Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I wish to see your interrogation techniques in person, Director Orden. I’ve been told they are rather unorthodox.” His voice was matter-of-fact and brooked no disagreements.

Ailish shrugged slightly, “I don’t think so. Many of my techniques have been in use by the Empire since before I left the academy. I just know which techniques to use on which prisoners.”

Tarkin arched an eyebrow ever so slightly. Ailish was not sure if it was disbelief or if he was mildly impressed. “Regardless, I shall be present for this particular prisoner’s interrogation. His information is of vital importance and I wish to be there firsthand so that nothing is lost in translation.”

“As you wish, your Excellency.” Seemingly as an afterthought Ailish added, “It won’t be pretty.”

“My dear girl, I am no stranger to the atrocities of war. I can assure you that nothing you can do will shock me in the slightest.” His tone was sharp, he was annoyed.

Ailish shrugged again, more pronounced this time. “Come with me please, your Excellency.” She nodded to her aide as they left her office, “Lt. you may have tomorrow off. When you come back, see to it that my office is pristine and your reports are finished and in order.”

The young man nodded. He didn’t know what the Director did when she went “down the shaft” for days at a time, but he did know that every time she emerged, she was tired and required everyone else around her to perform their duties to a level of perfection that was unsustainable for long periods of time. It was kind of her to give him a day off. But it was also a warning, it would be the last he would get for a long time and she was not likely to be forgiving of mistakes any time soon.

As he watched his boss, Director Orden, followed closely by Grand Moff Tarkin stride away, Lt. Dalrup had the thought that it was more like they stalked the hallway. Both took exact, military spec steps, and yet, there was a lithe grace to them both. They were hunters. He shivered as gooseflesh raised the hair on his arms. He would hate to be their prey.

Ailish pressed the button to the turbolift. Within moments it arrived, Tarkin strode in first, followed by Ailish. When the doors had closed, she pulled out one of her code cylinders and inserted it into access slot in the lift. An additional panel lit up beneath the standard one. She selected one of the lowest floors of the complex. The lift dinged in acknowledgment and she replaced her code cylinder in her uniform.

The lift ride was a long one as far as lift rides go. Neither Tarkin nor Ailish spoke to each other. She was too busy studying her datapad on the prisoner and he was too busy studying her. He noticed her furrowed brows as she read, the habit she had of bringing her hand up to her mouth when she was thinking, the fact that every part of her appearance was regulation, and the way that she did not seem to be unduly agitated by his presence.

That was new. Most everyone, especially female officers, seemed flustered by him. He enjoyed that feeling, reveled in it, it set him apart, above; it made him other. The thought that this woman did not care who it was beside her as she went about her work was mildly frustrating. She was showing him all the proper respect and courtesy, but her confidence in herself and her position... bothered him. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he continued to analyze Director Orden, but she was absorbed in her reading and did not notice.

The lift doors opened with a swish of air and the two of them walked out, Ailish leading the way with Tarkin half a step behind.

She stopped in front of a door labeled Con 3, there were two guards, one on either side who briefly saluted before resuming their station pose. Commander Tabor stood off to one side. “Sirs” he snapped to attention with a brisk salute. Both Ailish and Tarkin quickly returned the salute. “At ease Commander.” The man took the easy position but did not relax for an instant. He visibly swallowed as he looked back and forth between the two high ranking officers before him.

“How long has he been awake?” Ailish queried.

“Nearly 23 hours now, sir.”

Ailish nodded and turned to Tarkin. “Sir, if you would please watch from the intel room,” she pointed to the next door down the hall labeled Int 3, “there is a one-way mirror, audio feed, and other instrumentation the Commander here can show you as I proceed with the interrogation.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Commander Tabor blanch.

Tarkin gave her an appraising look. It was clear from the way his stern eyes glanced over her that he did not find her up to the task of interrogation. But he did not voice his concerns. He merely nodded assent and followed the Commander to Intel Room 3.

The room was dark, the floor was covered in a plush carpet, a large, dark, durasteel table rested in the center, a few chairs scattered about its edges. A large decanter of hot caf and various small packages of snacks and wrapped sandwiches were available in the center of the table. Apparently, it was expected that the interrogation would take some time. Tarkin approved of the efficiency. Commander Tabor took up a seat behind one of the instrument stations and began inspecting the data that was streaming in doing his best to focus on his work, but Tarkin noticed the furtive glances in his direction. Good, at least someone was uneasy around him today.

There were several instrumentation panels displaying readouts of the prisoner, and a large one-way mirror on one wall giving a clear view of the room next to it. Inside stood the prisoner: a high-ranking rebel, eyes bloodshot, standing on tip toe, arms held above him, manacled to the ceiling. There were two tables, one in the center and one off to the side. The one in the center had a datapad on it, the one off to the side was much more nefarious.

On top of the second table rested two vials of liquid, one red, one yellow. There were also several syringes laid out below. Then there were the various obvious instruments of torture, a whip, a flail, a cane - interesting, it appears to be real wood - a stun rod, and plenty more devices that looked to cause vast amounts of pain. It was clearly a display meant to inspire terror in the prey as they waited; it seemed to be working for the man would occasionally glance in their direction and would involuntarily spasm.

After taking in the contents of both his room and the prisoner’s, Tarkin settled into a chair behind the table and positioned himself to better see the room and prisoner inside. Ailish was just entering, she stopped directly inside the door, still intent on the datapad in her hands. The prisoner looked up at her, eyes burning with hatred, “Empire bitch” he spat.

She did not look up at that remark. “Tssk, such language. We shall do what your parents failed to do: teach you some manners.” Her voice was calm, smooth, and cold, like an ice-covered boulder set in the middle of a flowing river. Tarkin smiled inwardly, her manner vaguely reminded him of himself.

Ailish walked to the table in the center of the room and placed down the datapad she was carrying and picked up the other that had been resting on the table. She appeared to absently sit in the one chair available all the while studying the datapad in front of her.

The man twitched and his chains rattled. Ailish didn’t react. Her brows lifted slightly in seeming curiosity as she continued to read. The man readjusted again, finding no comfort in the action, but Tarkin surmised the man was trying to get a reaction from Ailish. He failed. She appeared to be too absorbed in her reading.

The silent minutes ticked on. Finally, the man wriggled, “Well?” he demanded, “Are you just going to sit there and read or are you going to ask me questions?”

Without looking up, without missing a beat, Ailish queried, “Would you answer them?”

“Kriff no!” the man spat.

Ailish made an expression that Tarkin could only interpret as saying “then what’s the use?”

Tarkin turned to the man beside him, “Commander, how long does she do this for?” his voice was soft, genuinely quizzical.

Tabor about jumped out of his seat, “Uh, I dunno, sir. It’s different with every prisoner. She’ll read his file for a while more though, I think.”

“What do you mean by different?”

Commander Tabor shrugged. “Sometimes she’s their best friend, sometimes she’s their enemy, sometimes she’s their confidant. It just depends on what she thinks will get her the most accurate answers, she can be anything the prisoner needs her to be to divulge their secrets. The only thing I can tell you is that she is in no rush. Rushing only skews the results.”

Tarkin nodded, his right hand moving to his chin in thoughtful concentration. “And how do you think she will present herself to this prisoner, friend or foe?”

Tabor looked in at the instruments of torture set up on the table inside the prisoner’s room. “There’s a stun rod,” he said softly, “she plans to be his worst nightmare. This one won’t be quick, sir. Nor will it be pretty. More than likely it will take a week or more.”

Tarkin was thoughtful, a stun rod. He’d tried using it once to interrogate someone; it had not worked all that well. His instructor at the time had said that not many ever used a stunner. It took finesse, more than most people cared to cultivate; instead, he had taken up the whip. The noise alone could scare a person into revealing secrets buried deep inside. Then there were the delicious sounds of agony as the prisoner writhed in pain with the merest lick of the whip’s tip. His pulse quickened at the memory of the few he had interrogated. He had found though that he had quickly tired of that game, so he left interrogations to others better suited to it.

After an hour of tortured silence - in which Tarkin went through two cups of caf - Ailish placed down the datapad and rose. She made sure the prisoner’s eyes were watching her as she undid her belt and her fingers deftly unfastened the invisible clasps of her tunic. Her movements were neat, precise, and calculated. She removed the tunic and folded it neatly, placing it on the table off to the side of the room.

“Huh, never thought to see one of you Imps with your tunic off.” Ailish paid the man no heed. She simply unbuttoned the cuffs of her white shirt and rolled up her sleeves to just above the elbow. Each movement of her hands caught Tarkin’s attention. He didn’t understand why, but he was thrilled to watch her exact and measured movements.

The prisoner couldn’t seem to take his eyes away either. He watched as she pulled on tight black leather gloves, flexing her fingers in them.

Ailish’s hands reached to her neck to unbutton the top button but stopped halfway up. She decided against the action and instead hovered her hands over the instruments. The prisoner’s gaze followed those hands, mesmerized, as did Tarkin’s.

The Grand Moff forcibly released the breath he had been holding. He knew which tool she would use, the Commander had just told him, but her performance was captivating, it drew him in.

She rested her hand on the flail, the man in chains visibly stiffened. As if it was the prisoner’s reaction that affected her movements, Ailish moved her hand to the whip. Again, the man went ramrod straight. Then, she let her hand linger on the stunner. The man smirked and relaxed just a hair.

Tarkin could see the corner of Ailish’s mouth that was facing away from the prisoner twitch just a small bit. She was pleased.

She picked up the stun rod and walked over to the man in chains. Finally, she looked him in the eye. “You are to address me only as Mistress, or Mistress Orden. Do you understand?”

“Fu--” he didn’t have the chance to finish even the first word of his thought as Ailish quickly and unexpectedly rammed the stunner into the man’s stomach. He had been relaxed, not expecting this kind of pain. It knocked the wind out of him and he gasped like a fish out of water as his legs jerked up. He had reflexively tried to curl into a ball to protect his stomach, but his hands were still manacled to the ceiling so though he managed briefly to bring his legs up to his chest all he really got for it was torn up wrists. Blood began to seep from the wounds almost immediately. It crept down his arms slowly, small rivers of crimson.

The moment the man’s toes touched the ground Ailish rammed him again, this side in the ribs. The pain brought on from the stun rod was white hot, like a searing poker. Again she struck, this time in the back in a kidney. The man screamed, a high pitched, keening scream Tarkin had only ever elicited from a prisoner once and only with the use of a whip. Again the stunner impacted the man, over and over until his cries began to lessen in loudness and intensity. She stopped then, stepping back to look at her handiwork.

Chapter Text

A stun rod could hurt a man in a myriad of ways depending on how it was wielded both before and after it made contact with the target. It could cause searing pain akin to the most serious burns, it could actually cause the most serious burns, it could break bones, cause welts to form, and, if used just right, cause a man’s heart to explode inside his chest.

Her prisoner was a heaving and bloody mess, covered in sweat and his own spittle. He hung limply from the chains, gasping for air and moaning softly.

Tarkin turned to the commander next to him, “Why did she stop”. The commander’s eyes were focused on the vital sign readouts in front of him. In a low voice he answered Tarkin, “Did you hear the change in pitch of the man’s cries? His brain was starting to become overwhelmed by the pain, it was beginning to numb it out. If he goes numb her punishments have less of an effect. She’s an expert at keeping a prisoner on the edge of agony. She’ll wait until he rouses and start again.”

Tarkin nodded his understanding and turned again to face the scene in the room before him.

Ailish’s pristine white shirt was splattered with blood, her face was too, but she had the calm look of a predator that has not begun to tire of their hunt. The man began to show a little more life, attempting to put his weight back on his feet rather than hang by his now mangled wrists. She stepped forward and grabbed the man’s hair and yanked his head up roughly. “You are to address me as Mistress or Mistress Orden, I’ll not tell you again. You’ll continue to suffer until you learn how to correctly address me. Understood?”

The man spat, it was ineffective and landed several inches in front of Ailish’s feet. Again, she laid into him with the stun rod. At one point Tarkin thought he heard ribs cracking through the speakers. After that Ailish gently caressed the man’s chest with the rod trailing it down his mid-section, lower and lower. His screams kept rising in octave with each inch lower the rod went, while blood filled welts appeared everywhere the rod had touched.

She was several inches below the man’s naval and stopped, holding the stun rod in one place, still causing the man no end of agony, “How do you address me, my pet?”

“M- mi- mistress” he gasped out as quickly as he could before resuming a low moan. As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Ailish removed the rod. “Good.” The man hung limply again from his wrists. His hair was drenched and dripping sweat, blood flowed all over him, his breaths were ragged.

“You are to answer all my questions and use my correct address with each answer. If you follow all my commands, my pet, you will be rewarded. If not, you will be disciplined.” She lightly touched the rod to the man’s left bicep; no marks appeared but the man screamed like he had been stabbed with a vibroknife.

“Do you understand?”

The man hesitated. Mistake. Ailish began seeking out areas on the man’s limbs and appendages that had heretofore been untouched by her stunner. He jerked and squealed. Finally, stuttering out. “Y- yes, mmmistress.” She stopped her assault on the man immediately.

“Now you know the price of hesitation. See to it that you don’t do it again, understand?”

“Yes, mistress!” the man nearly swallowed his tongue to get the answer out as fast as possible.

Ailish nodded in satisfaction. She grabbed the man’s hair again, bringing his head up so she could stare into his eyes. “You are to stand up straight until I come back. Keep your head up. If you drop your head, I’ll know, and the pain will begin immediately until you correct your posture. Do you understand, my pet?” She was calm, her orders delivered in little more than a whisper. Her cold voice and demeanor sent an involuntary shiver through Tarkin, the commander beside him visibly shuddered.

“I understand, mistress Orden.”

She nodded.

The man gathered his courage, “Mistress?” Slap! Ailish’s gloved hand quickly snapped to the man’s cheek causing a red handprint to form.

“I did not say you could speak of your own volition.” She calmly intoned, “You have not earned that right.”

Without a backwards glance she picked up her tunic and left the room heading immediately for Int 3.

The light from the hall was bright, silhouetting Ailish menacingly as she entered the dimly lit room. She nodded at Commander Tabor, “Use the shock each time he drops his head”. The commander nodded, “Yessir”.

Ailish removed her gloves and absently wiped her forehead, when she saw the blood on her hands from that action, she turned again to Commander Tabor, “Is Con 2 open?” The commander quickly queried the system. “Yessir, it’s not scheduled for use until three hours from now.”

“Fine, see to it I have a fresh change of clothes.”

“Already done sir, I’ll place them inside the room as you enter.”

Ailish nodded. She glanced once in Tarkin’s direction, meeting his frigid blue eyes with her cold green ones. She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away; that last motion made her look old and weary.

Ailish left Int 3 with Commander Tabor in tow. A few moments later, Tarkin left and quickly entered Int 2 while both Ailish and Tabor were inside Confession room 2 - Con2.

Commander Tabor placed the fresh clothes on a table inside the room and took his leave. Inside this interrogation room was a shower often used for water torture of other prisoners, she turned the hot water on and stepped underneath the stream fully clothed.

Tarkin watched with an odd fascination. Director Orden seemed to be lost in her own world as she washed the blood off her face and forearms then she raked her hands through her hair several times. After a few moments she began to strip down until she was wearing nothing. He couldn’t see much underneath the water, but he did notice that her form was toned.

She gave herself a final rinse and turned off the water. Striding to the table with the fresh clothes on it, Ailish also found a towel. She grabbed it and as she did, she noticed a small green light above one of the cameras in the room. Ailish turned to the one-way mirror. Tarkin could swear she knew exactly where he was and was staring into his soul as she asked softly, “Enjoy the show?” He almost smirked in response. Almost. But he continued to watch, curious about this woman who seemingly held the most valuable secrets of the empire and did not seem to be intimidated by him.

Ailish turned her back to the mirror and began toweling off. Scars covered her entire back. She had been tortured herself once upon a time. Tarkin looked quickly away. Seeing her naked had not affected him in the slightest. Men and women in the Imperial Navy used shared washrooms all the time. But the scars, seeing those had felt like he had spied on a very personal and intimate moment. He almost felt shame. Then he remembered his own scars, and straightened back up, ignoring the fleeting emotions his view of her scars had caused, and continued to watch.

Even now she was calmly dressing, moving, he suspected just as she would alone, with no regard how her movements and positions could affect someone watching and they were affecting him. He focused on breathing deeply and slowing his heartrate as he watched, his eyes taking in her lithe and unhurried grace. When she was fully dressed, she left the room, nearly bumping into Tarkin as he was emerging from the adjacent one.

“In answer to your question, Director:” Tarkin paused and very intentionally looked Ailish up and down with his blue eyes of ice, “Quite.”

She stared back, looking the Grand Moff in the eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment. Finally, she looked away. Good, he thought, I have some effect on the woman. Her gaze flickered up to his for a brief moment once again, “You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked softly then quickly looked away down the hallway. Any trace of emotion that had flickered across her face was snuffed out almost instantly.

Ailish didn’t give Tarkin time to respond. She went back into Int 3 and with Commander Tabor looked over the recordings of her session with the prisoner. She was focusing on his vitals each time she spoke. The she re-watched everything with an emphasis on the prisoner’s physical reactions each time he spoke. Tarkin sat back in a corner observing, chewing his lower lip, trying to remember if he had ever seen this woman before. If he had, he concluded, it must have been for the briefest of moments as he did not recognize her in the slightest.

Throughout those few hours that Ailish was gone, the man’s head only dropped down three times. Immediately it did, a jolt of electricity was sent through the chains of his manacles until he managed to straighten up. In the meantime, Ailish looked to Tarkin, “I intend to sleep on a cot two floors up until morning. I will resume his questioning at 0600. If you wish to retire now and return then, I assure that I will not go against your wishes and interrogate him without your presence.”

His voice was a lilting song, the song of a snake singing sweetly before it strikes. “My dear Director, I am here not only to get information from this prisoner, but also to investigate your methods. For whatever reason you always seem to have all the results, answers, and secrets. I am here to see how you do it.”

Ailish shrugged, “I have patience, your Excellency. Patience, judgement, and timing are the tools required to elicit confessions to the questions we ask. Most others lack the patience element. That’s all it is that I do.”

Tarkin nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, but your reports show that you know more than just what you can get from prisoners.”

Ailish smiled a smile without warmth, “I have spies everywhere, your Excellency. No one is safe, not even you.” a momentary flash of shock flitted across Tarkin’s features. Ailish noticed. Damn. I must be tired if I let that slip.

In an attempt to explain her slip up, she continued, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Excellency, it’s that people are honest until they’re not. One day things change for many people. It may not ever happen to you, but it may happen to someone who meets with you. Someone tries to bribe you or swindle you or worse, and while you never give in, that someone is a traitor to the Empire and must be dealt with. You are in a position of great power, sir. Many will try to use that to their advantage.”

His voice sounding a bit angrier than he intended, Tarkin asked, “So you’re having me watched?”

Ailish met his gaze with her own cold, steady one. Tarkin stared back, his face impassive, yet she could see the dark swirls of fury behind those eyes, swirls that crystallized in intensity with her next word, “Absolutely.”

A brief pause accompanied that pronouncement, neither of the pair moved. They were like two nexu come across each other in the wilderness. Staring into each other’s eyes one could only feel but not hear the low growl emanating from the both of them. Either they would turn and walk away from each other, or the tension would build until the silence was ripped apart by their wild screams as they shredded each other with their claws and teeth.

Then Ailish looked away and sighed bursting the tension, “Ah, but you mentioned you would be sticking by my side to see my methods. Come, I’m sure they can pull out another cot for you.” She briefly gestured down the hallway to the turbolift and headed in that direction, not looking back to see if he was following. The clacking of his durasteel boots a pace behind her told her all she needed to know.

Chapter Text

Inside the lift Tarkin gathered his thoughts. Damn her for spying on him, the brazen - he paused a long time before thinking the most uncivilized word to grace his vocabulary - cunt. Immediately he thought the word he recoiled from himself, and damn him for letting her get under his skin.

A moment later, his mental composure now fixed in the same mask as his external features, he asked, “Director Orden, would you please explain to me this method you are using on this prisoner and why you chose it over others?”

The turbolift doors opened, they had already reached the desired floor and were walking down another long hallway to a room at the end.

As they walked, Ailish furrowed her brows while she wracked her brain for the most economical way to describe her choices and actions. The Grand Moff would brook no less than concise answers. “The method of torture depends on the personality of the prisoner and the events that have led up to their rebellion. It’s easiest to determine the best course of action the more we know about the subject.”

“As an example, last month we caught a Rebel who tried to blow up one of the Empire’s grain import facilities. As soon as we caught her, we ran her chain code. Turns out her son died during a prison riot in an Imperial Labor camp on Wobani.”

Ailish opened a door at the end of the hallway, there were regulation night clothes folded atop a basic cot with a single pillow and blanket. Aside from the cot, there was a refresher in the corner and a washstand with a few basic toiletries. The room was not furnished much better than those in many Imperial prisons, but Ailish didn’t seem to notice as she sat on the edge of the cot, removed her knee-high boots and resumed her story.

“Her son wasn’t really any sort of offender. He had been caught gambling with a group of pirates at a cantina and sentenced to six months labor. He was due to be released three days after the riot which killed him.”

Ailish paused again, the story was getting too long, she had to end it quick, she could already feel the older man’s growing boredom. “When they brought her in for interrogation, I befriended the woman. She wanted someone to pay for the death of her son and didn’t much care who. The Rebels easily used that to sway her to sabotage our facility. After a few hours with her, listening to her story, I learned the names of all the rebels she spoke with and, unbeknownst to her, I learned where they hailed from.”

During the story Tarkin’s gaze had increasingly become the unfocused sight of someone not bothering to pay much attention until Ailish’s last sentence. He merely glanced at her and raised an eyebrow a fraction.

“She described what they were wearing, down to the pins of a sand dune with a river flowing from it.” Ailish’s eyes took on a faraway look, “We raided that rebel base on Jakku a week later and confiscated quite a bit of equipment and personnel.” as an afterthought Ailish added, “Then the interrogations began in earnest.”

