Empire behind our backs. They've arrested our ambassador and broken off all diplomatic relations. Seems this mysterious new Imp leader persuaded them he has the winning hand-that they were better off siding with him immediately. I'd spent months trying to convince them. All down the drain."

Luke snapped off his seat restraints and stepped up to his sister, laying his arm about her small, heaving shoulders.

"Leia, you can't always win. You've brought so many systems into the New Republic already. This could have been much worse."

"Stop patronizing me, blast it! How could I fail worse than this?"

Behind his back, Luke felt the shock of the senior diplomats. I wonder how my sister can be at the same time such a dedicated politician and such a termagant. Han certainly seems to have added to her vocabulary

"Look at it like this," he said with a half-smile. "They could have made this deal after we got there."

He felt her body tense as she took in the implications. "Oh my stars, you're right."

"So your Lyrans may be mynocks, but you can't accuse them of duplicity. In fact, if this self-styled Imperial Warlord-something only knew how close it was..."

"But they- No, they knew I was coming. And they let our ambassador's holo through, together with the terms of his ransom."

"Hedging their bets, don't you think?"

Nodding, Leia took a few steps between the rows of seats, her eyes flitting from one diplomat to another.

"Your brother is right, Princess. The Lyrans are traders and merchants. They would hate to commit the irreparable," the highest-ranking one, a silver-furred Bothan, said. "Was the Ambassador's holotransmission marked 'highest priority'?"

"Had to be, if it got us on the Republic's Pride," Luke said.

Leia nodded, her eyes no longer glaring. A rueful smile finally lit up her face as she looked at her brother, half-perched on a seatback, still clad in his rumpled flightsuit. "I don't take your counsel often enough-and I don't mean just learning Jedi meditating techniques."

Luke tipped a half-salute at her: "It's all part of it." He nodded politely at the diplomats and picked up his brown cloak. "You know, I think I'm going to have that shower after all."

° ° °

A light was flashing on the comm board at his Imperial Palace apartments. He ignored it, stripped off his flightsuit, and, stepping into the 'fresher, turned on the shower. The Tatooine moisture farmer in him still marveled at running water. He stayed long after he'd washed all the grime of the day, and finally emerged, dripping all over the rooms as he picked up the things he'd flung off at random-drying himself always seemed a waste of the wonderful droplets on his body. Even Han takes this water for granted. Ackbar told me I love the water as much as he does. He's right, even though I still can't swim. His single expedition to Coruscant's only ocean had almost created a panic, as, unable to swim, he had relied on Jedi pre-hibernation breathing techniques to walk at the bottom of the sea for ten minutes in awe. A different world, so close to us.

The flashing red light caught his eye. Messages. With a sigh, he reached over and flicked the comm switch.

"Skywalker here."

"You have sixteen simple messages and one note from Security," a polite mechanical voice said.

"Give me Security."

A hum; another voice, human, female. Tactful enough not to transmit visuals. Still, it reminded him of his nakedness. He grabbed a corner of his cloak, pulled it across his lap as he sat on the couch.

"Commander Skywalker? A woman has been trying to get in touch with you, using old Palace clearance codes. Doesn't give her name, untraceable holotransmission. She says she calls about your father."

"She-what?"

He hit the screen video switch, recognized the lieutenant in charge of all Executive Floor security. Toryn Farr's eyes narrowed as she caught the shock in his voice.

"Do you want to see her call?"

"Yes-yes, of course. Thanks, Toryn."

"All in a day's work. Here goes."

He liked Toryn, who'd been an Alliance member since the early days. On Hoth, she'd stayed almost until the end, leaving on the very last transport after manning the ion cannon controls. He wondered whether she knew who his father was, and how she would react if she knew.

But naturally she doesn't know, or she wouldn't announce this so calmly.

He stared at the face of the young woman in the holo viewspace. "...Yes. Please tell him it's about his father."

She looks sincere. She sounds-distraught. But of course, I can't sense much in a holo.

"Toryn?"

"Still here."

"How do you mean, untraceable?"

"Just that. The beam seemed relayed from one of this system's farther planets. When we checked, there was no transmitter. When we started analyzing the transmission, we discovered the closest relay point appeared to change every five seconds."

"Not relay points at all."

"No. A phantom trace, masking whatever real transmitters were used after the beam came out of hyperspace. It takes a very sophisticated operation to do that."

He could hear it in Toryn Farr's voice. A trap.

"What was that code she used? Sapphire-Riezalt... Devaron-Elom?"

"That's another puzzle. It works, but we don't know of such a code. It's not an ISB code; and we don't have it in the Imperial logs. It's as if it were hardwired into the Palace systems. And that has to have taken place before our first sweeps here, almost three years ago."

Luke looked into Toryn Farr's scowling eyes, and she uttered a short laugh. "And no, before you ask, we have no idea where she might have been calling from. The furniture we saw behind her could exist in billions of living units across the Galaxy."

"And did she call back? How long ago was this?"

"Nine hours... and no, she hasn't called back."

"Yet."

"Yet," the lieutenant repeated, and there was no mistaking the grim determination in her voice.

Why do I believe this woman is sincere? What could I possibly learn about Darth Vader-Anakin Skywalker, my father, after five years? Who is she?

"So we wait, Toryn."

"So we wait."

° ° °

The second call came in the early hours of the morning.

"Sorry to wake you," Toryn's clipped voice said from the comm board. "It's the mysterious caller at last."

Luke was instantly awake, completely aware of his surroundings in the darkened room.

"Don't you ever sleep, Toryn?"

"Here goes."

A kind of click, another voice, hesitating. "Luke Skywalker?"

"Yes."

He touched the switch and her image appeared in the viewspace. She was wearing a kind of jumpsuit, not unlike his own yesterday, he noted. She seemed to take in the darkened apartment at the same time that her green eyes looked almost-hungrily at him.

"Is it night? I am sorry..."

"Early morning. Where are you?"

The woman in the holo shook her head slightly. "I needed to speak to you. You see, I was a-friend-of your father's."

Luke stared at the unknown caller. Beautiful, certainly; unusual, with these cat's eyes, the high cheekbones and her honey-colored hair. Perhaps she's older than she looks. Still-

"I find this hard to believe," he said carefully.

"I understand. But it is true nonetheless."

Check.

"I did not think my father had-any friends."

"He didn't."

Check.

Time to try something. But first-

"Wait," Luke said, half-raising a hand. "You don't have to tell me where you're calling from. But is this expensive connection secure?"

He saw her start to nod, then pause as she took in the implications of his question. "I have-been told-it is. But you are right, one should always be responsible for one's own security."

Why do I suddenly feel this is something Vader-my father-told her?

His hand went for the comm panel, but she shook her head in warning:

"Don't. Most of Imperial Palace communications eavesdropping is triggered by encryption attempts."

But of course. He stopped his movement.

"It alerted Palpatine to who needed to be watched?

For the first time, he saw her smile. "Yes. And the closer to the Emperor, the more suspect."

"What a charming world you lived in."

No protestations. She is telling the truth. "So we just have to hope all the listeners have been flushed out by the New Republic?"

"No-o-no. Let me try something from here."

He saw her reach outside the limits of the holo, and key in instructions. The image suddenly shimmered, distorting itself as he saw her lips move in the trembling holo. He raised a hand.

"I can't hear you."

More tap-tapping; and suddenly he heard her voice again, with a slight metallic echo. The picture rippled with light variations, but he could still see her expressions very clearly. "And now, can you hear?'

"Yes. What did you do?"

Another careful shake of her head. "Just a few old tricks. They don't matter much."

"Somehow I suspect my sister might not agree with you."

A cloud passed over her face. "Perhaps not. But it is too late."

What a strange thing to say. And like an echo of-

Let's test something.

"My father never mentioned-sorry, I don't know your name-"

The results exceeded any of his expectations. At the other end of the encrypted transmission, the woman's composure seemed to come apart. One hand flew to her mouth; she closed her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, they were full of tears.

"Then he did find you! You spoke to him? I must see you, I must!"

"Why must you see me?" Luke probed gently.

"I-never said-goodbye-properly to him."

Raw hurt in her voice. This is unbelievable, but I believe it. I believe her.

"Yes. I would like to meet you, too."

He could feel the relief in her, literally washing over them both. How extraordinary. Unless she is-

But no, that's impossible.