Tarkin dismissed her last statement with a small wave of his hand, “And the woman? The ‘not rebel’” his voice dripped with sarcasm here, “What did you do with her?”

Ailish snapped her head up, coming back from her own lost thoughts. “I terminated her, your excellency, personally.”

Tarkin’s right hand briefly travelled to his chin as he thought about these events. Finally, he spoke, in a voice as brittle as a twig in the desert, “So, you research your criminals and tailor your interrogations to their personalities and experiences. Seems a lot of time is wasted in this effort, Director. And you haven’t answered my first question to completion.”

Ailish sighed, “This prisoner has an ego, he thinks he is courageous. He thinks that he cannot be broken. He is a fool with no fear and thinks he has nothing to lose. Those are the easiest, if most time consuming, to break. All I have to do is make him fear me deep in his soul. Once that has been accomplished, he will sing for me like a Neimoidian Pylat bird to avoid the pain I shall bring to him if he does not do as I wish.

“As for the waste of time, I told you before, sir, this work requires patience.” she glared at Tarkin, “Patience is the reason I have the reputation I do, I can wait for the information to come to me.

“You yourself are no stranger to patience, I believe as you are still waiting for DS-1 to be brought to completion and it has been many years. I hope you do not consider that time to have been a waste.”

Fury clouded Tarkin’s eyes once more, but he did not voice the question dancing on his lips. She had already admitted that she spied on him, to ask how she knew of the Death Star would only serve to boost her ego.

Maybe she didn’t see, or maybe she was intentionally ignoring the rage in his eyes, either way, Ailish brushed past him and pressed a button on the wall mounted comlink. “Commander Tabor?”

“Yessir?”

“Please have another cot room set up for his Excellency the Grand Moff immediately.”

“Y- y- yessir” the man stammered. Tarkin had the briefly amusing thought that he could hear the man’s salute from here.

After a moment of silence where both Ailish and Tarkin were digesting their own thoughts, Ailish’s stomach let out a long, low gurgle. A wry smile flickered across her face. “Are you hungry, sir?” she asked.

“No Director, there was sufficient food in the Intelligence Room to sustain me for the evening.”

She nodded and was about to press the comlink button once more when a halting knock at her door occurred.

“Enter.” both Tarkin and Ailish had said it at the same time. If she saw his momentary stern glare, she didn’t acknowledge it. Perhaps it’s better that she didn’t see it. He could have stabbed one of her pretty little green eyes out with that one.

Commander Tabor entered the room and snapped to attention. Ailish inclined her head to Tarkin, he merely closed his eyes briefly to say, it’s your game, dear, play it how you wish. She turned to Tabor, “Stand easy” Tabor did as instructed. “Is the Grand Moff’s room ready?”

“Y- yessir. B- but...”

She sighed, annoyed, “But what?”

Tabor fidgeted, “Well... it’s... it’s not very...”

“Oh do come out with it” Tarkin spat.

Commander Tabor swallowed, “It’s not a room fit for your station, your excellency. In fact, it is no better than this room here.”

“Hmpf. Do you think I don’t know how to ‘rough it’ a little for the Empire?”

“N-no sir.”

“Then I am sure the accommodations will be adequate.” he paused, he’d heard Ailish’s stomach growling again, “Commander,” he didn’t know how, but the young man straightened up even more “After you have shown me to my quarters, please bring some food for the Director here. She seems to have worked up an appetite.”

The commander nodded, “Y-yessir.” and opened the door to escort the senior officer to his prepared quarters.

Tarkin turned to Ailish before leaving, he looked as if he was about to say something, but he caught a glimpse of her with her mask down, tired, lost in her own thoughts, and could almost feel her immense fatigue settling into his bones. He decided against further conversation and left the woman alone to her thoughts and nightmares.

Chapter Text

It took eight days to break Rebel Fleet Commander Solon. Director Orden was the only one who had any physical contact with the man. Her sessions with him were long, grueling, and more often than not she emerged covered in his blood. Whenever she deemed his injuries too serious to leave him with, she would get a basic med kit and tend his wounds. Just enough to ensure he was still suffering but would not die or get infected from his wounds.

She also brought him his scant meals. First she made him eat off the floor like a dog. It was the middle of the second day of interrogations when she let him down from his chains for the first time.

Ailish could see that her prey was weak from lack of food and water, he needed it, but not too much, she didn’t want him regaining any serious strength. Ailish took a strap from the table and snapped it, Solon jerked at the sound then moaned from the agony the sudden movement had caused him.

“Are you hungry, my pet?”

The man nodded vigorously, then, remembering, quickly said “Yes Mistress.”

Ailish cast her focus on the leather in her hands turning it this way and that, “Tsk tsk. I should punish that hesitation, but you have been good today, I will let it go.” She walked up to Solon showing him the leather. “This is a collar, my pet. You will wear this and I will permit you to eat.” His eyes flashed rebellion, but he quickly said “Thank you, Mistress Orden”.

“Don’t think that you will overpower me, my pet” she added extra emphasis to the last words, she could see they stoked his fire of rebellion. Good, bring it to the surface now, the sooner it rises, the sooner I can pull all your fight out of you.

She wrapped the leather around his neck and pulled it through the loop at the end of it. It cinched down close but not tight on his neck... yet. He could still easily breathe.

Holding the leash in one hand and her stun rod in the other, Ailish nodded to the mirror, signaling that she was ready to have the prisoner’s manacles released. As soon as his hands fell, she yanked the leash and cut off his air supply. He was also jerked downwards by his neck and landed on his knees before her.

Tarkin shifted in his seat as he stared through the mirror, he could see the man tensing for an attack. It had only been a day and half, and while he had to admit the Directors use of the stun rod was the best of anyone he had ever seen let alone heard of, Tarkin thought the prisoner had more than enough strength left to overpower the woman. Foolish.

Commander Tabor noticed the slight movement and bravely broke the silence, “D-don’t worry, sir. She sees it too.” Tarkin did not dare take his eyes away from the sight in front of him, and the commander continued. “This is my least favorite part. She’s going to get hurt today. But he... he’ll pay for it. Still, I hate seeing how much she puts herself on the line for this. It’s only way with the ones like him though.”

Tarkin leaned forward slightly, he was holding his breath again. The prisoner bunched his leg muscles and leaped at Ailish from his position on the floor aiming to tackle her. She easily side stepped the man’s widespread arms and yanked at the leash again, choking him and stopping his momentum mid-air. He dropped like a stone and writhed as she jabbed at his ribs with the stunner. Pop! Tarkin definitely heard one break this time.

Without a thought for his pain, the man tried again, leaping and throwing a punch at Ailish simultaneously. He made contact, a glancing blow from his fist to her stomach. It knocked her off balance enough that his next punch landed square on her face. Her left eyebrow split and was beginning already to weep blood down her porcelain face in a small river. She quickly recovered and dealt the man two swift electrified swats with the stun rod causing him to stumble backwards.

He’ll get clever soon enough, girl, you’re playing a dangerous game.

As if hearing Tarkin’s thoughts, the prisoner’s gaze alighted on the thing connecting him to his captor: his leash. He grabbed it through his pain and yanked with all his might. Now she was within arm’s length and Solon quickly had both his hands around her throat. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth, “You die here, bitch!” The last word was laced with so much venom and hatred that he nearly let her go from wave of agony it elicited from his broken rib.

Tarkin’s heart was beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. He had to spend longer than he liked to calm it. What did he care if this officer died of her foolhardiness? The prisoner would not escape. The interrogation would continue. Perhaps he would take it over personally. Why then was he affected this way?

Ailish did not scream or struggle as the massive hands began to crush her windpipe. Quick as a pit viper striking, she brought the stun rod in her left hand to the man’s genitals and twisted it, just so. His scream was so high pitched as to be nearly inaudible. Within moments, he passed out from the pain, blood soaked his trousers.

The moment Solon passed out, Ailish began coughing, the rough rasp of someone gasping for much needed air.

Tarkin shuddered, gooseflesh raising on the nape of his neck and forearms. He’d never heard a scream so... so... indescribable. He had to give it to the woman in the room before him. Perhaps she did have a plan.

When the man awoke, he was again hanging from his damaged wrists in the center of the room. He moaned the ceaseless moan of agony. In some deep corner of his mind he realized that some time must have passed for Ailish was in a pristine uniform in front of him, her eyebrow cleaned and bandaged.

“We will try again later, pet.” She glanced coldly at Solon’s crotch. “You only have one chance left to get this right.” With those words she got up and left the room.

“You only have one chance left to get this right” Both Tarkin and Tabor instinctually gripped their thighs together as they heard those words uttered with clinical precision. Neither man looked at the other. Both were certain the other’s face was just as ashen as their own.

“You’ve quite the skill set, Director.” Tarkin stated as Ailish entered the room. She glanced at him for a moment as if she barely heard his comment, her green eyes dark with her own contemplation. Tarkin noticed dark circles beneath her eyes. This torture was taking a toll on her as well.

She sat down at Tarkin’s table. “He’s almost there. The rest of the training will smooth him out.” she stated flatly. Tarkin could hear exhaustion creeping in.

“You took a great risk, letting him loose like that.”

“Yes, and I’ll have a new scar to show for it”

“Oh? Not going to have it fixed?”

“Scars are reminders of lessons learned.” She absentmindedly chewed her bottom lip for a moment before adding, “This one is a reminder not to rush things because the boss is watching.”

“And the scars on your back?” He regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips. She gave him such a glare that he instinctively clenched his legs again. How did this woman cause him this discomfort? With a word he could have her shackled just as easily as the man in the adjacent room, she was nothing, should be nothing to him, and yet...

“Those” she said, voice dripping with menace, “those are a reminder that giving someone your trust means you have given them the power to betray you.” She growled the last words and then sighed. All the fury of the moment leaving her body in that exhale. Right then, she looked nothing more than a tired and frail woman to Tarkin. Someone whose mask was slipping. He frowned.

She noticed his gaze but didn’t comment. Leaving her cup of caf untouched she rose, “Commander Tabor, I’m going to grab a few hours on my cot. I suggest you do so as well.”

“I am switching off duty in 20, Director. I’ll be fine until then.”

Ailish nodded her assent then headed out the door. She didn’t even bother to look at Tarkin to see what he would do.

He stayed in the Intelligence Room with Tabor, watching the young man work. The man was finally relaxing a bit and stopped stuttering so much when Tarkin asked a question. When it was time for Tabor to go off duty, he got up and smiled sheepishly at the Grand Moff. “I’m uh, going off-duty, sir. I’ll introduce you to my replacement. Um, if there’s anything you may want later, you can have Lt. Commander Ryson let me know and I’ll bring it when I switch back on.”

Grand Moff Tarkin sat back in his chair eyeing the young man. He was in his mid to late thirties, sandy blonde hair, and a decent frame. He was also a fine officer; he had been nothing but helpful and fulfilled his duties well despite his obvious nerves at having the Grand Moff scrutinize his every move. Tarkin would almost have smiled at the man - if he’d been part of his staff - almost. No one ever got to see him actually smile these days but some of his staff had learned to recognize when it might have been given. But here, with Tabor, Tarkin just nodded, “There is nothing I require at the moment Commander Tabor.”

The young man nodded. Just then the durasteel doors swished open and a vision of beauty in the black uniform of Naval Intelligence walked in. It was the kind of young beauty that men fought over, curves in all the right places, lips you could imagine doing filthy things to you, eyes that seemed to beg you to do filthy things to her. Tarkin mentally sighed, women like that were so tedious. Certainly enjoyable but, you never know who else they’ve been with that’s ready to defend their “honor”. He mentally sniggered at that thought. His face betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.

Commander Tabor quickly introduced his comrade, “Your Excellency, this is Lt. Commander Ryson, my replacement. She’s proficient with everything here and can answer any questions you may have in my absence.” The woman offered a quick salute to the Grand Moff, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your excellency” her voice was that sultry side of husky that most men fancied they liked. Tarkin briefly returned the salute, noticing how her eyes quickly roved over his body. He mentally sighed. Another who craves the intimacy of power.

Tabor quickly briefed Ryson on the particulars of what had taken place during her time off-shift then left.

“May I pour you a cup of caf, excellency?” Ryson asked sweetly as she began to set up at the instrument panels, moving in all the right ways to accentuate all of her features. She definitely had her uniform tailored to fit. But then, Director Orden’s uniform had also seemed to be tailored. What was the difference? Why was one uniform the definition of a - curse him for thinking such words - slut’s costume, while the other was perfectly professional and... attractive?

Ryson moved to stand in front of the window, looking at the prisoner. “I don’t see how torturing them like this gets the answers she wants. There are other,” she glanced sideways at Tarkin, her feathered eyelashes framing her deep azure blue eyes, “more fun ways to get information out of prisoners.”

Too much, too fast, girl. Though I suppose you rarely need tact to get what you want. Tarkin stood from his chair and eyed the woman coldly, “I will be retiring to the room beside Director Orden’s. If she returns before I do, make sure to call me. She is not to interrogate the prisoner without my being present. Do you understand Lt.?”

“O-of course, your excellency” her expression was slightly pained. Designed to elicit sympathy he suspected. He didn’t really care. He was tired and already tired of her.

Chapter Text

The rest of the days passed in relative sameness. Ailish brought the prisoner to heel, Commander Tabor answered all the Grand Moff’s questions, and Lieutenant Commander Ryson flirted incessantly with Tarkin - whenever Ailish was not in the room. Whenever the senior female was around, Ryson was the model of a perfect soldier. Breaks were few and far between for the prisoner as well as Ailish and Tarkin. The latter two were at least able to grab several uninterrupted hours of sleep in their cots each night, while the prisoner’s sleep was kept to the absolute minimum necessary to avoid having a psychotic episode.

The morning of the ninth day, Ailish began asking the prisoner questions, basic ones at first, name, rank, chain code, and the like. By mid-day she was able to get more detailed information on the size and makeup of the Rebel fleet in the sector where Solon had been stationed. She fed the man his lunch with her gloved hands. He took the food meekly, with a soft, “Thank you, Mistress” after each bite. She cooed softly to him and once told him that he was a good pet. The man actually smiled at the compliment and Tarkin found himself impressed that she literally had the man eating out of the palm of her hand.

As a reward for his good behavior, Ailish left the prisoner chained in a seated position at the table for a bit while she took a break to eat lunch herself.

She entered Intelligence Room 2 and immediately poured a cup of caf, opened a sandwich wrapper, and tore into the food like a ravenous Nexu. Tarkin mentally smiled at his analogy. She was indeed as deadly as such a beast. The past week had shown him that. For the past nine days she had completely commanded the interrogation, even going so far as to order – no, she did not go that far, though she came close – rather she told Tarkin what he should do expecting him to obey. Now it was time to test her loyalties.

Tarkin looked at her as she wolfed down another bite of food, “I would like to ask the prisoner a few questions.” It was a command. Will you relinquish your power as a good soldier or is this where we fight, I wonder?

Ailish heaved a sigh and swallowed her bite of food. Her gaze came slowly up from the food in front of her to meet Tarkin’s eyes. In that moment all that he saw was a tired woman. Weak. A moment ago she had been deadly, now she was pitiful. He had no pity to spare. How easily he switched from admiring her to thinking she was pathetic.

Gathering her thoughts Ailish spoke. Though her eyes betrayed her weariness, there was none of that in the hard tone of her voice. “That can be accomplished, sir. It will, however, take more time and training. If you wish it, then we should begin after lunch.”

“Why?” That single word spoke volumes. Was she smart enough to read it?

Economy of words she thought. “He is trained to see me as a friend now, more than a friend. I am a precious connection to him; he will do anything I say because he loves me. You he still hates. Next to the Emperor, you are the Empire. To have the symbol and focus of his hatred in the same room as him will most likely cause him to resist-”

Tarkin cut her off, “How long will it take?”

She eyed Tarkin, looking him up and down, her gaze having become fierce and intense. It was so much different than the way Ryson constantly eyed him. The latter had been obviously lascivious in her gaze, going almost so far as to lick her lips, but Orden, she was assessing something in him and he didn’t know what it was. It unnerved him a little until he dismissed the feeling with an air of annoyance. What did it matter what she was looking for?

After a few moments in which she sipped from her cup of caf and worried her bottom lip she spoke “I cannot guarantee less than two weeks, but I can have it done in eighteen days tops.”

“That is unacceptable, Director.” he met her gaze with his own impassive stare. His eyes poured forth ice, rigidity, and an unyielding standard that she was clearly failing. Something flitted quickly across her features. Anger? Frustration? Hatred? More than likely it was a mix of all three, Tarkin thought. It did not really matter, he wanted results, both from the prisoner, and from her.

She took a deep breath, “Patience, your excellency. That is what it takes to bring down any game. If you wish to rush it, I will obey your orders, but you risk spooking the prey.”

“Noted. Have the prisoner ready for me to interview tomorrow.” He appeared to be looking past Ailish, as if she were nothing but a simple subordinate he had just ordered to bring him a fresh cup of caf. He was, however, focusing on her in his periphery, she pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. Then slowly she began nodding her head.

“I didn’t hear your reply, Director.” he snapped his voice like a whip. To her credit, the woman did not flinch. Tarkin was simultaneously impressed and frustrated by that fact.

“If you will permit me to finish my meal, sir, I believe that I can arrange an interview today that would be just as effective as if we put it off until tomorrow.”

“Oh? I thought you said-”

“I said I needed a two-week minimum to guarantee his full cooperation without any tricks or outright stubbornness. That does not mean that interviewing him now would net you nothing, sir. It just might be more difficult to decode or test for traps.”

Tarkin seethed inside. How dare she - the bitch - interrupt me? She had done it so swiftly, without a second thought or a stutter or... an apology. He stared at her with his raptor gaze. She would feel his displeasure, he would bring her to heel just as she done to the prisoner in the next room.

She blinked several times at his glare. Finally, she looked down as the realization dawned on her, “Forgive my interruption, your Excellency.”

“See to it that it does not happen again, Director Orden.” His voice was ice freezing into a rock and separating it from the mountain it had rested on for millennia.

She nodded, quickly wolfed down the rest of her meal and stood, “If you will give me an hour, sir, then I think we will be as ready as can be on such a short time frame.”

“One hour, Director.” With his pronouncement, she knew she would not be given a second more. She saluted smartly and went to the next room.

Ryson sauntered to the table where Tarkin sat, emboldened by Ailish’s dressing down, she stood close too close to Tarkin and leaned forward, ostensibly to grab a peach from the center bowl, but Tarkin suspected it was more to show off certain of her assets to him. “You know, sir, I’m sure I could get out of the prisoner the information you want.” She bit into the fruit, juice dripping down her lower lip before she licked it with her tongue.

“Is that so?” He did not even bother to look at the beautiful woman next to him who was using every trick in her book to seduce him. Even after the grueling schedule of the past nine days, Tarkin was still enthralled by how masterfully Ailish had tamed her charge and only had eyes for the scene unfolding in the next room.

Ryson huffed a little and moved away from the table, accentuating the sway of her hips as she walked. If Tarkin noticed, he gave no outward sign. He was too busy watching Ailish as she sat next to her prisoner. She stroked his hair and whispered in his ear, “My pet,” her voice was low and crackly through the speakers in the intelligence room, but he could hear every softly spoken word clearly. “I have a surprise for you.” The man looked up at her expectantly. “You are to have another visitor.” The man’s eyes widened. “I want you on your best behavior, my pet. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Mistress Orden.” came the swift reply.

“This is a very special honor, my pet. You must not reflect poorly on me. Do you understand, my pet?” Her voice was encouraging and sweet as sugar.

“I understa-” Ailish snapped his leash, effectively cinching his collar, cutting off his air supply.

“I mean it. This is very important to me. No matter what happens, you must behave.” Her voice had a hint of panic in it. Tarkin could see that it had the desired effect on the prisoner as she loosened the collar. The man was in tears.

“I will be good. I promise, Mistress. Please let me prove I can be good for you.” he begged, hands on her forearm, pleading for her favor.

She smiled at him and stroked his hair. “I’m sure you will, my pet. This visitor will ask you some questions, very similar to the ones I have asked you. You are to answer him truthfully and completely without hesitation.” the man was nodding his eager assent “If you hesitate, lie, or try to deceive in any way, I will know, and I will punish you, my pet.” In that last phrase her voice had turned from a soft caress to the same whip snap sharpness that Tarkin had used on her earlier. Tarkin was impressed that she had honed her voice as a weapon quite so well.

The man groveled more and Ailish soothed his fears of this new and mysterious visitor as she combed his hair, washed him with a cloth, and dressed him in a clean set of prisoner’s clothes. Solon was beside himself with pride and joy that he had pleased his mistress so well that she should lavish such care on him. He loved her. He would do anything for her. She was his mistress and he was her pet. He did not have to think, he only had to do as she commanded. It was so freeing to leave all the decisions to her.

“I have a present for you, my pet.” Ailish said sweetly after she had chained him back up.

“A present, Mistress?” The man stood on his tip toes, taking as much weight as he could off his wrists. He understood that his mistress wanted him there, and that if he did what she asked, as soon as she asked, he would be rewarded with a kind word and sometimes even the touch of her calloused hands. He shivered with the thought of her tenderness.

Ailish smiled warmly at him. The smile went all the way to her eyes. She pulled out a long, black silk handkerchief. Solon looked confused, “I don’t understand, Mistress.”

“Your visitor is shy, my pet. Would you wear this blindfold for me? It’s my own personal kerchief, but I’ll give it to you if you’ll wear it for me.”

Solon tingled with the thought that he would be able to have something of his Mistress’. He was so overwhelmed he began to tear up. “Of course I’ll wear it for you, Mistress” he immediately said.

Ailish looked visibly relieved, “Oh thank you, my pet. You have no idea how important this is to me that you behave. I believe in you.” She walked behind Solon and tied the kerchief around him as a blindfold. He could smell her scent on it, roses, sandalwood, and something indescribably hers alone.

Once Ailish verified that the kerchief was positioned correctly, she nodded at the window then turned back to her charge. “He is coming now, my pet. I will be here with you the whole time.” She placed her hands on his waist and he shuddered with joy at her light touch.