"I knew I was right. To try-"

"Can you come here? To Coruscant?"

A shadow passed across her mobile face.

"That-will be difficult."

"Why?"

In the viewspace, the woman frowned irresolutely.

"Can you think of a quiet place? Some neutral world, perhaps, off the main Core traffic ways? I would like to keep this-personal."

"But surely-"

And then of course he knew the perfect solution. Doubly perfect. To find out about my father; to find out about her. "Can you make your way to the moon of the third planet in the Comendor system?..."

° ° °

"You are completely mad. Toryn is a thousand times right, this is a trap!"

Leia paced her study like a caged Wookiee, so energetically that the imposing-sized room looked too small for her slight frame. Seated in one of the visitors' chairs, Luke shook his head.

"It could be, but I don't think so. I sense she's sincere."

"Across space, stars know how many light-years away, in a mysteriously-encrypted communication? She could be manipulated. She could have had a personality wash. Perhaps you're not just able to tell the difference at this distance."

"Which is precisely why I need to meet her."

"Nonsense. She's an Imp. She knows things about this palace that even our security was unable to dig out. She said nothing of where she was, how she had access to encrypted holotransmissions. And you want to jump out and meet her unprotected."

"She asked me," Luke said calmly.

"Stars give me patience!"

Han Solo detached himself from the back wall against which he'd been leaning, surveying his wife's fury with a sardonic expression, and came to perch himself on a corner of the New Republic's Secretary of State's massive Xylanese wood desk, across from Luke's chair. "You know, kid, I'm tempted to agree with your sister this time-"

"Well, thank you!" Leia interrupted.

"-Especially with the kind of recommendation this woman gives. A friend of Darth Vader's?"

"A friend of our father's."

"No! No! No! I will never accept it. Never!"

Leia's voice grew shriller with each "no", scaling up toward hysteria. She suffered much more at the hands of Vader than I did. Luke half-rose, reaching out to press his sister's tense shoulder; but she almost drew back. "Leia, you have to think of him as Anakin Skywalker."

"Why? Obi-Wan was right, Vader killed our father. He destroyed everything that he stood for. And he killed the only father I ever knew as well. Anyway, you can't tell me it's Anakin this woman knew. She can't be older than Han."

"And she lived here, from what she said," Han added. "At Palpatine's court. Not the best of references, kid."

"Leia spent some time at court too. She simply didn't have a choice."

"I was in the Resistance! I-"

The two men stared at the diminutive Secretary of State. Leia's brow had furrowed in thought as she leaned back on the desk, closer to Han. "But-I do remember a woman with Vader here once- Whether it was this one, I can't tell. Of course I never spoke to her. Vader did take her to a couple of functions-people talked about it for weeks afterwards. It was the first year I was in the Senate."

Luke exchanged a wry look with Han. Neither of us had any inkling at the time that we would ever enter this palace, let alone participate in government. "Could it be her?" Han probed. "And what do you think she was to Vader?"

"I told you, I have no idea-I certainly didn't speak to such women. As to what she was, I would have thought it obvious."

"When you take that cut-glass voice, you remind me of when we first met," her husband said with a lopsided grin.

"When we first met, I threw you into a garbage chute," Leia instantly retorted with an answering smile. "Something I often think I should do more often."

"Threw me? I jumped! And just you try that trick on me-"

Sitting back in his chair, Luke watched for a moment his sister and his best friend mock-quarrelling with growing amusement, trading spirited insults that told of their affection better than any endearments.

"So you're really verifying her story," he stated.

That stopped the Solos, as he knew it would. "You know what they say about lies," Leia finally said. "The best ones skirt the truth as close as possible."

"Does it matter? You've just confirmed that this woman knew our father well. That's reason enough for me to meet her."

"Then don't go alone," Leia said decisively. "We've no idea what kind of traps Vader might have sprung for you-before he finally decided to save you from the Emperor at the last minute. If this woman is what she says she is, she may have spent the last five years perfecting one of Vader's nasty little surprises. The security of the New Republic is at stake here, Luke. This is my call, and I'm taking responsibility for it. We need you too much."

Luke half rose from the chair. "Leia!"

Luke caught Han Solo's sharp glance and the former smuggler's narrowed eyes. "Come, out with it, kid. You have a reason to want to meet her so badly."

"Of course I do. She has clues to our father's life that no-one else will tell us. That no-one else knows."

Chapter 7

Endor's dark green fourth moon swelled in the X-wing's viewport until Luke could no longer see it whole, starting instead to recognize an increasingly familiar landscape of wooded hills and deep forests. He had left a standard navigation comm channel open, and this soon picked up the regular bleep-bleep of a short-range beacon.

"Artoo, calculate the coordinates and get us there."

Switching power to the repulsor coils, Luke manoeuvered the X-wing into a clearing at the edge of which a Lambda-class shuttle had already landed, its folded-up lateral wings revealing Imperial markings. Nice bit of piloting, he thought: only a very few would have bothered not to set down the craft in the middle of the turf. And why was the clearing familiar? At the moment the question sprang into his mind, he saw the darkened mound of earth and cinders close to the shuttle, and knew where he was.

In this clearing, five years earlier, he had set fire to the pyre on which lay the body of his father, Anakin Skywalker. Darth Vader.

Luke cut the repulsorlifts, hit the cockpit release switch, and lightly slid to the soft grass, ignoring Artoo's blatted protests at being left in his socket. From the ground, he could see that the shuttle's ramp was down. A few steps revealed the slight figure of a woman in a gray flight suit, half-turning away from the dark knoll to stare at him. It was the same face as in the holos, troubled green eyes and a diffident expression, one hand on a hip pouch.

"He died here, didn't he?"

So she could feel Vader's presence still. No, Anakin's.

"No, not here. On the shuttle I flew out of the second Death Star. But I gave him a funeral here. How did you know how to find this place?"

She turned completely to face him, eyes unblinking. Then, as if she had taken in his question with a delay, she shook her head, losing her rigid intensity: "I just-knew. But then I always knew when he was close."

She looked back at the blackened earth, and her shoulders hunched perceptibly.

"I knew he was dead-but this is... so real..."

The hurt in her voice was unmissable. Luke took another step, suddenly hesitant. "Please-tell me about yourself. How you came to know my father."

"Tell me how he died," she countered.

Her voice was low, intense. He could sense her agitation clearly.

"He saved my life. The Emperor was about to kill me in front of him. With-Force lightning. I was helpless. Vader-my father-suddenly grabbed Palpatine and threw him into a precipice. But he had been struck with enough Force-lightning himself to short most of his life-support systems.

"Couldn't you have saved him?"

Again, her vehemence and her anguish struck Luke almost physically. "I tried. I managed to drag him with me to a shuttle, and out of the Death Star. It was too late."

It is too late for me, my son.

Nothing can stop this now.

She fell silent, and he looked at her more closely. The shadows under her eyes, and the set of her mouth betrayed a maturity that had not appeared in the holos; but Luke still found it difficult to admit she must be nearing forty.

There was a tree stump not far from the X-wing, and he motioned to it. "Please, won't you sit here with me? There is a great deal that we want to know about each other."

He suddenly felt her entire sense relax, an instant before she nodded to him and smiled. He was amazed by how clearly he could perceive her moods. As she sat on the felled tree, he probed her mind a little-and suddenly felt her entire sense shut off, all communication severed.

He had meant to ask her her name, but blurted instead: "You are strong in the Force. I can feel it."

She stared at him, looking genuinely surprised-although he still could no longer sense her. "Me? No. I have no Force-sense."

"You just closed your mind to me."

"The only person I could ever close my mind to-"

She stopped, suddenly shaking. Luke, fascinated, realized he could sense some of her turmoil again, although in a very attenuated form from the crystal-clear contact he had experienced only moments before.

"...was my father," he completed for her. "Isn't that what you were going to say?"

She nodded. He took her still-shaking hand. "I still don't know your name."

"It's Syrie. I thought I'd told you."

Syrie. Where does her name come from? "Just Syrie?"

Her sudden tension was perceptible. "Yes." Something to probe later. "How did you-join my father, Syrie?"

A pause. "He seized the yacht on which I was working as a navigator, and he kept me."

"Kept you? Did you want to stay?"

She looked straight at him, and unexpectedly smiled: "Do you know, I think I did, even then. Although it did not seem like that at the time."