“Th- thank you, Mistress” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

The durasteel doors whooshed open and Grand Moff Tarkin strode in, his boots clacking in military step. Now he was the hunter, stalking his prey, his pulse thrummed, and his eyes sparkled fiercely with the thrill of the hunt. He focused his raptor gaze on the prisoner, smiling a wicked grin as he approached the blindfolded man.

At the sight of Tarkin, Ailish’s heart began to beat faster. It was here, in this same room that she had... no, now was not the time for remembrances. She pushed everything out of her mind except the reason for this moment, the interrogation of the rebel prisoner.

Tarkin approached Solon slowly taking in every minute movement of the prisoner. His wrists adjusting in the chains, his ribs expanding and contracting with each breath, the small shivers of pleasure at having Ailish’s comforting hands on his waist.

Tarkin stopped directly in front of Solon, he could smell the man. Ailish had cleaned him with a cloth, but the subtle smells of fear-sweat and the coppery tang of blood lingered. Tarkin inhaled deeply, he looked at Ailish appreciatively. “You have trained him well, my dear.” His silky voice sent shivers down both Solon’s and Ailish’s spines.

The prisoner could not fail to notice the address, so similar to the one Ailish used for him. Now he knew why she had wanted him on his best behavior. This man was her master. Her master. Who was her master? It did not matter, did it? His job was to please his master, Mistress Orden. But... there was something that nagged at him. It itched, like a cat at the door trying to get out.

Ailish felt it, felt the man stiffen with thought. She flashed a warning glance to Tarkin and gave her head a brief shake before returning her attention to her prisoner. “My pet?”

“Y- yes, Mistress?” his breathing was turning ragged with stress.

“You need to be on your best behavior. I don’t want to punish you. Don’t make me punish you, my pet.” Her voice was tinged with fear and all thoughts of anything but pleasing his mistress left Solon’s mind, he had to protect her. He didn’t want her master to punish her for his failures. He would do anything that her master asked because it was what she had asked him to do. He drew comfort from her near physical presence.

Ailish felt the man relax and gave a subtle nod to Tarkin.

“How shall I address him?”

Ailish thought how best to respond. She wanted to show Tarkin proper respect, however telling Solon exactly who her “master” was didn’t seem like the best idea. “He responds to ‘pet’, my lord.” There, that was enough to show he was a man of power, even if it was the wrong honorific.

Tarkin made a show of rubbing his chin with his hand. The prisoner could not see it, but he could hear the skin scraping over stubble. “Well then, pet, tell me, what were you called?”

“Solon, sir? M-master?” the last word came out in a squeak of uncertainty.

Ailish breathed in his ear, “Good, you may indeed call him Master, you are to treat him with the same reverence with which you lavish on me. You are being so good, my pet.”

Tarkin asked more questions while circling the pair. Then he proceeded to sit at the chair on the opposite side of the table from where Solon hung.

Solon was as accommodating as Ailish could ever have hoped for. Right up until the last question. Tarkin had led the man through a string of questions, ferreting out rebel spies the man knew of in various locations both new and far. Finally, it was time for the last piece of info he thought the man may have had access to, “Lastly, pet, who is the rebel spy on the Grand Moff’s corvette?”

Solon opened his mouth to speak, and then jerked, it hit him like diving into the glacial lakes of Hoth. The man in front of him, that snake-like, silky voice asking him all those questions, his mistress’ master, it was him, Tarkin, the enemy, the enemy. How could he have given him so much? He had been so conditioned that he could not have betrayed his mistress, that’s how. But. But she was Tarkin’s pet. That meant... that could only mean... What have I done? His body slumped, he exhaled in one long rasping rattle, and moved no more.

Immediately, Ailish snapped at the window, the cuffs were released, and Solon dropped to the floor, dead as a stone. She began chest compressions and shot a command at Tarkin, “get over here and help me!” without thinking,

He bristled at her tone. How dare she? And yet, Tarkin did not hesitate to move to the floor beside her and take over the chest compressions while she began to breathe into the man’s lungs. It was several minutes before a med droid gained entry to the room. It quickly scanned the body while Ailish and Tarkin worked in tandem, each switching off the compressions. Each sweating profusely with the effort of trying to revive the prisoner.

“Status: ruptured heart, requires immediate surgery, this room will suffice, clear the body please.”

Ailish and Tarkin moved backwards, breathing heavily from their exertions, Tarkin glaring daggers at Ailish for her audacity in commanding him. And yet, I obeyed. What does that say about me?

The droid took over and began to perform emergency surgery on Solon. Three other droids arrived along with a doctor cleared to be in this sector for just such occasions. He quickly scanned a readout on a datapad that one of the droids handed him, then turned to Ailish and Tarkin, “it will be some time. I will have you summoned when we are done.”

The two senior officers nodded and left the room.

Chapter Text

“You’ve surpassed the rumors of your abilities. I am pleased with our results.” Tarkin was still a little out of breath from giving the prisoner chest compressions as he delivered his praise. It made him almost seem human.

Almost, except for one thing, “’Our’ results, sir?”

“Mm?” he arched an eyebrow, a challenge “I did get information out of the prisoner as well, did I not?”

Ailish glared at him, then, suddenly, shrugged and acquiesced. “You did, indeed, sir.” She appeared lost in her own thoughts for a minute. It gave her an air of aloofness, different from Tarkin’s but still slightly disquieting. One never seemed to know what was going on in the whirls of her mind and where she would emerge. “Sir, even if they revive him, I don’t think we will get any more out of him. I intend to write up my report for the Emperor today.”

“You will deliver it to me, and I will take it to his Majesty.”

Ailish’s body went rigid. There it was, the bastard’s ambition getting in the way, her way. She eyed him coldly and saluted “Yessir”. If ever a salute were a curse word, hers was. Even Tarkin could feel it.

He returned the salute with a smirk of self-satisfaction. He chuckled mentally at Ailish, Silly little fool. You may be an excellent interrogator, but you don’t play the game well at all. The rewards of this day shall be mine.

After briefing Lieutenant Commander Ryson on the prisoner’s future care should he be revived, Ailish headed for the turbolift. She took no notice of Tarkin as he scrutinized her. She was lost in her own thoughts again. Of course, he would swoop in like a vulture to take the credit. So how to be recognized while still giving Tarkin a report he can take to Palpatine?

The ride up the lift was quiet as each occupant was lost in their own thoughts. Tarkin already wording his report while Ailish was devising a plan to receive the credit she was due. When the doors opened for them to exit, Ailish felt as if a weight had dropped from her shoulders. Only to be immediately replaced by a new one as Tarkin ordered, “You will deliver your report to me no later than 1900 this evening, Director. I shall handle the matter moving forward.” He confidently strode away down the hall, his boots clacking with the sharp ring of authority.

Kriff! That moves up the timeline.

As soon as Tarkin had disappeared through a door that led to one of the building’s landing pads, Ailish headed directly for her office. She passed through the antechamber and saw Lieutenant. Dalrup working studiously at his desk. The moment he saw her he rose and saluted. She returned the salute and he stood at attention. “I need a large pot of caf and a set of clean clothes. I am not to be bothered save by you bringing those items to me.” The young man nodded. “And this is most important Lieutenant,” Ailish brought her penetrating gaze full force on the man. Dalrup swallowed afraid of the size of the task she was about to set on him, “I need a meeting with his Majesty at 1700 hours tonight. Make it happen. And if Grand Moff Tarkin gets wind of it, you will be looking for a new career.” To his credit, Dalrup didn’t faint right away though all the blood did seem to drain from his face. He just nodded with a smart “yessir” and set about his tasks.

With that Ailish retreated to her office, everything was perfectly in place just as she’d ordered, and began to work on her report. Her report was done at 1613, just enough time for her to shower in the small refresher of her office and put on the crisp uniform.

Dalrup had not disappointed her. She did not know how he had done it, but he had procured her the meeting she wanted and had procured a non-Naval Intelligence vehicle to take her to the appointment so that none would be the wiser.

Director Orden gathered her thoughts as she walked down the long hallway to the Emperor’s private office. She always enjoyed her meetings with the man. There was something about him that set her on edge and as a result, made her feel alive. She always had the feeling that running the Empire was a game to the Emperor, just as ferreting out secret information was a game to her. She was merely one of his pieces. A deadly one for sure, the Spider Queen people called her behind her back. Still, her webs of intrigue were nothing to those of Emperor Sheev Palpatine and it was always a part of the game to avoid getting stuck in any of his webs.

“Come, come, my girl. It has been far too long since we have spoken. I’m told you have important news for me.” The Emperor’s voice was creaky, yet strong. It was an odd combination, Ailish thought, but then, she too had many juxtapositions.

“Your Majesty, thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.” She could see the old man smile beneath his hood as she spoke.

As she approached, Emperor Palpatine extended his arms and embraced Ailish briefly before holding her at arms’ length examining her. Curious, he always seemed to smell of ozone.

“I always have time for my Mistress of Secrets, my Spider Queen.” Ah yes, he called her that to her face, she had almost forgotten, but she enjoyed the nickname, she felt she had earned it and was pleased the Emperor used it as a compliment, most of the time. “You have a new scar,” he said, eyeing the small scar running through her eyebrow, “Such a pity. What lesson this time?”

“Don’t let pressure force you to rush a result. Though I’m afraid I very quickly made the same mistake again.”

“Oh? Walk with me and tell me about our rebel prisoner.” He motioned to his royal guards to back off far enough to be outside of hearing range. During the next two hours Ailish and the Emperor conversed and walked. His ability to perceive her subtleties of language and expression helped speed past details others would get caught up in. She spoke of the procedures used to break Solon, of the questions she put to him, of the questions Tarkin put to him, and of his collapse, apparently of a... broken heart.

The Emperor chuckled at the last bit. “Ah, young love.” he said cryptically.

“Your Majesty?” Ailish allowed her confusion to show.

The Emperor turned his golden gaze on her, “Your prisoner loves his symbol of freedom: The Rebel Alliance.” he spat those last words, “It was his first love. By your own words, you had become his second love. You broke him so that he no longer associated you with the enemy of the first. When he finally realized who was asking the final question, he was overcome with feelings of guilt for betraying his first love, but to withhold that information was to betray his second. His poor heart couldn’t take it and it burst. Such agony.” He said those last words as though he were tasting a fine wine.

“You did well, Ailish Orden.”

She bowed, “Your words humble me. I deeply regret that I was unable to get the last answer from him, though the onsite doctor says he may be able to save the man.”

Palpatine flicked his hand dismissively, “No. He will not live, I have foreseen it. That is not your fault, my child, nor is it Tarkin’s.” He turned to her, “And now I believe you have a meeting with the Grand Moff. You had better enter before you are much later.”

Ailish had been so engrossed in their conversation and her own thoughts she had not noticed where the Emperor had led during their walk. She saw now that she was in front of Grand Moff Tarkin’s office doors.

Smiling to herself and shaking her head at her lack of attention, Ailish bowed once more to the Emperor. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

She turned and approached the doors; they whooshed open swiftly. Tarkin was behind his desk studying a datapad. He did not look up as she entered. “You are late.” He said matter-of-factly.

“Ah, Wilhuff, that was my fault. I do not walk as swiftly as I used to.” Ailish could hear the catty smile in the man’s voice, “I trust you will not take out this lapse on my Mistress of Secrets.”

Immediately Palpatine had spoken, Tarkin rose to his feet and bowed deeply. “Of course not, Majesty. I had not realized she had an appointment with you prior to her meeting with me.” He glared at Ailish for a brief moment. Oh, he was going to make her pay for this embarassment, not now. Possibly not even anytime soon. Like Ailish, he had also learned patience over the course of his career, and he was going to exercise a considerable amount in preparing her punishment for this insult.

“Well then, I shall leave my two best soldiers to find ways to put the information the rebel gave us to the best use.”

It was only after Palpatine had left the room that Ailish noted how cold it had gotten.

If looks could kill, Ailish would have been strung up and sliced to bits, death by a thousand cuts. She could feel Tarkin’s seething hatred though he quickly masked his face to one of indifference. “Well, is there really anything for us to discuss, my dear? After all, I was present for the entire interrogation, and it seems the Emperor has had his full report. You may leave.” He lazily waved a hand, dismissing her.

Ailish, her face impassive, gave a smart salute, “Thank you for your time, Excellency” turned, and left the room, with the noise of the durasteel doors closing punctuating her exit.

Chapter Text

How had he never noticed her presence at these meetings? Ailish was sitting in her usual chair and Tarkin realized that it was indeed her usual chair. He had seen her there countless times but had never paid her any notice. She rarely spoke in these meetings, yet she was always in attendance, watching with her calculating eyes, listening to every word. It unnerved him that he had for so long, never registered her as a true player in the game. His whole career was built on never underestimating his rivals, and that was almost certainly what she was.

She stood, as did everyone else when he entered, and saluted him respectfully, her face betraying nothing of the thoughts beneath.

Tarkin saluted back to the room and took his customary chair, on the Emperor’s right hand. He steepled his fingers and brought them to his mouth as he lost himself in his thoughts.

As everyone sat down, they began their private conversations anew. Everyone was whispering, just loud enough for everyone else to overhear if they were listening, “Do you know why the last-minute meeting?” “Not a clue. We haven’t had a big loss though.” “We haven’t had a satisfying win either.” “Maybe he’s got a new plan.” “It’s Ascension Week, I’ll bet it’s about the Empire Day ball.” The idle chit chat droned on for a few minutes more.

The noise level in the room began to rise as whispers gave way to normal talking voices. It was then that the double doors behind the Emperor’s chair opened and the man himself flanked by his royal guards walked into the room. Everyone stood and bowed deeply with a chorus of “Your Majesty”. He flicked his hand, a small impatient gesture, and sat down. It was then that everyone noticed the breathing. Lord Vader was present as well standing tall behind the Emperor, his faithful guard dog.

Many of the men in the room fidgeted as they sat down nervously at this development. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees and some of the men shuddered. There were a few though who gave the illusion of being at ease. Tarkin noticed that Director Orden did not seem to be affected by this turn of events in the slightest. Had she known? Impossible, he had not known, and if the Emperor did not tell him, then he did not tell anyone.

“Each of you in turn, report.” The last ‘t’ was pronounced with great venom. The Emperor turned to the man across from Ailish. “Admiral Motti, start.” The man rose, bowed again to the Emperor, and began to relate how the war against the rebels was proceeding in his sector. It was not good. The rebels had captured a fuel depot, and raided its supplies before blowing it up and rendering it next to useless.

The next man in line stood, he was a Commodore, the lowest ranked man present, save for the officers’ aides. He was standing in for an Admiral who had been injured in an assassination attempt and was still receiving medical treatment. Notwithstanding, the report from that sector went well as did several others after. All in all, it was a mixed bag with successes slightly outweighing failures.

Tarkin had been skipped, everyone assumed it was because he briefed the Emperor privately and on items above even their pay grade. It was also curious that Ailsih did not stand. No one seemed to pay it any note, except Tarkin - who scrutinized her like a cat looking at a meal it wasn’t sure it wanted yet - and Director Krennic.

Krennic muttered something to the man next to him. The man shrugged and resumed his posture of respect. Tarkin scowled, Krennic was a disrespectful menace, at least the woman had the ability to maintain decorum in public.

“I believe Director Krennic has something additional to say.” The voice was deep, Vader’s. At the first syllable uttered in the stark silence of the room, nearly everyone jumped in their seat.

Emperor Palpatine turned his red-rimmed, golden gaze towards Krennic. “Have you something to add to your report, Director?” he slowly enunciated each syllable of Krennic’s title.

Krennic stammered, “N-no your majesty.” There was a slight lisp to his voice that he could never fully hide. Tarkin always had a mental smile at the weakness.

Vader strode forward, “Then perhaps you would care to share with the rest of the room, what you shared with Admiral Comeg.” It was not a question.

Krennic swallowed and stood slowly. “I- I was just saying,” the lisp was becoming more pronounced as Krennic’s agitation increased, “that it’s curious” he shot a glance in Ailish’ direction, “that we never hear from Director Orden in these meetings.” He made to sit back down and when no one stopped him he almost collapsed back into his chair.

Ah, Krennic was a fool, but at least he had asked the question that had been burning on Tarkin’s lips the entire time. Such a useful fool.

The Emperor cackled at the remark, and instead of easing the tension in the room, that ratcheted it up to a new level. “Does it make sense for my Spy Master to spill her secrets?” The Emperor let the question hang. “But perhaps you doubt that she belongs here.” he looked at each of the men in the room in turn. “I can assure you all, Director Orden is quite useful to the Empire. I daresay that her talent in ferreting out secrets is surpassed by none.” he stared pointedly at Tarkin then let his gaze drift as he continued “She has found out a great many things, some of them about some of you in this room.”

Every man there shifted uncomfortably in their seat and shot daggers at Ailish with their eyes. She returned their stares, impassive. Tarkin was impressed. Her face was pure sculpted marble in that moment. Her gaze confident, brooking no challenge. Each of the men who looked at her could not maintain her gaze and quickly looked away. She certainly has the poise needed for her position. He grudgingly admitted that she was impressing him more and more at each turn. It was beginning to feel like a game of chess with her. A game he intended to win. He brought his hand up to his mouth as he mused, What would be considered a win in this situation?

“Ah,” the Emperor’s voice creaked in a fatherly fashion, “but some of you do not believe even my praise of one of my most faithful servants. Very well,” his tone changed to a man upset that he must prove something to an inferior, “Director Orden, would you please brief the room on what we spoke of in our last meeting?”

She had met with the Emperor again? Kriff it. Perhaps the rumors are true and she is his... plaything. His thoughts were cut off by the sound of Vader’s breathing apparatus moving close behind him. He felt the threatening menace of the man even though he did not turn to look at him. The Force user must have felt the intense feelings Tarkin was having regarding Ailish and had moved closer as a warning.

Director Orden stood and bowed with grace to Emperor Palpatine. She then turned to face the room, her voice was not high pitched, nor was it deep, but it was cool, clear, steady, like the smooth surface of a frigid river with deep swift currents beneath “It has come to my attention that one of the people in this room is a rebel spy.” The room exploded in a cacophony of sound as nearly every man there either laughed as if they’d heard a great joke or shouted in anger as if they had been personally accused.

Tarkin noticed a small movement of her hand, no one else had seen it, he also saw, out of his periphery that the Emperor gave the slightest of nods. So, she intends to control the room and he is letting her. Hard to do as someone who has never commanded a presence among these men, ever. He leaned back in his chair, interested to see how she would manage.

Ailish arched an eyebrow. Tarkin smirked, ah, she had patterned some of her command mannerisms after him. That was... flattering, he admitted to himself. She then grabbed her datapad and sat back down. That was different. Ah, but after a few moments he realized it was reminiscent of childhood teachers who would stand silently until the rest of the room quieted with the awkwardness of it. It was a feminine technique, but it quickly worked. She uses the tools available to her well.

The men finally hushed. She did not move. The men began to twitch again. Finally, Krennic - that buffoon - ejaculated, “WELL?!”

Ailish did not look up. “Pardon?”

Krennic jumped up and slammed his fists on the table, most of his neighbors flinched, Director Orden, to her credit, did not. “Are you going to finish your report?” his voice was fury, his face beet red with the emotion.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you gentlemen.” She looked up. How green eyes could be so cold that every man felt the temperature drop was a mystery to Tarkin. His blue eyes evoked glaciers he knew, but her green ones, usually they made one think of a soft forest meadow on a sunlit spring morning. Now, however, they were the cold of a solid piece of jade that when touched sucked all warmth from your bones. “I’ll continue my report when you men have finished your discussion.” She looked down again at her datapad.

Tarkin remembered a similar display Ailish had performed. That first day, several months back, when she had begun to interrogate the rebel, Solon. These men did not like her. She knew that. She knew she would never win their favor, but if she could make them uncomfortable, she would earn a measure of their respect, at least while she was in the same room. They would never respect her when her back was turned. They already called her the Emperor’s Secret Mistress, with the emphasis placed so that the listener assumed she and the Emperor were having carnal relations. That much, Tarkin knew for a fact, was not true. The woman was too clever for that. Even though he’d had the fleeting thought earlier, he knew in his core that it was just a slander he wanted to apply to take her down a notch, not that there was any truth to it.

Krennic stood up to his full height, flipped his cape back, smoothed his tunic, and with great effort at maintaining a calm exterior said, “I believe we have finished and are ready to hear the rest of your report,” he stopped, then as an afterthought added, “Director Orden” with as much respect as he could muster in his voice.

She looked up again, first at Krennic, then at each of the other men in turn who all nodded the affirmative. When she looked at Tarkin, he arched an eyebrow. Krennic sat as Ailish once again stood. “As you all know, one of our shipyards, the one with the A-7 TIE prototype, was hit hard on Kuat. What most of you don’t know is that the prototype held in an extremely secure area was destroyed.” Many of the men here made small noises of frustration, especially Krennic, he seemed to take every set back on feats of engineering personally.

Ailish continued after a moment. “The rebels were trying to steal the A-7. It was only due to the valiant efforts of one of the engineers that they did not get the ship, nor its plans. The only people who knew of the prototype’s existence, outside of the engineers working on that prototype, are here in this room. The engineers have been sequestered on site from the beginning of the project, leaving again, only those of us in this room with the ability to betray the Empire.” She let the words sink in.

No one stirred. All that could be heard was Vader’s rhythmic breathing.

Now Ailish began to stride- no, she stalked around the room as she spoke. She was slowly laying out the evidence she had obtained that had narrowed down her suspicions. As she walked, the men had to turn in their chairs to continue to look at her. Tarkin noted that they all did, all seemingly enraptured by the story she was weaving.

She held them in the palm of her hand. It was quite the power she wielded. A power he had never recognized before because she had never really used it in his presence. His pulse quickened with the thrill of the hunt as he realized that she was dangerous to him because he was so ignorant of her capabilities. He had only seen a sliver in the interrogation room those few months ago, and here he was getting a different glimpse. This glimpse, of her as a predator, commanding, intelligent, and subtle, it was a heady intoxicant. He felt his body respond to the threat of her.

Her steps behind the Emperor and Vader were slightly faster, she did not linger behind them, but she did give Tarkin the same treatment as the others. He bristled inwardly but maintained his calm air as he sat with his fingers still steepled as if in deep thought. I shall not be cowed, girl. I have done nothing wrong. He alone, of the men in the room, did not turn to look at her as she stood behind him. He would not seem to be threatened by this wisp of a woman in front of the others.

Ailish continued her round until she was back on the other side of the conference table. “And that is how I know it came from your office, General Nisse.” She had stopped behind the man’s chair, arms on the back of it. The general in question, one of the ones who had laughed earlier, had gone purple with rage. “This is preposterous! You little slut. How dare you accuse me? How dar-”

“I did not accuse you, General.” Her stern voice cut him off. She had barely raised it, yet everyone felt the impact of it. Every eye was on her face, pensively awaiting her next words. Only the Emperor, Vader, and Tarkin noticed one of her hands subtly drop from the back of the chair to her side. “I said only that it came from your office.”

“If it came from my office, as you say,” he sneered, “and, as you say, we are the only ones who know of it, then clearly you are accusing me.”

All eyes were on Ailish. She smiled, the smile of a predator that has cornered its unsuspecting prey. She had laid the rope and was ready to snap the noose tight, like the leash she had used on Solon. Even Tarkin shivered at the look on her face. “Are you the only one from your office in this room?” her voice dripped with honey and menace.

Then, it all happened in an instant. A man behind Ailish yelled and lunged for her swinging wildly with a vibroblade. The Emperor’s royal guards moved to a protective position forward of their charge. Nearly, every man in the room jumped up from their chairs at the table yelling. The Emperor began to laugh, almost maniacally, feeding off the anger and fear in the room.

As soon as the man had yelled, without even looking behind her, Ailish ducked down, her attacker’s arm harmlessly passing overhead. She pivoted on one foot and came up with a plain dagger in her hand jamming it at an angle up underneath the man’s chin, into his skull. He dropped like a stone, scream cut short, blood pooling beneath him on the crimson carpet.

The doors to the room burst open as a quad of black armored troopers entered pointing their blasters at Ailish who was kneeling on the ground, now cleaning the blood from her blade with the dead man’s uniform. She looked at them docilely.

Tarkin, sensing an opportunity for a show of his own power, stood at last, his acerbic voice ringing out and cutting through the cacophony, “Troopers, you may stand down. Director Orden is not a threat. You will summon someone from the med bay to take the body away and have the room sterilized immediately.” The troopers immediately lowered their weapons, gave a smart salute and left to complete their task.

As she stood up, Ailish straightened the few strands of her hair that had come loose from her braid, brushed a hand down her tunic smoothing out the wrinkles, and replaced her knife in her boot. The room was quiet again. Vader’s breathing hiss and the Emperor’s now soft chuckles the only sounds.

Ailish looked at Tarkin and nodded her thanks. He stared back impassively.

After a few moments, Emperor Palpatine spread his hands. “Ah, how easily we forget the presence of our aides. They are indeed privy to such intimate knowledge of the Empire. Let this be a lesson to you all. Do not doubt those I have put my faith in but look very closely at those you trust.” His gaze fell on Director Krennic. The man swallowed.

Vader stepped forward, “I believe that concludes our meeting. I suggest each of you vets your staff more thoroughly from this point forward. The next time a traitor is found in one of your offices, it will not just be that individual who pays the ultimate price.” The room shuddered in unison. Even Tarkin and Ailish felt the threat of Vader in their core.

The Emperor rose. All the others in the room rose and bowed as he swept behind his chair, flanked by his guard, followed by Vader, and left through his personal entrance.

Ailish lingered while the others made their way out of the room. When the last man, save Tarkin, vanished through the doors, Ailish slumped into her chair. She looked numb.

“That was an impressive display, Director. You have quite the flair for the theatrical.” His voice was laced with derision.

Ailish slowly looked over at him. She was exhausted, it showed, there were wrinkles emerging around her eyes. Why is she letting me see this weakness? He stared back at her. Her eyes were no longer the cold jade of before, they were the deceiving forests of Eriadu, with dark, dangerous beasts lurking beneath. She smiled weakly, the wrinkles framing her eyes making pleasant crows’ feet, and shrugged.

“I learned from you.” her voice was weary and soft. Tarkin arched an eyebrow quizzically. “You and all the other great leaders. So many of them lead with passion, but the ones who made a lasting impact, they’re the ones who did it with logic and fear. I find a healthy mixture of both sways even more people.”

“I see.” Tarkin was pensive as he absorbed her words, it was flattering that she considered him a role model, but he could not figure out her end game and that bothered him. And there was still the embarrassment of several months earlier he had not yet exacted retribution for. His features hardened and he returned his hawkish glare to her, “You have not swayed me.” he turned on his heel and left.

Chapter Text

For all my thoughts of teaching that woman a lesson, I have yet to do that which she praised me for: exact my revenge with logic and fear. It is time I devote serious energy to solving this problem.

Tarkin was lost in his thoughts as he made his way back to his quarters. He hardly registered the ride in his personal transport. The doorman of his quarters must have greeted him when he entered the building, but he took no notice.

Why would she appear to let her guard down around me? Is she luring me in, giving me a false sense of security to then…  what?  

His hands mechanically undid the clasps of his tunic as well as the buttons of his shirt and trousers. Through years of repetition, he mindlessly turned on the water of his shower to his preferred temperature without consciously making any decisions in that regard. An activity that normally he took the time to enjoy, for the moment, was just a routine that he had to perform.

She didn’t intend for me to see her shower. She had no idea that I would see her step in fully clothed just to be free of the blood that covered her. Nor did she intend for me to see her scars. His body began to react as he dwelt on the memory of Ailish showering, clothed at first, then undressing, water and blood streaming over her body. He thought of her lithe form emerging, clean of the gore that had in artful patterns covered her from head to toe. His breathing quickened for a moment until he took notice of his own self-distraction and focused his thoughts again on the problem at hand.

What mistake led to those scars, I wonder? Perhaps I can use that information to my advantage.

When the requisite amount of time spent cleaning had been fulfilled, Tarkin emerged from the shower, still absorbed in the machinations of his mind. He absently reached for a towel to dry himself. First using it on his hair, ruffling the once purely auburn now decently gray strands, then drying the rest of his body, and finally wrapping the towel around his slender waist. He did not even look in the mirror as he grabbed his comb and ran it through his hair, straightening out the ruffled mass to lay neatly in place.

Somewhere in between the time he left his refresher to the time he sat down at his desk he had removed his towel and dressed in his bed clothes. He also had a steaming cup of caf next to him that he was sipping from.

Several hours passed before Tarkin tossed the datapad he had been using on the desk and stood up, running his hands through his hair, mussing it up slightly before laying it straight again.

Damn! Information on Orden before she became Director is almost as hard to come by as information on Vader. I suppose being chief secret finder of the empire would make one good at hiding one’s own secrets.

Tarkin paced the floor, his slippered feet soundlessly trodding over the plush rugs placed about his room. He pulled a hand up to his chin, fingers gliding over his lips as he thought.

She prides herself on cunning. Perhaps I can trap her with that.

His mind wandered to a memory. “So you’re having me watched?” he had asked. Her response had been almost immediate, “Absolutely.” His blood had boiled then at the thought that she had spied on him. For how long? What did she know? He felt his anger begin to flare. Then the faint musings of an idea occurred to him.

Perhaps, I could arrange to have her slip up like that in front of the Emperor. She has an air of calm when she’s around him, but perhaps…

Tarkin’s thoughts drifted wordlessly as he let the strands of his thoughts coalesce. Finally, he came to a determination. He sat back down at his desk, grabbed his datapad, and began typing.

from: Governor Wilhuff Tarkin <WTarkin.DS1>
to: Emperor Sheev Palpatine <SPalpatine.1GE>
subject: Intelligence Briefing
sent via: Imperial Holonet

Your Imperial Majesty,

Given the state of Rebel affairs in my sector, I request to be present during any intelligence briefings you may have in relation to the same.

By your leave,

Gov. Tarkin

He sent the request, assured that he was not overstepping his bounds. He and the Emperor had been close for a long time. Tarkin was also confident that the request, to be present at any intelligence meetings, whether naval or army, would cloak his true intent.

The response was nearly immediate despite the late hour. Tarkin blanched as he read the first line, apparently, he had not been as subtle as he had intended. Then again, the Emperor had a way of seeing to the heart of any matter. It was something his enemies underestimated about him and something Tarkin respected deeply.

from: Emperor Sheev Palpatine <SPalpatine.1GE>
to: Governor Wilhuff Tarkin <WTarkin.DS1>
subject: re: Intelligence Briefing
sent via: Imperial Holonet

My Dear Gov. Tarkin,

You wish to play cat and mouse with my little Spider Queen, do you?

I believe I have a meeting with Director Orden in a few days. I shall have my aide inform yours of the details.

I must say, I approve of this interest of yours more so than your previous interest in Admiral Daala. Though you do have a ‘type’ don’t you?

S.P.

Tarkin’s lip curled as he read. This is nothing like Daala. The Emperor had known exactly what scars to touch to elicit a reaction. Orden is nothing more than a splinter to be removed before it festers. But even as he thought those words, his mind flitted back to thoughts of Ailish naked. His body responded in kind. Tarkin sighed. Kriff. Just what I don’t need, another female distraction.

Tarkin sighed wearily and a yawn crept up on him. Giving in to the weariness of his body, Tarkin stood and retired to his bed. Lying on his back, eyes closed, willing his mind to relax and release his body to the rest of sleep he focused on his breathing, letting the sound of it wash over him.

Unfortunately, Tarkin’s mind refused to relax and instead clamped on to the bit set by the Emperor, analyzing the two women Palpatine had so neatly compared in one sentence. Both were intelligent, cunning, brutal, ambitious, and – superficially – redheads. But there were differences. Daala wished to be acknowledged publicly for her successes, Orden seemed satisfied with only receiving the Emperor’s praise. Daala wanted to be on the front lines, making a name for herself in the galaxy as Tarkin had. Orden was content in the back, watching, lying in wait for the enemy to make a mistake, striking without notice, or warning, then disappearing back into her lair.

Both women used fear to their advantage, but in very different ways. Daala reveled in destruction. Orden enjoyed surgical precision. The former used the promise of vast amounts of collateral damage to keep the Empire’s enemies afraid of stepping out of line. The latter used her ability to find and eliminate all of those who were truly enemies of the Empire to keep others from turning their thoughts to rebellion.

Both women were ruthless, but with Daala’s focus on public accolades, she used her ruthlessness to garner more attention to herself, while Orden, a seemingly idealistic believe in the Empire, used hers to further the cause of the Empire throughout the galaxy. Daala was good, and yet she was still beneath him and would never rise to his rank. Orden had already risen to a position beyond Daala, and at a much younger age.

And now I’ve come full circle into admiring the pest. Tarkin sighed in frustration. The more he thought of the women, both his former lover and his current problem, the less he was relaxing. He felt heat building in his core, drifting down, throbbing. His heart was beating faster, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

Tarkin exhaled in resignation and let his right-hand drift down beneath his bed covers. He worked to slow his breathing even as he slowly stroked himself. It was a game he played with himself, prolonging the release for as long as possible so that when it came, he would instantly be transported to the realm of slumber. Pleasure began to build, slowly. He refused to chase it, he let it come at the pace he chose. After a time, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, despite his best efforts his breath was coming out in small, ragged gasps. An almost inaudible moan escaped his lips as his hand continued its agonizingly slow pace. His thoughts were consumed with red hair, green eyes, and a shower. Finally, his body could not contain the mounting pleasure any longer; he had built it up slowly until it had been a raging fire consuming him. His back arched, eyes opened wide, as he came. With his release came the relaxing of his tensions and the sweet descent into the darkness of slumber.

Chapter Text

Naval Intelligence Director Ailish Orden had briefed the Emperor many times before. Occasionally Lord Vader had been in attendance. Now it was the Imperial Trinity: Palpatine, Vader, and Tarkin. Perhaps they had greatly enjoyed her performance in the conference room several days ago and were all eager for her next report. Or she had inadvertently done something wrong and was about to die with the three men acting as judge, jury, and executioner.

Even so, it wasn’t like the Emperor to share his pets, especially not with each other. And Ailish knew better than to think of herself as anything more than that: a favorite pet. So why the greater audience for what was ostensibly just an intelligence briefing like any other was a mystery that bothered her. Unless he was pitting them against each other. Palpatine had been known to do that as a means of exhorting his underlings to great accomplishments by means of competition. Sometimes, however, those competitions ended badly for one of the competitors, especially when Lord Vader was in the mix.

As she walked down the long, carpeted hallway to the Emperor’s private office, Ailish began to push those thoughts and fears aside. Focusing on the task at hand, she mentally prepared her briefing on the Hutts of Tattooine and their newest scheme to bypass Imperial intrusions into what they deemed their sovereign territory.

The durasteel doors of the small conference room whooshed open efficiently. Ailish entered the dimly lit room to find the Emperor and Grand Moff already seated, with Vader at his customary position looming one step behind the Emperor. Each of them turned to look at her, their conversation stopping.

“Welcome welcome, my Spider Queen.” The Emperor addressed her by her “unofficial” title, the one given to her by all those she had entrapped in her web of secrets. She enjoyed the title and appreciated that the Emperor enjoyed it as well. A shocked look appeared on Tarkin’s face momentarily at its use, but he quickly schooled his features.

Orden noticed that both Palpatine and Tarkin had drinks in hand. Something about liquor at an official briefing made her nervous. The Emperor was not a military man, but Tarkin was. To drink on duty was simply not done. Perhaps he is here in his civilian capacity. No. That can’t be it. This is a military briefing. Stop. Digest this later. Her thoughts cleared up, she bowed to Palpatine and Vader, then saluted Tarkin. He returned the salute from his seat merely by tilting his glass at her. Ailish barely maintained her composure, and hoped that somehow she had managed to mask her disdain at the lack of respect his action indicated.

A small sly smile appeared on Tarkin’s face though Ailish, lost in her own thoughts again, missed it. Yes girl, I am aware of my actions. I just wanted to watch you squirm. He thought as swirled his drink in his glass, eyes twinkling with pleasure at her already apparent discomfort at the situation she found herself in.

“Good evening, your Majesty.”

“Good evening, Ailish. Care for a drink?” with a weathered hand the Emperor indicated a third glass on the table.

“No thank you, sir, I’m on duty.”

The Emperor chuckled. “So is Tarkin.” he motioned to the Grand Moff, who in turn raised his glass and took a delicate sip his grey-blue eyes sparkling with malice. Palpatine reached for the decanter and poured himself another finger of the dark liquid “This is quite excellent Corellian brandy, Director. Are you certain?”

“You humble me with your offer, your Majesty. And I am tempted, truly, but I feel it best that I at least deliver my report before imbibing.”

Tarkin smiled at her, a wicked grin, as he took another sip. Here, in this place, he was the predator and she the prey. It was a reversal of what had happened in the conference room only days before. It was her turn to shiver. It was only one of many indignities he planned for her. He had orchestrated this meeting to show her exactly where she stood in rank, and he enjoyed using his power to toy with her.

The Emperor inclined his head. “Very well” disappointment rang in his voice “let us hear your intelligence.” There was a sneer of derision in his voice. That never bothered Ailish anymore, it always seemed to be there. And for good reason, the Emperor always seemed to be one step ahead of her in terms of knowledge, sometimes she wondered why he even had an intelligence department in each military branch if he already knew everything. But then, it could just have been posturing. Which would have been within character for him to appear all knowing to instill fear in his subjects. It didn’t matter, she did her job and served the Empire well.

“The Hutts of Tattooine have lately been smuggling armaments, and they have not been coming our way. It seems there are some cells of resistance to the Empire on the planet. While they don’t have space-faring capabilities-”

“Then why,” Tarkin cut her off, leaning forward in his seat like a loth cat ready to pounce, “are you handling this briefing? If these ‘rebels’ have no ships, then it stands to reason that this is not in your purview, Director Orden.”

She had expected that. She nodded respectfully at the Grand Moff, “Your point is a good one, Excellency, save for the fact that the Hutts do have ships and are using Imperial shipping lanes to smuggle the goods in to the resistance cells. As a result, this lies firmly within my territory of Naval Intelligence. However, in deference to Director Sumi, we have formed a joint investigation into these issues with his branch taking the lead in on-the-ground intel.”

Tarkin arched an eyebrow. Ailish almost smiled at the familiar motion. She had begun to find it endearing. So much so that she had affected it to a lesser degree. It really did have the ability to make the subject feel the need to explain themselves.

Ailish kept her tone extremely respectful as she queried, “Have you any other questions, your Excellency?”

Tarkin stared impassively, “Not at the moment. But I am sure your briefing will furnish me with a few more. Continue.” It was a statement. It could have been stated in a friendly manner, but here it was not. Here it was stated with the hot iron of command. Tarkin relaxed back into his chair, taking on an air of indifference again.

Ailish took a breath before continuing. “As I stated, these particular rebels have no space-faring capabilities. Director Sumi’s intel suggests that the Hutts are using Imperial shipping lanes with their ships and supplying the local rebesl with ammunitions so they can eliminate the Imperial on-planet presence which would free the Hutts to do whatever it is they want with the planet without Imperial interference.”

“That seems short-sighted of the Hutts, don’t you think, Director.” Tarkin’s voice was full of derision.

‘The Hutts are not known for their long-term strategy. Intel reports that they are wily and shifty schemers who are obsessed with their current selfish pursuits but don’t often look forward to future outcomes. I believe Lord Vader is the best person in this room to confirm that int- hrgh.”

In the blink of an eye, Vader had stepped forward, right hand rising, fingers curled, as if wrapped around the throat of an invisible object. In that same instant, Ailish had risen two feet off the ground, she was suffocating and was uselessly scrabbling at her neck with her hands to try to get air.

The warmth of the alcohol in Tarkin’s body drained. He stared at the scene before him, unable to move. He could see Ailish’s chest heaving as she struggled to breath in or out. Her face was pale, and her lips were turning blue. She was too good a player in the game to end like this; this was not how he had planned it, but he couldn’t say anything. Not here.

And yet, there was a small part of him that reveled in her punishment. To see her weak, unable to defend herself with her wit, struggling uselessly, entranced him. He leaned forward; attention focused solely on Ailish.

Then Vader spoke, his deep baritone voice filling the room, “And what, pray tell, gives you the impression that I know anything of Tattooine?” his voice was a deep menace. A shark in the sea scenting blood.

Ailish’s eyelids began to flutter. Her hands, which had started making gashes in her throat began to fall limply to her sides. The Emperor finally spoke, “Lord Vader, that is enough. I rather enjoy my Spider Queen’s abilities to suss out hidden information.”

Suddenly, it was over. Ailish fell to the ground like a stone, landing hard, coughing and gasping to catch her breath, Tarkin breathed deeply again, he hadn’t realized his breathing had gone shallow, and Vader resumed his position behind the Emperor.

After another moment of sucking in the cold, filtered air of the small conference room, Ailish managed to regain most of her composure and stand. That was when he saw it, fear. She was terrified. Her eyes betrayed the fear that had gripped her core. That’s it. His inner beast cooed. Panic, my dear. Let me see your failure.

“M-my lord, forgive me” her voice was hoarse and cracked from the damage to her vocal chords. Her eyes were downcast, not daring to look up.

The Emperor made a dismissive motion, “Let us hear your answer to Lord Vader’s question. I am curious as well as to why you would make such a claim.”

Ailish swallowed and Tarkin saw the pulse at her neck throbbing wildly. He could almost smell her fear, the way he could smell the fear of his prey on the Carrion Spike. He felt a twinge of something. Was it pity? No. Not that. It was excitement, the thrill of the hunt. His prey was terrified. Fear enables the hunted to make mistakes.

“I-” she started and then stopped, chewing on her bottom lip in thought. “In the academy, it’s something of a game intel officers play.” Sensing Vader bristle at her choice of words, she corrected. “It’s more a- a challenge. ‘Who can figure out anything about the Emperor’s mysterious man in black?’” She paused to catch her breath; she was definitely still recovering from her near fatal experience.

“Nobody really gets anywhere with it. Even me back then, I got as far as tracing him back to Mustafar and that was it. But that’s relatively common knowledge to anyone who can get their hands on a report from that time. It bothered me, though, that I couldn’t get the answer. So, as my career progressed and my skills at finding hidden information increased, I would return to the challenge hoping to figure out something new.”

Ailish’s voice was getting stronger now, she was in the stride of explaining her logic. Tarkin appreciated her ability to weave words into a story. He had the ability to be concise, cutting, and to the point. Sure he could be a bit verbose when he wanted. It wasn’t as easy for him as it seemed to be for her though. It was also quite the feat for her to get back in stride so easily after what she had just been through.

“I still thought the best way was to work backwards, but since there weren’t any service records of Lord Vader before Mustafar, I started tracking down Republic transit and census records of those present on Mustafar at the time Lord Vader emerged. There was one ship that landed several weeks before with unnamed crew. It had come from Coruscant, but the ship designation was never recorded.

I figured that was a good start. However, it did not give me many clues as to the man in the suit. That’s when I began to focus on the suit.” She looked up briefly at Vader then quickly down again, the fear still very evident in her eyes. “The suit is of a unique design, but after a while I figured out that it is designed to aid someone with extreme burns.”

“And how did you find out this information?” Vader queried.

Ailish’s eyes darted between the three men quickly before resuming their pointed stare at a spot on the floor. Her breath rate had increased. Tarkin could see she was panicking. He spared a glance at Palpatine who sat calmly with a subtle smile on his face. He was indeed a sadistic bastard and was very much enjoying Ailish’s terror. A large part of Tarkin relished this too, she deserved this for the way she had outwitted him earlier. There was a small part, however, that was starting to think that this might be enough to satisfy his need for revenge. Maybe.