This time, it was Luke who felt unable to say anything, feeling instead heat coming to his cheeks with some annoyance.

"I see I've shocked you. Perhaps I was wrong to want to meet you."

She rose from the tree stump, her mobile eyes swiftly taking in the clearing. She has combat awareness. He found himself wanting her to stay. "No, you weren't wrong. I have no illusions about-what my father was-but I did not think he could have a... relationship of this nature."

"Ah, but the mechanical element could add a great deal to certain situations... There, I've shocked you again."

He stood up with a half-smile, following her steps towards the two spacecrafts. "I'm harder to shock than you think. Nice try, though."

After an instant, he was rewarded with a short laugh. "Touché. Will you believe me if I tell you that your father had a sense of humor-when he was in a good mood?"

"Why shouldn't I believe you? It's not something I would have expected; but then I fought my father every time I saw him. The three times I encountered him."

"But-that last time?"

"The hardest of them all. You see, I won that last time. Or rather, I could have won; but I refused to go on fighting. That's why Palpatine tried to kill me. He wanted me to kill my father. And I came very close, too."

I sliced off his hand, and I realized how similar we had become. Cyborgs, both.

She shivered noticeably, looking at him with troubled eyes.

(to be continued)

[From here we have a work in progress - the next passage should be reworked into a completed Chapter 7; it's Syrie's first talk with Luke. Then comes Chapter 9 (or whatever the eventual number will be): in between they will have been attacked by the Empire; Syrie has accompanied Luke & Han to Coruscant & met with Leia in disastrous circumstances (Leia doesn't believe in her good faith); given the two Skywalkers the codes to Vader's holdings (much diminished since Thrawn's slicer has been working at retrieving as much as possible) and decided to return to Thrawn. Interspersed with this story should be a series of flashbacks recounting her entire relationship with Vader, growing from being his sex toy to becoming in effect his consort. ]

° ° °

"I slept on the floor of his quarters for three days. Then he set me up in the Fleet Commander's suite, which would have been his if he hadn't needed specially-designed quarters, in luxury that I had never imagined, let alone seen. Your father did not concern himself with normal standards... for anything."

"But that wouldn't have been enough to keep you with him," Luke said gently.

He saw the woman's mobile features tremble. "You understand, don't you? But you also have to realize that fear-fear pervaded everything I felt for months. Fear and this strong-attraction. Perhaps fear was part of the attraction. I belonged somewhere at last."

"And you never felt otherwise? Nothing he did would change this?"

A haunted smile transformed her features: "Perhaps I have no moral principles. He was cruel and ruthless, but he was also brave and successful. I had seen enough petty cruelty and corruption in Old Republic regimes that I had no illusions about the Senate. You know, when Palpatine first made himself Dictator, many turned to him as a way out of the old aristocracy's feudalism and privilege. Palpatine's ministers and Grand Moffs were New Men with no ties to the Corporations or the nobles. When I came to realize that, I rather liked it-for a long time."

"So you have been loyal to him all this while."

He saw her close her eyes.

"Yes-no. I loved him. I love him. But-"

"But?" he pressed gently.

"When-he learned about you-and started his quest to find you-he had no time for anything else. You were his only obsession. And-after a while-I found someone."

Luke stared at her. "I was his-obsession?"

She smiled at him with a kind of reassurance which washed over him like a warm embrace. Oh but I can see why a man would love her.

"Nothing else counted for him but to find you. He wouldn't confide in me, but he said once that you were very strong... and also that you were a fine pilot. He respected you."

Luke sat down abruptly on a tree trunk. "When did he realize it was-I was-?..."

"Right after the destruction of the first Death Star. He came back to Imperial Center haunted-nobody had ever managed to almost kill him out of space before. The Death Star had a communications system that backed up every transmission by realtime holonetlink into several planetary libraries. He studied your runs, your flights, as well as the ISB reports from Tatooine. He knew then it was you-that he had a son, which he hadn't known; and that this son was you."

The girl stood silent, looking at him. Does she realize what she's just told me?

"You said you found-someone?"

Her small stiff nod acknowledged at the same time that she knew he was purposely steering the conversation, and that he had touched a sensitive point.

"Yes."

"You left my-Lord Vader?"

"No."