After a moment, Ailish took a deep breath and exhaled, a common calming technique, one he noticed she used a fair bit, yet it didn’t seem to diminish her, she seemed to emerge stronger from each exhale. “I- I gained access to the service records of the suit. It- it was much easier than trying to gain access to your medical records directly. Though... a few years later I...” she trailed off.

“Continue, Director.” Vader’s voice was impossibly deep. He had stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the whisp of a woman who stood before him.

Ailish shuddered at Vader’s command. Then, suddenly, she breathed deeply one more time, squared her shoulders and looked up, her composure returned, for the most part. Fear was still very evident in her eyes, but she was battling it and had decided to win. I applaud your efforts girl, Tarkin thought.

“A few years after I got my hands on the specifications of the suit, I managed to get my hands on your medical records. I began to realize that to work backwards I would have to solve the mystery of who you are now first. That eventually led me to the specifications of your quarters. You have a medical chamber in there as well as a bacta tank. The tank is fairly standard in burn cases, but the chamber, that intrigued me. I researched it more and found it employs a lot of technology that the Jedi had in their temple.”

Vader’s hand began to rise again, but the Emperor motioned with his own hand and Vader’s dropped. To her credit, Ailish did not look away from the black clad warrior who loomed in front of her, nor did she falter in her continuation of her story.

“That makes some amount of sense. You are a user of the Force. I confess that I had never given thought to the idea that you had once been a Jedi. You are too loyal to have been one of the betrayer cult. Yet, now, I realized that could easily have been the case. Looking through the records, it was reported publicly that both Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker perished on Mustafar at the end of the Clone Wars. No other Jedi were there at that time. At this point I was reasonably sure that you are-” she stopped mid-sentence. The room had gone cold and metal began to rumble a low deep sound that seemed ready to build and burst into death and destruction. Ailish thought better of her word choice “that you were Anakin Skywalker. But I needed more proof.” The rumblings lessened.

Tarkin refilled his glass of brandy and took another sip to warm himself and calm his nerves. How she is managing to speak without stammering like a witless idiot I can only guess at. He smiled inwardly, musing on how he had put her in this position, how he had mastered her in this moment. The beast inside him that required revenge was purring with pleasure.

“Going back to my initial searches of transport records, there were none of either Kenobi or Skywalker arriving to that planet. There was only the anonymous ship from Coruscant, but since both men had died there, they must have arrived on that ship. I set to tracing the shuttle, looking to see who it belonged to, now that I had a little more context. Sure enough, I found that at the time a new Jedi ship had just been issued to Skywalker and was recorded as having left the planet headed in the direction of Mustafar.”

“And what makes you think it is not Obi-Wan Kenobi in the suit?” Tarkin interjected though he already knew the answer.

The Emperor spoke before Ailish could respond, “Oh, my spy mistress knows all about Obi-Wan. I have tasked her with finding his whereabouts. A task which she has had for nearly a decade now.” The Emperor’s displeasure shook Ailish to the core. Her first impulse was to beg forgiveness, to plead with all the excuses she had: Obi-Wan had vanished, he left no trace and had not surfaced in all these long years. She knew it would be futile, worse, she would be seen as a pathetic mewling minion. She refused to debase herself in such a manner.

“He will be found, your Majesty. It is only a matter of time. You have said it to me before that my greatest strength is patience when on the hunt. I assure you, I have not stopped hunting this prey.” She bowed slightly and Tarkin had to respect that she had not begged for mercy as he had seen so many others do when faced with similar criticism from Emperor Palpatine.

Palpatine sneered, “Hmm. You may have patience, but mine is wearing thin.” he paused a moment more, his features contorted into a snarl, then, just as suddenly as his mood had shifted sour, he shrugged it off dismissively, “Continue your tale, Director Orden.”

“All the evidence, though circumstantial, added up. But as your Majesty, your Lordship, and your Excellency know, I am skilled at finding hard proof. I do not like the words ‘circumstantial evidence’. It was then that I set about learning as much as I could of the man, Anakin Skywalker. He had an engineer’s mind often creating and tinkering with mechanical objects, making them to suit him. He was also, by all accounts, an outstanding pilot, preternaturally good.”

“Many things passed away with the Republic, military records did not. I was able to pull up all descriptions of Skywalker’s piloting styles and maneuvers. There are quite a few holovids as well. When compared with yours, my Lord, they are identical. You are a phenomenal pilot with your own unique style. You were Anakin Skywalker, my Lord and now you are Lord Vader. You possess the knowledge of your former self, you know of Tattooine and the Hutts far more intimately than most in the Empire. That is why I suggested...”

Ailish’s words trailed off as Vader raised his hand and pointed a finger at her, “You are most perceptive for someone without the aid of the Force. I suggest you keep your insights to yourself. Do you understand, girl?” His voice rumbled with menace and the promise of terrible things done should Ailish share her knowledge.

“Yes, my Lord.” Ailish bowed her head.

The room was ominously silent for several minutes. Finally, Palpatine spoke, “Yes, you have successfully figured out Lord Vader’s most treasured secret. Ah, but you are such a loyal servant to this Empire, your only thought on what to do with this intel was to ask his advice on the Hutts.” He chuckled, “Such innocence. Yes, you are indeed one of my favorites. Do you see, Tarkin, why I keep her around?” his gaze shifted to Tarkin on his right.

“Yes, Majesty.” his response gave no real indication to Ailish of his thoughts on the matter. Then again, she was not at her most perceptive by this point.

The Emperor spent a few more minutes in thought, then rose. “You will continue to work with Director Sumi on ground intel. Anything related to the Hutts you will send reports directly to Lord Vader. You will also continue to pursue intel on the smugglers using our shipping lanes. Find them.” he spat “when you do, you will work with Tarkin to capture and interrogate them. I want their whole network.”

“It will be done, your Majesty” Ailish bowed deeply as Palpatine and Vader left the room.

Chapter Text

As soon as the durasteel doors had closed, Ailish collapsed to her knees on the floor breathing hard. Tarkin rose, “Director, are you al-” his question was cut off mid-sentence as Ailish vomited on the carpet in front of her. She heaved until the contents of her stomach were completely emptied on the floor in front of her. Then she heaved some more.

Finally, after a few minutes, she was just panting, tears running down her cheeks as release of her fear ravaged her body.

As Tarkin watched, a memory lanced through his mind. One he had buried long ago, resurfacing. An echo of his screams as they tortured him at the Citadel haunted him momentarily. He remembered the end of those sessions, how they had left him too weak to stand, how he too had vomited and gasped for air, chest heaving with the effort. He shifted his weight slightly as he stood and pulled an olive-green handkerchief from his pocket. “Here.” Tarkin’s voice was soft, gentle, calm. Ailish managed to raise her head just enough to see the handkerchief he was holding out to her.

With a shaky hand she took the proffered fabric and wiped her eyes, cheeks, and then mouth. She pocketed the kerchief and sat back on her heels her eyes still trained on the floor. What must he think of me? “I’m sorry, sir.” She mumbled.

“Think nothing of it. Let me help you up.” He proffered his hand.  

Gathering her courage, afraid of what she would find in Tarkin’s eyes, Ailish looked up. The empathy she found in those blue orbs took her breath away. She clasped his arm at the wrist and let him help her to her feet.

He actually smiled briefly at her; it was a warm, encouraging smile. That wasn’t normal, but she wasn’t going to complain right now.

“Now, I believe you said you would indulge in a brandy once the briefing was over.” Tarkin strode to the decanter and poured two fingers worth in the glass the Emperor had indicated for Ailish earlier.

“Sir, I-”

“Shush. You need to at least wash away the taste of” he looked at the mess on the carpet, “that. And I do believe you deserve it.” He strode over to her and held out the drink, when she took the glass her fingers met his for a brief moment. Did she imagine the electric shock that passed between their digits as they touched? Tarkin seemed to be unaffected.

Ailish lifted the liquor to her lips and took a sip. It was as good as the Emperor had promised. It went down smooth, quickly removing the taste of her bile. After a few more sips her nerves began to settle. She looked at the carpet and then to Tarkin, “I never liked that carpet anyway.”

He laughed, it was a short, clipped bark, an accident that he had let it slip, most likely the influence of the liquor, but he had to admit, he had hated that carpet too.

Turning to Ailish, he saw her finish her drink and then waver on her feet, then he noticed the seeping scratches on her throat. “Come, my dear, let’s get you to the medbay here.” She didn’t resist when he moved next to her and extended his arm. She linked hers with his and let him lead her meekly to the medical ward several floors below.

They were quiet on the way down. Both lost in their own thoughts. Both thankful for the fact that the other did not feel the need to occupy silence with words. They had almost made it to medbay when Ailish needed to pause to catch her breath.

“My apologies, Excellency.” she huffed through labored breathing.

“No need, Director.”

A moment later and the medbay doors opened to admit them. Immediately a 2-1B Med-droid took a scan of Ailish and escorted her to a table.

“Please remove your outer tunic,” the droid paused to look at her insignia “Director.”

“Perhaps I should leave.” Tarkin’s pulse had quickened at the thought of seeing Ailish in only her white button up blouse again. Hmpf, it’s been too long since my last... diversion if this is all it takes.

“Please stay. I- I might need help getting to my quarters.” She was looking at him, her eyes so clear and vulnerable. In that moment, she was nothing more than a hurt and weak woman asking for help. He felt pity rise in his chest for her and immediately quashed it. He had given her more than he ever got and refused to let that moment of weakness on his part continue.

Tarkin’s face hardened into a scowl at the pitiful image, but he nodded his assent. He watched impassively as her slender fingers undid the hidden catches and buttons of her tunic. The black coat being removed to reveal what should have been a beautifully white shirt beneath. She had sweat through it in several places though, and there was blood at the high collar of the neck marring its pristine image. She undid the top two buttons to give the droid better access to her wounds and Tarkin felt himself stir. Something about seeing her this undone, this messy, was affecting him. He mentally grimaced as his body begged for more.

The droid sprayed bacta on the neck scratches and ran a more thorough diagnostic. “You are suffering from lack of oxygen and one of your ribs has a hairline fracture. I also detect adrenaline withdrawal. Wear this for 10 minutes” he handed her a face mask connected to an oxygen pump “By the time you have finished this treatment the effects of the adrenaline should also have worn off. I will issue you pain relievers for the fracture. I detect alcohol in your system. You should refrain from drinking such again while using the pain relievers. I am also issuing you a self bacta spray for your neck wounds. If applied correctly, the scarring will be minimal.”

“Will you keep the scars?” Tarkin asked.

“If they stay, yes.”

“What was the lesson this time?”

“Allies can be capricious.”

Tarkin nodded and stroked his chin with a hand, “Yes, Lord Vader is quite protective of his secrets.”

“You knew.” It was a statement. Almost an accusation, but not quite.

“Ah, Vader and I have been... friends, since the Clone Wars.”

Ailish gave Tarkin a quizzical look but shrugged and let the emotion pass from her face.

It was that ability of hers, to go from one extreme to another that had kept Tarkin curious and interested from their first real interaction with the prisoner interrogation. It was why she had begun to dominate his thoughts, why he sought out more instances to interact with her, even if he told himself it was to get more ammunition with which to keep her subordinate to him. If she was indeed angling for his position, her own capriciousness was something he needed to understand.

The med droid finished its ministrations and issued Ailish several medications as well as instructions for after care. She nodded and took the proffered medicine cylinders. As she stood from the examination table, she felt her stomach lurch. “Droid, may I have an antiemetic as well?”

The 2-1B unit pressed an instrument panel and a small drawer opened with a hiss. He pulled out a syringe. “Scans indicate that you should not need more than one dose. Please roll up your right sleeve.”

She did as she was told and the droid easily found the vein to inject the medicine in.

“Now then,” Tarkin said, a little harsher than he had intended, “Do you still need an escort?”

It was then, when she looked at him, that it caught his eye. A flash of grayed silver at her temples. The stress of the last hour had literally turned the hair at her temples gray.

Reacting to his tone, Ailish shook her head, “I know I asked earlier, I apologize for my forwardness. I wasn’t in my right mind. I will call on Commander Tabor, to arrange transport for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What would you think of me if I abandoned you now? Come, I have a covered airspeeder on the landing pad above.” As an afterthought he added, “Do you have a transport here that needs to be moved?”

“Yessir. It’s on pad 12.”

Tarkin nodded and the two walked in silence all the way to the landing pad. Upon arriving, Tarkin’s chauffeur approached. “Jeslan, take Director Ailish’s speeder to her quarters’ pad. I will meet you there and we will proceed to my quarters.”

The young man nodded and gathered the necessary details from Ailish. Tarkin noted them so he did not have to ask her when they got in his speeder and was quite surprised to find Ailish’s quarters were only thirteen levels lower than his own in the same executive tower. “On second thought, as soon as you deliver her speeder, you can go off duty for the rest of the evening. I can make it up thirteen levels.” How have I never noticed her there? He laughed at himself mentally. When am I ever home? And when I am, when do I ever stroll the tower looking for company?

Jeslan's response interrupted Tarkin's reverie, “Thank you, your Excellency. Shall I report in at the usual time in the morning?” Tarkin nodded his assent.

Grand Moff Tarkin wasn’t necessarily the best pilot, especially in the crowded atmosphere of Coruscant, and Ailish was thankful on more than one occasion for the anti-nausea shot she had been given.

The ride was a quiet one, filled only with the hum of the speeder’s engines. Ailish looked out on the lights of the city and silently wished for the cold silence and clear stars of space.

A little time later they landed at one of the pads scattered throughout the apartment complex. Ailish got out of the speeder, her legs still a little shaky. When she went to move towards the door to her hallway, she swayed and immediately clutched at Tarkin’s proffered arm cursing her weakness under her breath. His inner beast purred. As much as he disdained weakness there was a certain beauty to seeing Ailish this weak and vulnerable. A thought flashed briefly through his mind of taking advantage of the woman in her state. He entertained it for a moment longer than perhaps he should have, then let it pass.

“Shall I tuck you in?” the voice was laced with sarcasm, but there was a twinkle in his eye that denoted that perhaps Tarkin intended it to be purely a joke as they approached the door to Ailish’s chambers.

Ailish gave Tarkin a small but genuine smile. The sight of it made him feel warm on the inside, like a good brandy. I don't think I've ever seen her smile before. It's rather lovely the way it softens her features. He begrudgingly admitted to himself while simultaneously trying to clamp down on the effects she was beginning to have on him.

Her eyes were laced with exhaustion as she responded to his teasing, “No thank you, your Excellency. I am beyond grateful for all the assistance you have given me today and I apologize I took up so much of your time.”

“It was no trouble, I assure you. You took a calculated risk and did both a very brave and stupid thing today in service of the Empire. I respect you for taking the chance.” His face hardened to that inscrutable one that everyone knew so well. “But don’t presume that changes my opinion of you.” The small voice in Tarkin’s head whispered seductively to him, Oh but it did change your opinion of her and you know it. Considering you put her in that position like a lamb led to the slaughter, she showed herself quite capable of survival. Though she is weak now from her ordeal, you have seen the coiled strength below. You are starting to respect and admire the woman and perhaps… perhaps there is something more that you truly want from her besides putting her in her place.

Ailish felt as though she were under the scrutiny of a Nexu that had gorged itself but was determining if it still wanted to kill this new prey just for the fun of it. For a long moment she stared into his cold blue eyes, hypnotized by their intensity. Her breath hitched in her throat for the fleeting moment when he glanced down and back up over her body. He didn’t fail to notice but said nothing of it, nor made any allusion that he had. What is he waiting for? Does he want me to ask him inside like some punch-drunk cadet come back from a ball? That makes no sense. He's never indicated an interest in me like that. It's only ever been a begrudging respect laced with extreme animosity from us since day one. 

Her thoughts swarmed inside her head in a jumbled mess. Partly because there were so many and partly because of the mix of brandy and painkillers she had been given. Perhaps she could just talk with him and figure out the reason for both his continued animosity and the strange kindnesses he had shown her today.

Throwing caution to the wind Ailish smiled another small smile and stated, “If you wish to have your opinion of me challenged, you are more than welcome to come inside and we can talk. I must warn you, I very much intend to get shit-faced on some spotchka I’ve been saving, so you should get the important questions out of the way first.”

Both of Tarkin’s eyebrows shot up. “I believe the med droid advised-”

“Your Excellency,” she interrupted “I have had one of the worst days of my entire life. I was lifted off the ground by a force I could not see, choked so hard that I nearly passed out, I broke a rib in my struggles to breathe, I was required to give a briefing while in great pain and constant fear that my neck would be snapped by that same force if I said the wrong word, and I puked on a priceless carpet in front of the only Grand Moff in the galaxy - who hates me by the way. I don’t give a kriff what the med droid said. I intend to drink until I pass out.”

Tarkin let out a small scoff, “I don’t hate you, Director. I may not like you, but I do not hate you.” Her remark had hit closer than he cared to admit. I suppose at one time it could have been called hate. But now… His unfocused gaze lingered once again on her lean form as he mused on his own thoughts.

A sensual thought fleeted through his mind. Like a doe jumping a small stream and disappearing into the foliage of the woods. Perhaps… no. There is no challenge in taking advantage of a beaten foe. Another time, when she is at her peak, maybe then I shall pursue that option. Tarkin felt himself stirring at the thought of a different conquest, a different kind of domination, and smiled inwardly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he turned to leave.

“Sir?” Tarkin paused mid turn “I did a poor job of it, but I was also offering you a drink as a thank you for... for everything today.”

Tarkin looked at Ailish coldly, “I’d rather not.” With those words he turned on his heel and left. Ailish watched him go. Kriffing nerf herder. She entered her quarters and set about to do exactly as she had told Tarkin she would. Within the hour, Ailish Orden was wasted and passed out in her bed.

Chapter Text

It was cold and bright. She was shirtless save for her bra. Her wrists hurt. Her throat was dry and her stomach rumbled in hunger.

Where am I? she thought groggily.

She looked around through bleary eyes. That was when she spotted the instrument table; syringes, knives, and a whip featured prominently. She was in an interrogation room. That was why her wrists hurt, she was manacled to the ceiling! Panic set in. “Help! HELP!” she screamed.

The door opened. The man of all her nightmares stood before her. The blurred visage of his young face sneered at her while his crystal clear ice cold eyes appraised her body. Before the features of his thin face could solidify into one she recognized he turned, picked up the whip from the table, and strode behind her.

“Wait! Please, don’t-” SNAP! The whip struck and she screamed. “What do you want from me?” she questioned. SNAP! her body jerked violently.

Over and over she begged him to stop. Over and over the whip bit into her flesh. She wailed, screamed, nearly choking on her tears. The man never said a word.

Her torturer stopped for a brief moment. She almost relaxed. Then, he laid into her with one final fierce lash of the whip. It cut deep. Ailish’s cry of agony was cut short: she had passed out from the pain.

Ailish woke up in her bed screaming and sweat drenched. She shivered with cold and the frigid memories of her torture all those years before. It was as if she could feel each lash stroke anew. She curled up, hugging a pillow, and cried herself back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Ailish took a very much needed personal day the next day. She forced herself to eat breakfast, downed a large cup of caf, showered, and despite the extreme amount of pain she was feeling from her definite hangover and fractured rib headed to the nearest exercise facility - albeit after she had taken a massive quantity of nullicaine and performed the required infusion of bacta to speed the healing of the rib.

The facility’s doors whooshed open. There were several officers there as she entered. Some working out with weights, others climbing rock walls, most were working with specialty training droids, while a few others sparred with each other.

In the academy Ailish had often been called provincial for many reasons. Working out sans droids and other high-tech equipment had been one of them. She preferred to think she was “old school”. The reality of it was she had indeed grown up quite poor and had learned a toughness she attributed to lack of luxuries. As a result, she often returned to those methods of training to keep her edge sharp and to blow off steam from her nightmares.

Ailish set her towel next to a large punching bag and started prepping for her workout. After wrapping her hands and wrists, she started with some light punches and kicks to warm up. Once warmed she started punching and kicking harder, she flowed into her routine and lost herself to it, even though each impact caused her headache to scream in protest and she could feel a mild twinge around her fractured rib.

Dripping in sweat, she paused for a brief moment to drink some water and looked around.

Tarkin was there, she hadn’t realized when he’d come in. For a man of fifty standard years, he looked to be in his prime. Lean, yet muscular, Ailish’s eyes were drawn to his form as he moved with ease around the ring. It took her a moment to realize she was lingering on his shoulders and narrow hips as she watched him. Once she did, she made an effort to take in the rest of the scene, hoping no one had noticed.

He was sparring with another man. The other man was larger, but Tarkin was quicker. They were well matched both giving and taking ground in rapid succession. With a quick maneuver, however, Tarkin ended the bout, tripping his opponent and pinning him to the ground.

A few of the other lookers on smiled. Some passed credits to others. Tarkin looked up and spotted Ailish staring at him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in here, Director.” His voice carried across the space, causing more than a few heads to turn in her direction to see whom Tarkin was addressing.

Ailish shrugged, an action Tarkin was becoming used to seeing. “Most likely we just don’t come in at the same times.”

“And why are you here now?”

“Personal day.”

“Hangover, my dear?” his tone was smug. His words had caused even more of the building’s occupants to look over at her.

A chill travelled up her back, but Ailish gave Tarkin a wry smile in response. “My head doesn’t hurt so badly that I couldn’t take you.” Some of the other attendees muttered and one “oooh’d” very loudly.

“Is that any way to speak to a superior officer, my dear?” his voice was full of mock shock.

Ailish shuddered briefly and hoped Tarkin had not noticed. “I’m sorry.” She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “My head doesn’t hurt so badly that I couldn’t take you, sir.” She emphasized the honorific.

Men laughed a little more openly. One of them could even be heard saying “I bet a hundred credits on Red.”

Tarkin’s mouth twisted into a smirk, his eyes twinkled with superiority and malice. “Well, if you insist, my dear.”

A shot of pure panic raced through Ailish, she quickly quashed it before it could take root. Oh kriff, what did I get myself into? Ailish stepped over to the sparring mat, set her towel and water down, and shook Tarkin’s proffered hand. His grip was firm, he didn’t try to crush her hand, but she could still tell the man had wiry muscle beneath the surface. He was tough, and he was going to be tough.

Other patrons gathered around, most of them placing bets with each other. No one had ever seen the Grand Moff deign to spar with a female. It was definitely something of an event.

The larger man that Tarkin had bested earlier stood at the edge. “If it’s alright with you sirs I’ll start the match, so’s neither of you has an advantage.” Both Ailish and Tarkin nodded agreement and the man waited for them to take their positions then quickly announced “Begin!”

As many sparring matches were, it was a dance at the beginning, each opponent trying to suss out weaknesses of form in the other. Tarkin’s smirk had disappeared, his face was hard, he was hunting now, his ruthless eyes looking for chinks in her armor. Likewise, Ailish’s face showed nothing less than intense concentration. It was like watching two stray Loth-cats circling each other, getting ready to fight with tooth and claw to determine who would rule their shared territory.

That was when he saw it, she blinked a little longer each time the light was in her eyes. She really does have a hangover. Tarkin mentally smirked and leaped forward on her next blink, arms ready to grab her. Ailish just barely managed to duck down and Tarkin ended up tumbling over her landing on his feet with his back to her. Quickly he spun, looking for another opportunity, but she had used his ploy to her advantage and was on him, sending a quick punch here, a rapid jab there, trying to trip him with a foot. He parried each advance and soon they were trading blows and both trying to grapple each other.

The crowd around them had gotten large. No one had ever seen anyone who didn’t hold back on the Grand Moff even when ordered not to. But this woman, she was trying her damnedest to pin him down and everyone wanted to see the outcome.

They continued their dance. As time marched on Ailish started to slow; ever so slightly at first, but with each passing moment she became more and more defensive. The pain from her rib was beginning to seep through the nullicaine and causing her breathing to become more and more shallow when she really needed to be drawing a deep breath. Occasionally she would rally and get a few lucky jabs in, but Tarkin was truly the master here, he read her every move and countered it with seeming ease and precision. There is pain in her eyes. Ah yes, the rib that med-droid mentioned. She’s a damn fool to be taxing herself here. Even with bacta infusions, fractures take a few days minimum to heal. Still… she is quite… formidable.

After near half an hour they were both sweating profusely and gripping the other was beginning to prove problematic. A few minutes later and Ailish made a bold move that resulted in her getting behind Tarkin and securing him in a choke hold. The room was dead quiet except for the breathing and soft grunts of the combatants. All eyes were fixed on the scene in the ring, with everyone seemingly holding their own breath, afraid the noise of it might affect the outcome.

Though he rarely found himself in this position, Tarkin managed to free himself due to Ailish’s waning strength. He elbowed her in her ribs then quickly used what leverage he had gained to flip Ailish and throw her to the ground using her own weight against her. She hit with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of her and causing her rib pain to erupt in full. Tarkin was on her in an instant, pinning her arms above her head at the wrists with one hand, a knee to her throat, and grinning a savage smile.

Ailish closed her eyes in agonized acknowledgement and whispered “yield”. The room exploded in chatter as credits were passed around to the winners and everyone commented on what they had just seen.

After getting off her, Tarkin extended a hand to help Ailish up. She took it and he easily pulled her up to standing. Ailish stifled a scream as the pain in her chest flared at the sudden movement causing her to over balance and stumble forward into Tarkin. His arms instinctively caught her.

They were close. Each of them close enough to smell the other’s scent. To him, she smelled faintly of a spicy alcohol mixed with a woodsy scent reminiscent of incense. To her, his scent was all man, and it was a heady aroma that filled her lungs and latched onto the deep, primal areas of her mind. Kriff, he smells good. Kriff, what am I thinking? Her breathing hitched as unbidden, thoughts of the two of them alone in a dark room, hot skin pressed together, darted in from the recesses of her mind.

“Guess I was wrong about my head not hurting that badly.” She whispered then let out a soft chuckle, quickly suppressing it, grimacing as her side spasmed in pain.  Finally confident in her balance, she backed away from Tarkin, still breathing heavily.

“I will admit,” he murmured so that only Ailish could hear, “you were quite formidable. I suspect had your rib not been an issue you might have had a chance at defeating me.”

Ailish noticed that while Tarkin’s breathing was also slightly labored, he was rapidly recovering. “Thank you for the compliment and the friendly match, governor. It was quite educational.”

By this point all the onlookers had resumed their own training and it was just Ailish and Tarkin in the middle of the mat.

His lips twitched upwards on one side for a moment. An almost-smile at her words. “Are we friends then?” he queried. His voice a silk noose ready to snap tight around an unsuspecting neck.

Ailish blinked in astonishment, “I have nothing against you, Excellency, but I don’t think we have had enough interactions to be considered more than acquaintances. Besides, you seem to have it out for me. Not sure how I feel about that.”

Tarkin’s eyes narrowed. “What gives you that impression, Director?”

Ailish shrugged, made a non-committal noise, and turned to leave.

“Perhaps...” Tarkin started to say, his hand coming up to stroke his chin as he remembered his fleeting thought from the night before about conquests, “perhaps, we should rectify that.” he muttered more to himself than anyone else. If Ailish heard him, she didn’t respond as she continued to walk away.

Chapter Text

Ailish made her way to the refresher slowly, both her head and her side causing her no small amount of agony. Stupid fool. What was I thinking? She mentally chided herself and then, to add insult to injury, she mentally responded. You weren’t thinking. You opened your mouth and spoke without thinking. And he took advantage because that’s what he does, he goads his adversaries into making mistakes he can exploit.

Ailish sighed heavily, thankful that, unlike most military installations, the training facility’s was not a shared ‘fresher. She stripped and handed her clothes to the laundry droid inside.

“These will take 10 minutes for me to clean ma’am.” The tinny voice of the droid announced.

“That’s fine, just put them outside the shower for me when you’re done.”

“Affirmative”

The water was hot. It soothed some of Ailish’s aches and pains. Though she knew she would have to visit another med-droid to take care of the additional damage the sparring match had caused. She had no illusions that Tarkin’s elbow to her ribs followed by slamming her to the mat had not done damage.

He had been so close then, his feral smile sending chills down her spine. His durasteel grey eyes daring her to struggle.

Ailish shivered then as she remembered feeling powerless as he looked down at her. Then, the memory of his scent as he had held her flooded her body. Her breathing hitched. Kriff! When in the sweet starlanes did I decide he was attractive? He’s the kriffing Grand Moff, an institution, not some random man to be fawned over!

Ailish mentally berated herself for a moment longer then, as she often did in any given situation, she mentally shrugged. Ailish figured there was no sense in trying to pretend she did not find the man attractive now that she realized she did. Her mind began, instead, to analyze her feelings and the reasons behind them.

They had been working together often lately. Closeness often bred feelings of attraction or facsimiles thereof.

His eyes, those twin orbs of ice, steel, and dark storm clouds captivated her. Like many others who had found themselves the scrutiny of his raptor gaze, Ailish felt that Tarkin could see through her to her core. That thought thrilled her, that he could understand her so intimately just by looking.

And then, the image of Tarkin she had been just fantasizing over in her mind shifted. She saw his younger self, when those eyes had been more blue than grey, and his hair had only been auburn with no silver in it whatsoever. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest and her breath came in ragged gasps. The panic began to mount as all she could think of was his soft voice questioning her as he simultaneously whipped her like a dog. She sank to the floor of the shower desperately trying to catch her breath.

“Are you alright ma’am?” one of the laundry droids, voice modulated with concern, asked as it arrived just outside the shower door.

“I’m fine. I just… need a minute.”

“Okie dokie. Just holler if you need something.” The droid wheeled away, far enough to ensure Ailish’s privacy, and close enough to monitor her vitals. Too often a patron would collapse in the showers so the service droids, aside from their day-to-day duties, were also equipped to handle the basics in a medical emergency.

Her breathing finally mostly under control, Ailish curled into a ball as she continued to sit on the floor letting the warm water pour over her. She was overwhelmed by her conflicting emotions, the ones of panic and fear that Tarkin had instilled in her all those years ago during his interrogation of her and the ones of desire and lust that she was beginning to feel now. Another few minutes passed and Ailish finally had her emotions under control.

She rose with some difficulty and turned off the water. Emerging from the shower she saw that the service droid had cleaned her clothes and left them neatly folded on the bench to the side. Ailish dressed, grimacing with pain and headed out of the refresher towards the exit to the facility. She sucked her breath in through her teeth as she saw Tarkin, also freshly showered, emerge from the men’s refresher room.

He caught sight of her and nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small grin. Ailish nodded in return and walked out into the bright sunlight of the day wondering if perhaps, the brightness of the sun would dispel some of the dark thoughts that seemed to have set upon her like a ravenous beast as of late.

Chapter Text

The Ascension Week Officer’s Ball. Ailish hated these things. It was mostly for the military men to parade their wives about to the others as proof of their conquests. Meanwhile their wives would find other, younger officers with which to have a dalliance or two. And then they would gossip.

The one silver lining was that no one ever paid Ailish much mind. Because she was in the military, she was required to go in uniform. While her uniform was tailored quite nicely to her figure, it did not show off any skin, specifically the cleavage to which most of the men were attracted to. Aside from that, it also meant she was one of the few women in pants. No man wanted to dance with someone who would, from a distance be mistaken for another man. Sure, her hair was long, but she kept it in a military braid per regulation and there were a few of the men who did the same.

To be fair, the gossip was actually extremely useful to her. No one really gossiped to Ailish directly, she did not really have very many close friends in the military, but she was very good at positioning herself to overhear juicy bits. One would think she was just being nosy, save for the fact that a few rebel sympathizers and infiltrators had been caught by her through details given in what the women considered to be harmless gossip.

She had gathered a small plate of the delicacies that were available and surveyed the room. She watched the patterns of the crowds, the people grouping and chatting, breaking off to dance, coming off the floor to chat some more, and determined where the best place was to hide in plain sight and listen.

Having finished the food on her plate, she deposited it on a platter reserved for such use. She headed a step in the direction she had chosen when a voice stopped her.

“Ah, Director Orden. It is a pleasure to see you here. You look well. Is it safe to assume your fractured rib has fully healed?”

She turned, of course it was Tarkin. She never seemed to be able to get away from him these days. “Good evening, Grand Moff. I have made a full recovery, thank you.” She paused for a brief moment, looking the Governor up and down, then smiled and said, “You cut a grand figure in your uniform.” Indeed he did, his dress uniform had not only his rank insignia but also various medals and a dark green sash draped from one shoulder down to the opposite hip.

Tarkin’s grimace had a faint trace of a smile attached to it, but it was short lived. “And you, my dear, I hope you’ll forgive my saying so, but your new color,” he motioned to his temples, referencing the now silvered hair that rested there, “does look quite good on you.”

Ailish gave him the same grimace-smile he’d given her, “Well, the neck didn’t scar, but the hair will serve as a reminder.”

Tarkin nodded knowingly and a bloom of warmth could be seen in his eyes for the briefest of moments.

Just then the crowd around them pressed for a moment and a young Commander bumped into the back of Ailish. She turned to look at the young man. Her gaze indifferent.

“I’m sorry sir.”

Tarkin moved closer, “Commander Vanto, is it not?”

“Y-yes sir.” the man was very clearly intimidated by the Grand Moff.

“And where is your counterpart?”

Vanto looked around, “He’s...” just then the crowd parted and a blue-skinned, red-eyed officer emerged. He spied Vanto and headed for him, stopping just a few feet from Tarkin and Ailish. He saluted Tarkin smartly and did the same for Ailish. She’d heard of the Chiss officer before, but had never had an opportunity to meet him. Something of a prodigy, he’d risen quite quickly in the ranks and while she knew of his record for being unorthodox, everything she’d read led to her knowing he was a clever strategist whose goals aligned with those of the Empire.

Tarkin took the initiative of introductions, “Director Orden, may I present Rear Admiral Thrawn and his aide Commander Vanto? I’m sure you’ve heard of their meteoric rise in our ranks.” His voice was cold, dead. He doesn’t like Thrawn. Is it because he’s alien? Or because he’s smart?

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Ailish said, extending her hand and grasping Thrawn’s and Vanto’s in turn.

“I have not heard much about you, Director.” The voice was soft, but deep. There was a hint of an accent to it. His tone said that his words were not meant to offend, but that he was genuinely curious about someone who held such a prestigious position.

Commander Vanto, however, nearly choked on his drink. After a second of coughing, whereupon his face turned a bright shade of crimson for the attention he was drawing to himself, he proceeded. “Director Orden is the head of Naval Intelligence, sir.”

The chiss’ eyes lit up with understanding and curiosity, “You are the one they call the Spider Queen, no?”

It was a good thing Vanto had not taken another sip of his drink or he would have been forced to choke on it once again. Instead he drew in his breath in a quick gasp that made Thrawn turn to look at him.

Ailish smiled and let out a soft chuckle, “I do love that one. But Admiral, as I believe your aide will inform you later, that particular title is a nickname, and it is one that was not kindly given.”

Understanding passed over Thrawn’s face, “Ah. Please accept my apologies. This title then is one to be used, ‘behind your back’?”

Tarkin stepped in, “Her proper title is Director. That is how she should be addressed, both when she is present and when she is not.”

Thrawn bowed his head in acquiescence. “My apologies, Director, I did not wish to offend.”

Ailish looked between the two men of power before her. This was a pair she did not want to be in the middle of. Just when she was getting ready to find an excuse to leave, Admiral Motti approached. “Ah, Grand Moff Tarkin, I wish to have a word with you.” He turned and politely inclined his head to Orden and Thrawn, and then commandeered Tarkin. The older man glared at Motti while the younger man did not seem to notice in his zeal for hunting Rebels and his desire to be seen conversing with Tarkin.

This left Ailish alone with Thrawn and Vanto. “I’ve heard you’ve risen quite quickly through the ranks, Admiral. Would you care to tell me a bit about it?”

Thrawn smiled, it was a warm one that actually reached his eyes, and began recounting his story in brief. As they talked, they walked around the ballroom, occasionally stopping to look at some piece of art or other. Vanto checked in occasionally but for the most part left the two of them alone.

His story recounted, Thrawn and Ailish began to discuss the artwork they were looking at. After viewing most of them, Thrawn asked in his soft voice, “And which of these artworks do you prefer over the others?”

Ailish scanned the room, her eyes roving over the paintings, sculptures, and tapestries. She settled on one that had pulled her in. “The Angel of Death.”

“It shows so much, the man grieving, the woman’s soul both comforting and at peace. It’s also a rare painting that uses all three primary colors next to each other as well as stark black and white and it does it so well. It has both content and style. And there is something about the ethereal beauty of her soul that is haunting.”

Thrawn studied her face as she spoke and nodded thoughtfully.

“And you? Which of these calls to you?”

There was no hesitation, he pointed to a statue. It was impressionistic, but it conveyed the emotion of the hunt. Passion, fury, sweat, blood, life and death were all present in the lines of the bronze piece.

Ailish nodded appreciatively. “Even though I am prone to more realistic art, this statue is quite magnificent.” she paused for a moment then added “It is said that you can learn a lot about a culture by their art. Is there anything you can tell by an individual’s taste in art?”

Thrawn gazed intently at Ailish once more. Curiosity, not a challenge of my methods, interesting. Pupils dilating, she is paying attention yet lost in her own thoughts. He noticed she was staring at the piece he had picked out. Is she trying to figure something out about myself? After a few moments he spoke, “Yes. Though it is often more effective to study their personally curated works rather than those they gravitate to in a situation such as this.”

A pleased smile, it softly reaches her eyes. Was she assessing me?

“What about the person who curated this?” she gestured to the room as a whole.

Thrawn’s mouth made a slight motion of disgust which he rapidly fixed to a neutral one. “Our host cares only of appearance. The painting you so like, for instance, he only chose because it is unique in its color usage as you pointed out. He cares not for the fine, ethereal qualities that you mentioned. The statue I admire, was only chosen because of the name of the artist, not for the emotions it conveys. This entire exhibit is a show of status, not a show of art.”

She laughed. It was a soft, warm sound. “Sounds about right.”

“And you, what is your...” he turned to Commander Vanto who had just reappeared and said a word in a language Ailish did not know.

“History” the young man replied.

Thrawn straightened and finished his sentence, “What is your history, Director?” Sadness in her eyes. Her throat muscles tense around her vocal chords. Body posture stiffens.

“I’m sorry, Admiral, I prefer to keep my history close to the vest.” she paused as Thrawn gave her a confused look. With her eyes she motioned to Vanto to enlighten Thrawn on the idiom she had used.

“It’s an idiom, sir. It’s taken from sabacc. One keeps one’s cards close to the vest so the opponent cannot see them or have an accomplice behind the player spying over their shoulders. It means she prefers not to reveal it.”

Thrawn nodded with understanding, “Forgive my prying.”

“Not at all, you had every right to ask. My history is... well there are parts that are painful and other parts that are classified. I hope you do not feel taken advantage of that I asked you yours without the intention of reciprocating.”

Thrawn offered a brief smile, “I do not feel such. Our conversation has been pleasant.”

“Agreed. Though I am also afraid I have detained you for far longer than is generally acceptable at these parties.”

“Ah, but no one has come to interrupt us, so perhaps we two are not the most popular.”

She could not contain her laughter; it rang out like the clear peal of a bell. Sweet and true. It mixed well with the rest of the noise in the room, but a few around them, Tarkin included, turned to see who was having the enjoyable time such a laugh advertised. “You have arrived at the truth of it, dear Admiral. It is their loss; your company this evening has been the best I have had in quite some time. Though, judging by Commander Vanto’s increasing agitation, I suspect it is time I release you from my web,” she winked at Thrawn “and let you mingle with other high profile guests.”

She closes one eye in what I assume to be a meaningful manner. Ah, a ‘wink.’ It was to convey something clever. He dissected her sentences quickly. ‘Web.’ Spiders spin webs, ah, she is alluding to her unofficial title. He smiled again, bowed his head in respect, and let her walk away.

“Well, you seem to have made an impression, Admiral.” Tarkin had walked up behind Thrawn immediately Ailish had left.

Thrawn noticed that Vanto’s face drained of blood. He must become used to dealing with those whose position and posturing would set them above him. He turned to face Tarkin. “We had an interesting discussion, your Excellency.”

Tarkin was appraising him with that hawkish gaze. “It must have been very stimulating to make her laugh. What did you say to her?”

“I believe it is not commonly acceptable to repeat a conversation to another.” Thrawn noticed Tarkin’s expression - he intended to ferret out this information one way or another - and decided that this was not a battle to fight. “I merely suggested to the director that perhaps she and I are not so popular in groups such as these.”

Tarkin straightened with a snort that was more air than sound. “Hmm. Well, we always knew you were perceptive.”

Thrawn inclined his head.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Admiral.”

“Likewise, Grand Moff.”

Tarkin strode away in the direction of Ailish and as he did so a brief thought flitted through Thrawn’s head, He hunts her.

Chapter Text

Finding Ailish on a balcony overlooking the partygoers in the garden, Tarkin approached quietly. “Drink, my dear?” He smiled to himself as he saw her body give a little jerk of surprise. Ah, so she can be caught off guard.

She had actually heard him approaching. What had caused her to brief reaction was Tarkin addressing her as “my dear”. It brought back bad memories from a time she would rather forget and made her twitch in response nearly every time she heard him call her that. Ailish turned to see that the tall, thin man was holding two glasses of dark red wine. She gave him a friendly grin, “I supposed I’d better or you’ll end up looking foolish holding two glasses.”

It was cool outside, a slight breeze blowing, a loose short tendril of Ailish’s hair occasionally fell into her line of sight and she would brush it back. It caught Tarkin’s attention, every time, and he found he enjoyed watching her delicate and pale hand gently moving her rusty hair back into place and hoped the wind would ruffle it once again. She is quite finely featured.

As she sipped her wine, she looked Tarkin over thoroughly. His hair was a good mixture of auburn and silver now. It lent him even more gravitas to his appearance. His eyes were eerily pale in the moonlight. His cheekbones stood out, casting dark shadows on his cheeks, accentuating his gaunt appearance. She noticed his long, thin fingers, holding his wine glass, swirling it slightly. His lips were thin, often disappearing when he scowled or grimaced, but here they were set in an almost friendly expression. His dress uniform fit him well. Dank farrik he looks good in uniform! Maybe that’s why he almost exclusively wears nothing else these days.

The two of them stood in silence for some time drinking their wine.

After a bit, Ailish remarked, “Quite an excellent wine, your Excellency.”

“It had better be, it’s from my personal collection.”

Wow, he really must be drunk to give me any. “I’m honored, Governor, that you would choose to spare some for someone the likes of myself.”

“I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning. But perhaps we can call it a peace offering.”

Ailish blinked in surprise, “Were we at war, Governor?”

The older man lapsed into silence, lost in thought for a moment, taking another sip of wine in the process. He looked across the terrace taking in the view while searching inwardly for the words that felt like the correct answer. Finally, he settled on one. “Competition. We are in a competition, my dear.”

Ailish eyed him coldly. “We most certainly are not.”

Tarkin huffed, then let a small smile twitch at the corners of his lips for the briefest of moments. Then he did something mildly out of character, he shrugged and dropped the subject.

When they had emptied their glasses, Tarkin took Ailish’s and set it with his on the balcony railing. “I find the wine has relaxed my inhibitions a bit, Director. Would you care to dance?”

Ailish’s eyes went wide with astonishment. Throwing caution to the wind she stated the obvious, “I take it that was not your first glass of the evening?”

Tarkin shook his head a sly smile spreading slowly on his face reaching all the way up to his eyes for once, “It was not.”

Ailish looked at the those dancing in the hall. It was something she did enjoy - with the right partner - and a pleasure in which she rarely was able to indulge. “I believe I would enjoy a dance with you, your Excellency. If you are not afraid of people assuming you are dancing with another mel, or assuming that we have become lovers. You seemed to want to avoid that particular rumor the last time it had a chance to rear its head.”