"You-how did you manage to hide anything of that kind from him?"

Her small smile returned for an instant: "I did-for a while. Then he found me out."

Luke stared at her: "What did he do to you?"

She remained silent for an instant, closing her eyes, and finally said: "He did not kill me. So I expect I knew all along I was safe, really."

Luke caught in her mind the echoes of sharp pain and fear, so strong that he almost reeled. "He hurt you."

"Yes."

"But-you-"

"He had the right," she said softly.

"How can you say that?"

"He kept me with him, you know. He knew I loved him."

"This is-evil."

"But should it surprise you?"

He stared at her. Her ironic tone and elegant accent suddenly reminded him of Leia at her most statesmanlike.

"Now you realize I am not a good or pure person," she said in a very low voice.

"No. I was thinking that I'd like you to meet my sister."

"Why?"

"You two have things in common. You lived at Court. You are strong women. You both have been victims of Vader but have ties of love to him."

Syrie looked at him and shook her head: "You have this all wrong. Believe me, your sister will not want to see me."

Her words rang an echo in Luke's mind, but he refused to hear it. "I think you can persuade my sister to see our father as he was, with the good that existed in him."

"What makes you think I saw any good?"

"But didn't you?"

She stopped at that, one hand on her mouth. "Possibly, but perhaps not the kind of good your sister would appreciate."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"As you wish."

She had spoken softly, but Luke sensed her doubts. Because they tallied with instincts he refused to acknowledge, he did not answer, but stood up and looked across the clearing at the large Delta-class shuttle with Imperial markings which she had landed so elegantly.

"Where did you get this ship?"

She shook her head. "I can't tell you. Let's say I stole it. Which is true."

"You will certainly get reactions with it."

She froze: "Reactions? From whom?"

"My escort. He should be here any-"

"You said you were coming alone-"

Luke raised his hands, palms offered. "It's only my brother in law, Han Solo, and his own ship, the Millennium Falcon. My sister feared a trap, and demanded that I have an escort. Han volunteered. I assure you, Han is-"

The woman glanced up at the sky, at the clearing around them, clearly alarmed.

"I must leave. I didn't want to see anyone but you. I had something to tell you-but-"

"Please, trust me. There is nothing official in this."

"But you don't understand!"

"What is there to understand?"

At the sound of a new voice, Syrie jumped and spun round, facing Han Solo as the former smuggler came out of the forest into the back of the clearing. "Or maybe Leia had understood all along, kid," he said dryly, cocking an eyebrow at the young woman in the gray flightsuit.

Luke stared at him, then at Syrie. In her hand was a small blaster, aimed at Solo. He hadn't seen her pull it. She held it with obvious expertise, assessing the distance with narrowed eyes.

"Syrie, you must trust me. Han is here out of concern for me, no more."

"I think I trust you. I know he doesn't trust me."

"Can't see why I should trust someone who shows up in an Imperial shuttle with up-to-date markings," Han shot back. "If you stole it, I'd love to know where from. Newest model, too. The last time I saw one was-"

His mouth slammed shut, and he threw a cold look at the young woman. "On Myrkr," he finished, looking tellingly at Luke. "Talon Karrde's visitors. You know."

Luke's eyes hadn't left Syrie's face. "Yes, I know, Han," he said quietly, "but she doesn't. Come on, Syrie, we're all jumpy and scared. I don't care where you got the shuttle-"

"I do!" Han interrupted.

"No you don't. We don't. This is a private rendezvous, and Han is a member of my family who never could believe I could quite take care of myself. Please stay."

The young woman looked at him irresolutely, then pocketed the blaster into the small pouch at her side.

"Did my father teach you how to use a blaster?"

She looked taken aback, as much by his conversational tone as by the question. Finally she answered. "No, I knew before I-met him. He had little use for blasters himself."

"I can testify to that," Han said abruptly. "You weren't there yet, Luke, on Bespin, when I tried to shoot him. He just stopped the bolts with his hands."

"He absorbed the energy and channeled it into the Force," Syrie said in a quiet voice. Luke stared at her. "How do you know?"

"He told me," she said simply.

(to be continued)

The fine print (how small can I make this?)... and all the usual disclaimers!  No, I'm not making any money.  It's just for fun.  George, please don't sue me.