Tarkin smirked, “Oh, my dear, if they assume you are a man, then it only confirms to them rumors that have been circulating about me for years. And if they assume that you and I have had carnal relations, well, we both know that has no basis in truth so let them assume.”

Tarkin did not notice the pained look that crossed Ailish’s features when he addressed her as “my dear”, it was fleeting, and she quickly mastered her emotions. To her surprise and relief, Ailish found that as the evening wore on, she was becoming desensitized to Tarkin’s use of the epithet. More surprising, however, was his acceptance of the rumors that would indeed swirl about them after they danced. Ailish decided to put his newfound decision – or at least his temporary inebriation – to the test. “Since you put it so eloquently, I would indeed care to dance.”

The two of them strode to an opening in the floor and joined the dance. It was a very old fashioned one, lots of twirling and switching off with other partners, both Ailish and Tarkin gracefully executed each of the steps not really speaking with each other or their other partners. The next song was designed for couples to dance with each other without switching off. Tarkin held out Ailish’s right hand in his left and placed his right hand on her waist with her left hand on his shoulder.

People at the edges of the room stared in confusion. It was generally frowned upon for two men to openly fraternize and as Ailish had predicted, the people at the edges assumed it was two mels dancing together as they made their way gracefully across the floor.

Ailish shook her head chuckling to herself slightly. Tarkin arched and eyebrow. “You are definitely confirming rumors.” She rolled her eyes towards the onlookers.

“And what will they do to me?”

“Probably pester you with questions the moment you are free of me. On another note, you dance quite well for a man who has imbibed more than a couple of glasses of wine.”

He sighed heavily at her first comment and then snarkily replied to her second, “For you to be impressed by my dancing, you must be assuming I’ve had quite a bit more wine than just a couple of glasses.”

She smiled, a dazzling, warm smile that disarmed him. “Given that your night started with Admiral Motti and has proceeded to you offering me wine from your personal stash before asking me for a dance, I am indeed assuming that you’ve had a bit.”

Tarkin rolled his eyes then. “Oh yes, first it was Motti, then it was Ozzel, then it was someone else, and then it was someone else’s wife, and then it was her friend, and so on. I believe I have had six glasses so far.”

“With the glacial glares you give to those women, I really don’t understand how any of them have the courage to approach you.”

“Power, my dear, they crave being near power. They believe that they can somehow gain my favor for either themselves or their husbands if they offer their bodies for my amusement. It is quite tedious.”

It was Ailish’s turn to arch and eyebrow. “Really? You don’t just have the prettiest one wait for you at your quarters and take advantage of her until you’ve had your fill?”

Tarkin’s face set into a scowl, “No I do not.”

“Sorry, I went too far.”

With effort, Tarkin released his tension from her teasing. “You comment his closer to the mark of my youth than I care to admit.”

“Sir? I think perhaps, you’re sharing more with me than you normally would.”

His gaze penetrated her, gripping her core. He pulled her closer so he could whisper in her ear angrily “If you know Vader’s secrets, I assume you know mine. You’ve already admitted to having me under surveillance.”

Ailish whispered back, softly “Yes but, to be polite, I do try to act only on what people have explicitly told me and I am fairly certain, that in a few hours, when the wine has worn off, you will not be happy with having explicitly told me anything.”

He resumed their original distance from each other and schooled his features to project indifference, “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Director.”

The two of them continued to dance for quite a bit longer. They didn’t talk much after that. However, they did relax into a comfortable silence, moving strategically among all the rest of the dancers. After a while, by unspoken mutual agreement, the two of them left the floor to go their own ways for the rest of the evening.

Before he was too far away, Ailish said, “Your Excellency?”

He turned to her.

“Thank you for...” she motioned with her head to the dance floor “It was nice.”

Sometimes she impresses me, and sometimes she’s just like all the other simple women. He nodded, “Indeed.” he smirked “And the conversation did not disappoint.”

She did it again, she laughed. It lit her whole face and suffused her whole being. It touched him with its warmth and genuine mirth. It pleased him to no end to know that he had been the one to free the heavenly sound from her lips. Incidentally, Tarkin had another reason to be pleased. She had laughed longer at his wit than she had at Thrawn’s. Small victories.

Chapter Text

Coruscant’s noonday sun, shining through the large transparisteel windows had made the office comfortably warm. Despite having gotten his requisite amount of sleep the night before, Grand Moff Tarkin found himself nodding off in the soft heat as he tried to read yet another ridiculous requisition request from Krennic. Apparently grallocs were harassing some of his materials shipments and he wanted more security in the form of an outrageous amount of additional TIE fighter escorts.

Tarkin mentally scoffed, The man refuses to let any weapons development funding be used for Thrawn’s TIE Defenders but won’t hesitate to ask for more TIEs to defend his pet project. A heavy sigh escaped Tarkin’s lips. Something would have to be done about the materials shipments for Project Stardust. The Empire simply would not stand for delays because of mere animals. Yet any and all of Krennic’s solutions were nothing more than a single plug in a ship full of holes.

After the fourth time rereading the same line of text and finding himself nodding off, Tarkin set the datapad down and stood up from his chair. Time for a different tactic. I know what Krennic wants, but what does he actually need?

Tarkin thought for a moment on the problem. He decided that what he needed was more information. Information that Krennic either did not think to look for, did not have, or would not give him. Perhaps it’s time to see how useful our Director of Naval Intelligence can be.

Tarkin commed his aide to call his driver and met the young man on the landing pad of his office.

The sandy-haired, smartly uniformed driver approached, “Where to, sir?”

“Naval Intelligence headquarters.”

“Right away, sir.”

The entirety of the drive was completed in silence. Tarkin closed his eyes for what felt like the briefest of moments… or was it an eternity?

It was the cessation of motion that woke the Grand Moff. He blinked several times as he registered his driver’s voice through the speaker mounted on the privacy divider stating in a dry voice devoid of emotion, “We’re here, sir.”, then opening his door, getting out, and walking around to open Tarkin’s door of the enclosed luxury speeder.

Tarkin stepped out of his speeder to be immediately surrounded by his security troopers. They fell into their usual formation as he walked across the platform and inside the NavInt building. It was a nondescript building - for a building in Coruscant - blending in with all the tall duracrete and transparisteel skyscrapers around it. On its own, on some other planet, the building would have been considered a masterful piece of art. Blue-green transparisteel windows, duracrete block columns, and some other rock as a roof cap that had been carved into fantastical whorls and whimsical beasts. But here, in the forest of skyscrapers, it was just slightly less impressive than most of the buildings around it.

As soon as he entered, the whispers began.

“Grand Moff Tarkin is here.”

“Governor Tarkin? Is it an inspection?”

“Do you think the rumors about him and Director Orden are true?” “Shh… he’ll hear you.”

“Straighten up. Look busy.” “I am busy.”

His inner beast purred at their fear of him. It was good to get out of his ivory tower and do some of his own footwork. To be among his people yet set apart. To stretch his legs and remind those beneath him that he was aware of their presence, and it depended upon his mercies. He did find it both partially amusing and mildly annoying that his dancing with Orden weeks prior had sparked rumors about the two of them. Since Orden was not as large a public fixture, the rumors had remained blessedly contained.

The closest landing pad was several floors down from Director Orden’s offices. Thus, Tarkin found himself headed for the turbolift that served the Director’s offices directly. Taking the same route he had taken before the day he had wished to see her interrogation techniques, he strode down several hallways where people and droids scattered the instant they caught sight of him.

There was a brief moment where he consciously felt contentment as he stalked the passages. All was as it should be and all around him knew their place in the scheme of things.

Reaching the turbolift, he tapped the touch pad to call the car and waited. When the lift arrived, all but two of his security troopers entered with him. The duo left behind stood with their backs to the lift door, guarding that avenue of ingress.

A few moments later found him walking into Director Orden’s outer office, opening its doors with a simple wave of one of his code cylinders. With a subtle hand motion, he signaled for the entirety of his guard to remain outside. Though it happened rarely, they were used to the request by now and had given up trying to ever accompany the Grand Moff anywhere he did not wish it. They stationed themselves throughout the hallway, and just outside the doors and waited.

When he had entered, the lieutenant stationed at the aide’s desk rose and saluted. It was only then that Tarkin realized it was lieutenant Ryson and not Ailish’s other aide, What was his name? Had he ever even learned it? Nor was it Tabor. The competent one.

Tarkin gave the woman a brisk salute in return. “As you were, lieutenant. I wish to speak with Director Orden.”

Her face which had first been mildly shocked to see the Governor, formed it’s features into a slightly pouty expression. “I’m afraid Director Orden isn’t here, sir.” After a small pause, she added in a slightly huskier tone, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Tarkin appraised her with as cold and calculating a look as he could muster in his still tired state. “I doubt it.” He replied in a clipped tone that implied she was already boring him.

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask though, would it?”

He had to give it to her, she knew what she wanted, was bold enough to attempt to get it, and quite persistent. He looked her up and down once more. Even Ryson knew he was evaluating her like a piece of meat. Yet that did not seem to faze her. She stared straight at him, holding his gray eyes with her dark blue ones for a moment without looking away when he finally looked into them.

Deciding he had nothing better to do that afternoon and anything was an improvement over reading more complaints disguised as requests from Director Krennic, he shrugged, “I need data and reports on our Imperial shipment security detail movements and encounters in the sector of space around Geonosis.”

Ryson’s brow contracted a bit, giving her a thoughtful look. “Hmm.” She tapped her teeth with a well-manicured fingernail. “I can get you quite a few of the reports you’re looking for. Mostly the ones relating to encounters in that sector. The rest will have to wait until Director Orden returns.”

Tarkin nodded and Ryson set to work. She went to a cabinet filled with many small drawers, opened one, and retrieved what Tarkin assumed to be a blank data card. She inserted it into the appropriate terminal in her desk and began pulling up all the files she had clearance for that she thought Tarkin could need.

Meanwhile, Tarkin took the time to really evaluate the outer office. It was almost identical to his own offices on Coruscant in terms of layout. There were notable differences in terms of decor. His office was cold and imposing. He had designed it that way so that all entering would be aware of their place. Ailish’s office seemed almost the exact opposite. It was warm and inviting. It appeared she favored leather furniture versus the standard issue metal, plasteel, and fabric. There was even a small table made of actual wood resting comfortably to the side of a chair with a small glass vase of real flowers centered neatly on it. Several medium to large sized paintings graced the interior walls arranged so that light coming from the windows hit them just right no matter the time of day.

Tarkin had moved to study one such painting – the largest – it was a scene depicting some great space battle above a forest planet. The entirety of the painting was a depiction of destruction and yet it was absolutely beautiful. It was meticulous in its detail, dozens of smaller ships could be seen flitting in between the exploding carcass of the one of the larger cruisers, there were even escape pods dotted throughout. The blackness of space was broken up by the bright yellows, oranges, and purples of explosions and fire. On several ships you could even faintly see the blue of their over shields.

“I hate that thing.”

Tarkin turned from his study of the painting and stared at Ryson, who had silently walked up behind him and a little off to the side. He arched an eyebrow inquisitively. Ryson noticed and proceeded.

“Why have a painting of death and destruction when you can have more beautiful works of art that are happier in nature? Or more,” she paused for effect, “pleasurable to look at.”

Tarkin glared at Ryson. Yes girl. I’m not dense. Why does Ailish keep her around? What skills does she- I suppose she did walk up behind me while keeping me unawares.

“Anyway,” Ryson continued blithely, “the data transfer will take a little bit of time. You can wait here if you like or,” again the pause for effect, “I could bring it by your offices later.”

“I’ll wait.”

Ryson smiled. “Of course, Governor. Would you care for some caf or tea while you wait?”

Tarkin had resumed his scrutiny of the space battle depicted before him and said, off-handedly, “Caf.”

“Right away, sir.”

While Ryson moved away to prepare the caf, Tarkin moved to another smaller painting. It showed a myriad of races, all mounted on various beasts, pursuing some other creature in what was clearly a hunt. Again, the detail was incredible. One could feel the participants crashing through the forest and brush of the painting. There were more than a few little creatures hidden in the undergrowth that seemed to be scurrying out of the way of the hunters. The pursued beast appeared to be powerful, clever, and – at the moment of the painting – in no real danger of actually being caught.

The last painting depicted a fantastic scene, a woman, eyes glowing a brilliant blue, like that of some lightsabers, hovered in midair in a dark forest, hands outstretched. A pool of water, illuminated from below, glowed the same color as the woman’s eyes. From the pool, in elegant swirls, streams and droplets of water rose and surrounded the woman like ribbons. I wonder what Thrawn would deduce about Orden from these? Perhaps I should bring him here and ask.

Ryson returned with a cup of steaming caf and handed it to Tarkin making sure that the way she moved drew his attention the swells of her breasts. “Would you like some cream with that, sir?”

Tarkin sighed in annoyance as he took the cup and looked Ryson square in the eyes, “You don’t know what you’re asking for, girl.”

Ryson smiled a sensual, seductive smile of conquest. She had him. “Perhaps you could explain it to me in a way that I’ll understand?”

Taking a step back, Tarkin looked her up and down once more. He was tired, it had been some time and if she kept throwing herself at him, who was he to say “no”? Besides, it would alleviate some the stress and frustration of the day, if only momentarily. And she was, arguably, a very beautiful woman. Why not?

With two quick steps he strode to the doors and locked them with a tap of the correct code cylinder. He turned to look at Ryson again, sipping his caf. “Remove your tunic.”

Ryson hurried to obey, undoing her belt and letting it drop to the floor. Without looking away from him, she bit her bottom lip and began unclasping the hidden clasps of her tunic. She shrugged out of the outer jacket and let it slip to the floor. Tarkin saw the red lace of her brassiere through her blouse. I suppose she’s always ready. Good. At least she’ll know what she’s doing.

While sipping his caf again, Tarkin motioned casually with his free hand for Ryson to continue undressing. She licked her lips and began to unbutton her blouse. With each button more skin was revealed and Tarkin felt himself stirring. After the blouse, Ryson sat on one of the chairs to remove her boots. Somehow, she managed to turn the least sensual part of undressing into an arousing show. She turned around and bent low when dropping her trousers, giving Tarkin a fantastic view of her rear and of the red thong she was wearing.

Slowly she tugged that down as well revealing her luscious curves unfettered by fabric. No doubt there was muscle beneath, but Tarkin could tell she worked to keep a little softness as a lure to the men and women around her. Her nipples were hard in the cold air of the office, a nice purplish pink color. How many has she had here and how often, I wonder…

“Do you know your place in the Empire, my dear?” Tarkin asked cooly.

Without missing a beat, Ryson responded, “I serve at the Emperor’s pleasure.” Then added slyly, “And yours.”

Tarkin narrowed his eyes. Then, dispassionately, he said “Impress me.”

Making sure Tarkin watched her every deliberate movement Ryson got down on her knees, and crawled until she was directly in front of him looking up with her bright blue eyes into his steel gray ones.

Tarkin arched an eyebrow ever so slightly and Ryson understood immediately what was implied. It was amazing how much he could convey with that simple motion. She ran her hands from the top of Tarkin’s boots up the front of his thighs to the buttons of his trousers. She teased a finger over his erect manhood through the wool and was rewarded by feeling his hand slip into her hair and give her a quick, harsh jerk.

Smiling wickedly, she proceeded to undo the buttons and open Tarkin’s trousers enough to pull free the object of her desires. Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked at him with wide eyes. Ah yes, quite practiced. Knows exactly what to do to make a man feel he is special. Perhaps it is a good thing her direct superior is a woman. Unless she and Ailish… but no… they hate each oth-

Tarkin’s thoughts were interrupted as Ryson leaned forward and licked from the base of him to the tip. His grip on her hair tightened and he instinctually pushed her mouth towards his swollen head. She made a throaty groan of desire and opened her lips just enough that he had to push her head down hard. His eyes fluttered closed as he relished the tight pressure of those wet lips around his shaft.

Soon she was licking and sucking, going all the way down on him then coming off with a loud pop. At one point, Tarkin roughly pulled her off and forced her to look up at him. A small cry of pain escaped her lips.

“Do not leave a mess.” His command was sharp, clipped, and just a little breathless.

Ryson grinned again and began to suck at him in earnest, massaging the entirety of his shaft with her tongue as she continued to bob her head up and down, guided more and more forcefully by Tarkin’s hand. She knew she had done her job well when his grip in her hair tightened once more, painfully and he pushed her all the way down. She could smell his musk and nothing else as he kept her head close to his body. He moaned softly, hips thrusting forward, eyelids fluttering again and came, filling her throat with hot, salty ropes of his essence.

To her credit, she did not gag once as she swallowed. Instead, she moaned with pleasure and made sure to suck him dry. Not a drop was spilt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tarkin was unsurprised but a little disappointed that she did not gag yet pleased that she did not make a mess as he had commanded.

Certain he was finished, Tarkin again roughly pulled her from him. The forceful motion caught her off guard and she toppled off balance to one side. As she righted herself, she heard the telltale ding that the file transfer was complete. It did not matter. What mattered was Tarkin, right now. She wanted him more than she wanted anything. She was so wet, she ached for his touch, imagining how sensual yet forceful it could be. But he was buttoning up his trousers now, not even bothering to look at her.

“Sir?” she dared to ask with a look that begged for much more.

He turned to look at her his face devoid of emotion. “I believe the file transfer is complete. You would do well to get dressed and give me the data card. Not necessarily in that order.”

Ryson nodded, looking like a pouting child. “Yessir.” She mumbled as she sauntered over to the desk. She removed the data card and strode back over to Tarkin who had taken to staring at the painting of the woman above the water again. He held out a hand absentmindedly and she obligingly put the data card in it.

Realizing any more effort on her part was useless, Ryson went back to her pile of clothes and quickly dressed. Tarkin only turned to leave when he heard the telltale signs of her putting on her boots, signaling she was fully dressed. He gave her a quick once over and nodded his approval that she looked a perfect officer, with neither a wrinkle in her uniform nor a hair out of place. Quite practiced at fooling around in the office it would seem.

“You will inform my office as soon as Director Orden returns.”

“I-It may be a while, sir.” Ryson stammered.

Tarkin gave no indication that he had heard her remark as he turned to leave. He slipped the data card into one of his trouser pockets, removed a code cylinder from its rightful place on his tunic, held it to the door which unlocked with a click and hissed open in languid satisfaction, and walked calmly out.

Chapter Text

The suns were beginning to set on Tatooine. It had been a hot day, as they all were on the desert planet, and the locals were all beginning to head toward their favorite watering holes after their hard day of moisture farming. Most of the traders and spacers were already inhabiting the slightly-cooler-than-outside-air cantinas, imbibing the various brews of the planet, trying to wash down all the dust that coated their throats as well as their clothes.

All except for one trader it seemed. Rather than relaxing at the end of his day, he was embroiled in an argument with a pair of stormtroopers. He was a sandy-haired man with sun tanned skin and dark eyes dressed in dusty clothes of faded greens and muted browns. There was a blaster at his side, as there was on nearly everyone in town, and the hilt of a vibroblade stuck out from the top of one of his boots. While he was clearly not a local, he was most likely a trader. Or a smuggler. Same difference when you were on a backwater planet like Tatooine.

From what Ezra could hear, it was something about chain codes not matching up with the man’s ship registration. After a few more minutes of bickering the man finally fished through his pockets once more and produced several objects. From a distance, Ezra Bridger could easily see they were discs of Calamari Flan.

Apparently, the amount he had was not enough to impress the troopers. As one, they raised and aimed their blasters at the man. Immediately the man put the currency back in his pocket and threw his hands up in the air. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. I was just searching for my chain code cylinder, and it was easier to get those out of my pocket first.”

It was clearly a lie, but one that was meant to give the troopers an easy way out to let the man go. The leader did not take it. “You were trying to bribe Imperial officials. You’re under arrest. On your knees, scum.”

Ezra hated to see anyone being manhandled by the Empire and this seemed like an easy fix. The lanky youth walked boldly up to the troopers - who were beginning to put binders on the man now kneeling on the ground - and grinned. “Hey, so… what’s your problem?” He waved a hand, “This guy isn’t giving you any trouble.” Immediately the soldiers posture relaxed.

“This guy isn’t any trouble.” The leader said in a more muted tone than he had been previously speaking in.

“His chain code checks out.”

“Chain code checks out. Roger.” Said the second trooper.

“He’s free to go.”

“You’re free to go.” The first said, looking at the sandy-haired man and motioning for him to leave.

The young man rose looking a little confused. Ezra nodded at the man to come with him and the two set off for the nearest alley that would get them out of sight of the stormtroopers.

Though the area was mostly empty, the incident did not go entirely unobserved. An onlooker in the form of a middle-aged female human sat in the shade some distance away. Ostensibly she was scanning a datapad containing a supply list for her next shipment, but she had been listening to the altercation with keen interest. At first, it seemed to be a normal interaction between stormtroopers and a shady character. But when the blue-black haired youth had spoken with the stormtroopers, that had been anomalous. The troopers did not react in the way they were supposed to. The woman made a mental note of it and continued reading her datapad, checking boxes next to parts and supplies she wanted loaded on her ship.

Once finished, the dark-haired woman handed the datapad to a droid that had been waiting nearby.

“I need these loaded on my ship by morning. I’ll want the ship fully fueled and have an astromech look at the navigation unit, I suspect it needs calibration. My last jump was not as smooth as I expected.” The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out several peggats, the local currency of highest value. “You’ll get the rest when the job is done.”

The droid took the coins, scanned the items on the datapad, and nodded. “Deposit accepted. I’ll get my crew on this right away ma’am. Your ship will be ready to fly first thing in the morning.” It scurried off, motivators whizzing and whirring as it set about gathering others of its kind to perform their varied tasks.

As she turned to leave, the woman noticed a Twi’lek female leaning on a wall not too far away. The Twi’lek was staring straight at her. “Can I help you?” the human queried in a low, tense voice.

The Twi’lek shook her head, her lekku gently rocking with the motion. “No, but I think I can help you.” She was pretty, but oddly not dressed in the usual sensual outfits the females of her race tended to wear. Instead, she wore a much more practical flight uniform. Probably not a slave then.

The Twi’lek’s accent pegged her as someone who had spent some time among humans in the Outer Rim, rather than someone who had only ever known the Twi’lek home world of Ryloth. There was a hint of the home world cadence beneath the surface, however, so she had spent some time there. Probably as a child. An interesting character indeed.

The woman raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Those supplies look to be mining equipment.”

The woman remained impassive.

Undaunted, the Twi’lek continued, “I noticed in the flight plans you have filed that your ship, the Sprinter is headed to one of the neighboring moons of Lothal. In case you didn’t know – if you’re actually going to Lothal instead of one of its moons – mining equipment shipped there tends to get confiscated by the Empire with no reimbursement to the transporter. Also, there’s a serious blockade at the moment and no non-Imp ships are even allowed to use the traffic lanes anywhere near Lothal’s approach.”

The woman smiled, crinkles forming around her eyes in amusement. “I’d like to see them try to confiscate my shipment, if I were headed to Lothal and not a neighboring moon that is.” Interesting character this Twi’lek. Perhaps she knows… The woman’s face turned from friendly to hard in an instant, her green eyes flashing ferociously. “But as it happens, my destination is exactly as I’ve laid out in registered flight plans. I won’t need to use the Imperial lanes in once I’m in that system. I’m an honest trader doing honest work and I resent the suggestion otherwise.”

The Twi’lek shrugged and smiled back, “No offense intended. Good luck to you then.” She turned to leave but her progress was halted by the two stormtroopers that had been harassing the mel earlier along with two more. They surrounded her quickly and began taunting her.

“Well, hello there pretty thing.” “What are you doing away from your master?” “Does your master know you’ve gone out dressed like that?” “Mmm, I bet you’d look fine if you were dressed proper.” “We’re about off-shift sweetie. How’s about you come join us for a drink and some… fun.” They all laughed; a sickening laugh laced with the thoughts of what they intended to do to the Twi’lek fem for fun.

Just as they started to close in on her, the sound of a blaster bolt split the air. “Hey! Get away from my property you scugs!” The troopers whipped around to see the woman across the way, blaster facing the sky, red-faced with anger.

“Look lady, nice try-“

“You want to play hard ball? Here! Here’s my chain code, and my license for this slave She’s my property and I’ll have you keep your hands off.” She had holstered her blaster and thrust two small data cards at the soldiers. “Go on, check it. It’s all the proof you need.” The troopers looked at each other, but none of them had a scanner on them that could verify the woman’s claims. One of them shrugged and another turned to the woman handing her back her data cards.

“Well… you should keep a better eye on your property. Don’t let it go wandering around alone. Especially like that.” He gestured toward the Twi’lek, who was scowling deeply with her arms crossed, still surrounded by the troopers. “Dressed like that someone might mistake it for a runaway.”

Angrily the woman spoke, “She’ll dress the way I tell her to and that’s none of your business.” Perhaps a different approach will get us out of this mess sooner. Changing tack, the woman lowered her voice and gave the guard a conspiratorial wink, “Besides, I only like her to dress like that for me... When we’re alone.”

The soldier cleared his throat, “Uh… understood ma’am.” He turned to the others with him and said loudly, “Alright boys, this one’s taken. Let’s go change shifts and find us a lady who wants a few strong men with her tonight.”

One of the men shouted, “Let’s hit Freeba’s. Lots of pretty dancers there.” All the rest of the soldiers muttered in agreement and left the two femmes alone together once more.

The woman turned to the Twi’lek who was still scowling, “Hey, sorry about claiming you were my slave. It seemed the easiest way to get those sleemos to leave. Let me buy you a drink for the trouble.”

The Twi’lek’s features softened. “You know, I’ll take you up on that. It’s been a long day. Thanks for the apology, I appreciate it. And… thanks for getting me out of that mess. I could have handled it myself, but it’s nice I didn’t have to for once.”

The brunette smiled and stated, “See, I am an upstanding citizen.” Then she added, “Let’s not go to Freeba’s though. Don’t want to run into those scugs. Do you know any place else?”

“Sure thing. This way.” The Twi’lek led them down several alleys and side roads until they ended up at a cozy looking cantina, Chorla’s Choice. It was a small dive, but the music was good, and the food smelled amazing. The owner, a small Sullustan named Chorla, prided herself on the atmosphere of her place and as a result, made sure to visit with most of the patrons throughout the night.

It was dim and cool as they entered. The music and chatter of patrons was loud enough that one could not easily overhear specific conversations but soft enough that one did not have to yell at full blast to be heard.

The brunette motioned to one of the two bartenders, a Pau’an, as she and the Twi’lek found a secluded table. The tall, lithe alien nodded gracefully and headed over their way.

Turning to the Twi’lek, the brunette smiled, “What’s good here?”

The Twi’lek looked thoughtful for a moment, “In terms of drink, this dive has the best Ardees on the planet. They get theirs from actual Jawas instead of trying to replicate the recipe. As for food, you can’t go wrong with a bantha steak and kidney slab.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The bartender wound his way through the rest of the guests, both seated and standing, and arrived at their table. “May I take your order ladies?” There was a slight hiss as the words slipped through the Pau’an’s sharp teeth.

The brunette motioned to the Twi’lek who ordered for both. “Sala, we’ll have two Jawa Juices and two Bantha slabs.”

“Coming right up.” His voice was gentle and low. He bowed and returned to his station behind the bar where he relayed the food order to the cook and pulled the two Ardees from the tap. Full to the brim, he carried them on a platter without spilling a drop and neatly set them down in front of the two femmes.

“On my tab, Sala.” The Twi’lek mentioned.

“As you wish.”

“Hey! I was supposed to be buying you the drink.”

The Twi’lek smiled, “Sala gives me a discount. Instead, how about, as payment for implying I’m your slave, you listen to a business proposition instead?”

The brunette sipped her Ardees for a moment. Then replied warily, “You’ve piqued my interest. What sort of proposition?”

“You’re taking a load of ‘legal’ supplies to one of Lothal’s moons” The Twi’lek made quotation marks with her fingers at the word ‘legal’. “Let’s assume – hypothetically – that you are, as I suspect, actually taking contraband to Lothal proper. That would mean you’d have to make it in without using Imperial shipping lanes and would have to run the blockade.”

The brunette held her drink in one hand and leaned back in her seat. “That is certainly what someone smuggling into Lothal would have to do. I mean… I’m not saying that’s actually what I’m going to do. But…” she drew out the word, as if thinking on it, “it is something I could do, for a price.” The woman paused and took another sip of her drink, then continued, “On the other hand, those supplies could be used for anything you know, not just mining. And I just might have permission to use the Imperial shipping lane in with a proper transmitter code to pass the blockade. Again, if I were headed to Lothal.”

“Nothing doing. Only ships using the Imp Lane to fly in are Imp ships. If you’re headed to Lothal, you’re planning to go the back way and run the blockade.”

“Okay, you got me there. Hypothetically, assuming I did go to Lothal, and assuming that I happen to run the blockade, what is this business proposition? And remember this is all hypothetical.”

Her green-skinned companion chuckled. “I hear you. I hear you. Let’s say, for whatever reason, you end up on Lothal. Instead of leaving empty, you could load up on other items and come right on back here for payment. Even better, I know where you can get a transmitter code that would let you use the Imperial shipping lanes, on the way back.”

The brunette, in the middle of lifting her cup to her lips, paused. “An Imp transmitter code?”

The Twi’lek nodded. “They figure that any supply ships leaving Lothal have more to do with legitimate doonium shipments from the mines rather than smug- uh- transporting other items. So, it’s a lot easier to get a code to leave the planet and use the official lanes. I happen to have two, one for my crew and one for anyone else I can get to help me bring my shipment back here.”

“What’s the job pay?” The woman resumed lifting her cup and taking a sip of the malty brew, her green eyes focusing hard on the Twi’lek before her.

“More than some, less than others. Depends on your preferred currency. If you’re okay with credits I can get you twelve thousand. If you want something else, well, I can maybe get you half of that.”

The woman idly swirled the liquid in her cup as she thought. “Credits should be fine. I travel enough that I’ll find ways to spend it.” Looking up at her companion she asked, “On a scale of one to penal colony, how in trouble will I be if I get caught?”

“Let’s just say, blasters won’t be set to stun.”

“Explains the price you’re willing to pay. What’s the cargo?”

“Pretty sure the pay is enough for you not to really care about the cargo.”

“Pretty sure you’re right. When do you need an answer by?”

“I heard you tell the droid you’re pulling out tomorrow. So, probably before you turn in for the night.”

The woman nodded, staring into the depths of her cup, as if to find answers swirling in the creamy froth.

It was then the bartender, Sala, brought out their food. The thick chunks of meat and vegetables covered in a savory sauce, sat on a thick wafer of soft bread that was eagerly soaking up the rich sauce. Throughout the meal both women chatted with each other. The conversation started out with small talk, mostly comprised of various well-known events throughout the galaxy. Every now and then the talk would lead to a personal story or two, but it always drifted away to more non-specific, non-identifying conversation. Near the end of the meal, they got down to the specifics of the transit run.

After they had each finished their dinner and another mug of Ardees, the brunette nodded as if she had made a decision. “The pay is good enough, you have a solid plan, and you seem like you’re not going to stab me in the back. I think we have a deal.” She extended her hand and the Twi’lek across the table grinned and shook it. “My name’s Zepidah by the way. Figure I should let you know it if we’re working together.”

The Twi’lek nodded in agreement, “My name’s Hera.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Hera.” Hera. I’ve heard that name before…

“Hey! There you are!” A young woman in garishly painted armor with riotously colored hair shadowed by a tall, purplish alien shouted from across the room.

Hera waved at them and turned to the woman across from her. “They’re part of my crew.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, “Do you have a crew?”

“Nah, it’s just me in the Sprinter. I had a first mate for a while, but he ran off chasing some aristocratic skirt, so I just kept to myself after that. It’s a small enough ship for me to handle on my own. For the times I need help, I have a decent droid on board.”

Hera nodded in understanding.

The young woman and the alien wound their way through the other patrons and sat down with Hera and the brunette. Hera gestured to them, “This here is Sabine, my munitions expert, and this is Zeb-”

The purple alien leaned in close, “I’m the muscle.”

The woman laughed a low chuckle. “I’m Zepidah. Your captain and I were discussing details of a job.”

The alien, Zeb, looked suspiciously at the green-eyed woman then glanced at Hera who responded, “She’s already smu- transporting uh… well, maybe you should tell them.” She looked at her dining companion.

The woman laughed again. “Your friend is trying to be discreet on my behalf as I was loath to reveal much about myself earlier, but now that we’ve shook hands, I don’t see a reason to talk in hypotheticals. I’m carrying some mining equipment to Lothal.”

It was Zeb’s turn to chuckle, a low and gravelly sound. “Well, well, you’ve got guts lady. I can see why Hera wanted to enlist your help on the way out.” The alien surveyed the table, noticing the empty plates. “Since you two have already eaten, how’s about a friendly game or two of Pazaak?”

“Why not?” the woman took another sip from her cup. Tonight is turning out better than expected.

Zeb pulled a deck of the cards from a pocket and dealt everyone at the table a hand. Right then, Chorla, the named owner of Chorla’s choice came by for a visit. She spoke with everyone at the table, exchanged some stories and left with everyone smiling.

The brunette appeared to be a decent card player, but she lost slightly more than she won. It wasn’t a total shut out but at the end of the day she was down 47 credits.

“Pardon me, everyone. I have to use the ‘fresher really quick.” The brunette got up and headed to one of the two small freshers in the back of the cantina. As soon as she had locked the door, she retrieved the small comlink she had concealed there several days ago. She tapped the button twice and was rewarded with a double static blast from the other side letting her know the link was being monitored.

Softly she spoke into the receiver. “Tell the art collector that the pieces he seeks are scheduled for a small viewing tomorrow. I hear they are available for a price.”

The link crackled three times: message received.

Ailish Orden switched off the comlink and replaced it where she had hidden it before. She took the time to look in the mirror before leaving the refresher. She saw herself, hair dyed brown, eyes still remarkably green, skin tanned with an undertone of red from her time in the suns of Tatooine and smiled. How one simple change could make her another person always amused her. Taking one last look, she ran her hand through her hair and left, heading back to the table where the fugitives she had stumbled upon were waiting.

Chapter Text

“Sir, we’ve received a coded message for you. Priority One.” The ensign stationed at the communications station announced.

Rear Admiral Thrawn was standing forward on the bridge of the Chimaera, staring out at the myriad stars and swirls that littered the universe. He made no movement at the announcement and after a few moments more of thought he calmly responded, “Please send it to my data pad. Encryption 0-32-a.”

“Sir. Yes sir!”

A telltale beep pinged from Thrawn’s datapad mere moments later. He pulled it from his pocket and scanned the contents. His eyes narrowed.

Eli looked over from his station to the Admiral. “Everything okay, sir?” he queried.

Thrawn was quiet as he read and re-read the message. Finally, he reached a decision. “Commander Faro, you have the conn. Commander Vanto, with me if you please.”

Commander Eli Vanto followed the Admiral through one of the side doors that led to Thrawn’s ready room.

As soon as the doors hissed closed behind them, Thrawn turned to Eli handing him the data pad with the coded message. “What do you make of this?”

Eli spent several minutes reading the short message over and over. Tell the art collector that the pieces he seeks are scheduled for a small viewing tomorrow. I hear they are available for a price.

Thrawn watched his protégé, an emotionless mask on his own face. He mouths the words, as if giving them the semblance of sound will help him understand. Furrowed brows. The muscles around his mouth contract. This message also confuses him. Now his brows have shot up. There is a modicum of understanding. His eyes narrow but he begins to nod slightly.

“Well, sir,” Eli started, “It’s definitely for you. You’re most certainly the ‘art collector’ referenced here.

“Yes, that makes sense. Go on.”

“‘The pieces’ are described as something you are looking for. Considering you’re constantly being tasked with finding and eliminating rebel factions, I assume this refers to rebels.”

Thrawn nodded. He grasps quickly. He grows more confident with his understanding. His features relax with certainty.

“As far as I know, the only specific rebels you are looking for is that group of five that calls themselves the Phoenix Squadron.”

Eli paused, rereading the message once more.

“Hmm... ‘small viewing’”

He mutters to himself. His eyes narrow in concentration once more.

“I think that means they’re only going to be where they are going to be for a short time, sir.”

“Yes, that was my understanding as well. It is the last bit that I need your assistance with.”

Eli scratched his head, mussing up his hair momentarily before raking his fingers through it to straighten it out.

“Well... do you think it means that whoever gave us this info is looking for payment to give up their location?”

“That would be a bit obvious in a coded message, wouldn’t it?”

Eli looked chagrined.

“Besides,” Thrawn continued. “This was a one-way communique. They are not expecting a response. No, this is the pivotal clue to their location.”

Thrawn studied Eli as the junior officer thought about the message. His eyes unfocus. He bites the inside of his cheek out of habit as he thinks. His heart rate is steady, face is not flushing. He is not rushing to find an answer, he is calmly searching the patterns for the correct answer. The corners of his mouth twitch. He is beginning to smi-

“Aha! I’ve got it!” Eli exclaimed. “Lothal. They’re going to be on Lothal.”

“How did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Well, that particular group often operates in that sector. But that was no guarantee. No, sir. It’s that the message mentions they’re available for a ‘price’. As in Arinda Pryce, the governor of Lothal. I’ll bet that Phoenix Squadron is going to be present somewhere relating to Governor Pryce.”

It was Thrawn’s turn to narrow his eyes in thought. Finally, he nodded in agreement. “Yes, I believe you are correct. Thank you, Commander Vanto. Tell no one else of this. And instruct the ensign at the communications station to copy all communications out of the Chimaera to my personal datapad. You are dismissed.”

Eli had a moment of confusion at the order, yet he had learned long ago that Thrawn had his reasons for doing things and would disclose them in time when it was appropriate to do so. He saluted and returned to his station on the bridge.

As soon as the doors had shut behind Eli, Thrawn went to the communications station in his ready room. He keyed his authorization and encryption codes and sent a brief message.

From: R.A. Thrawn (Chimaera)

To: Lord Vader (Mustafar)

Suggest sending Inquisitor to Lothal. Two fish rumored to be in the pond for a short duration.

- Thrawn

Thrawn did not wait to see if his message was received. Instead, he returned to the bridge and gave the order for the Chimaera to return to Lothal with all haste.

Chapter Text

Zeb looked up from his cards and stared at Hera after the woman calling herself Zepidah had left for the refresher. “She looks tough. Do you think we can trust her?”

“Trust is a strong word Zeb, but we could use her. I had Chopper do some digging when we first got here, looking for ships headed in the direction of Lothal. Hers is registered as having been to one of its moons with a vague regularity.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning her ship’s initial presence in the sector won’t raise suspicions.”

Garazeb Orelios grumbled as he took a gulp of ale from his tankard. “I just don’t like strangers. These days, anyone could be working for the Empire.”

“We’ll keep our eyes and ears open, Zeb. We always do. You know that.”

“Yeah, I guess.” The alien mumbled.

“Cheer up Zeb. I like her. It’s always good to see a woman in the galaxy making her own successes.” Sabine chimed in. The whole time she had been sitting down, she had been surreptitiously looking around the cantina, searching – it seemed – for someone in particular.

After a few more minutes, Ailish, still in disguise, returned. “I don’t suppose any of you know how to play Savareen Whist?”

Zeb eyed the woman. “Maybe. But everyone I know who plays that game cheats something awful.”

Ailish laughed. “Fair. You must have been playing in the same circles as me. I wouldn’t say that I cheat exactly. But I am rather lucky at the game. Maybe it’s better we stick with Pazak.”

Zeb guffawed and slapped Ailish on the back, “She’s alright in my book, Hera.”

“So she admits she’s a cheater and now you’re okay with her Zeb?” asked Sabine jokingly, still staring around the room.

The Lasat cracked a huge toothy grin, “Hey, it’s the honest ones you have to worry about. Honestly.”

Everyone at the table chuckled. Suddenly Sabine shot up from her chair. “I uh- I’ll be right back. Gotta talk to someone. Don’t you dare stack the deck on me Zeb or I’ll shave off ALL of your hair.”

In mock outrage, Zeb slapped his chest, “I would never!” Then, as soon as she had turned to walk away, with a conspiratorial wink at the rest of the table, he proceeded to immediately stack the deck in everyone’s favor but Sabine’s.

Ailish smiled at the joke and looked around for the bartender to call for another round. As she did so, she took the opportunity to glance at Sabine who was leading a tall, well-muscled man around a corner to a private room. With her brief glance, she could see the man had impeccable posture and a military haircut. His clothes showed him as a local though. Her glance at his face had necessarily been brief, and she deeply wished she had thought to plant a listening device on Sabine as the woman had left the table. Too late now. Ailish would have to figure out who the man was the old-fashioned way.

The rest of the evening together was spent killing time and getting to know each other in the vaguest of senses. When Sabine came back she gave Hera a knowing nod that Ailish was not supposed to have seen. Then she made a big stink about her cards being lousy and punched Zeb in the shoulder. Everyone dissolved into laughter then played a few more rounds of Pazak after first reshuffling the deck.

Finally, the party as a whole rose and stretched. It was time for bed and they were all passing sleepy yawns around to each other. When they exited, Hera turned to Ailish, “We’re all staying at the Lunar Layover tonight. Been a while since we’ve had soft beds. But we’ll meet you down at the docking bay in the morning. See you then, Zepidah.”

Ailish nodded. “I’m at the Hangar Bay, right near where I’ve got the Sprinter docked. I feel you on that soft bed business. It’s nice.” She gave the party a mock salute and headed off in the direction of the Hangar Bay lodgings.

“Who was that?” a male voice asked as soon as the woman was out of earshot.

Hera smiled a knowing smile, “Hello to you too Kanan.” She and the rest of her party turned to find Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger, and an unknown man emerging from a nearby alley.

Kanan did not smile. Though his bandana hid his now blind eyes, there was a grim set to his jaw. “Who. Was. That?” He asked again, enunciating every word, his voice low, his teeth clenched.

“That was Zepidah. She’s going to be working with us on our next run.” Hera stated.

Kanan growled but before he could say anything else Ezra jumped in. “Well this is Warden Breech, and he’s going to be helping us on our next run.”

Hera narrowed her eyes and looked at the young man beside Ezra. He appeared to be closer to Kanan’s age, sandy hair, dark eyes, armed to the teeth, and slightly anxious. She sucked in her breath then released it slowly, “You were the trader having trouble with the Imps earlier.”

The man nodded. “Maybe we should talk somewhere more private?” He glanced around nervously. “There’ve been a lot of patrols here lately.” He had a slight accent. It was an odd one that took Hera a minute to place: wild space. Well, wild spacers had no love of the Empire in general so at least there was that.

Hera nodded. “We have rooms at the Lunar Layover. We can talk there. But just so you know, you may not have this job.” She shot a dagger-eyed glance at Kanan.

The man looked questioningly between the twi’lek and the human, opened his mouth as if to say something, then on second thought, closed it and followed in silence.

When they reached their rooms at the Lunar Layover, Hera turned to the man, “Warden, would you mind keeping Ezra company in his room for a minute? I need to have a word with Kanan.”

Ezra grinned, “You two going to fight about who has the better smuggler?”

Zeb slapped the back of Ezra’s head just as Sabine punched his shoulder. “OWWW! Geez! It was just a joke.”

Both Hera and Kanan turned their glares on Ezra until he backed slowly into his room, motioning Warden to come in with him. As his door was still closing, Ezra popped his head out and declared quickly, “You know, you could just use both of them.” and ducked back in just in time to avoid getting his head caught in the door.

When the door was shut he turned to the young man, “Well Warden, if we’re lucky they’ll fight loud enough for us to hear the outcome.”

The young man nodded and smiled a weak smile. “I’ll understand if they go with the other person. I’m good at my job, but I don’t want to be causing trouble.”

“Honestly, we can use all the help we can get.”

“TWELVE THOUSAND?!” They both heard Kanan’s exclamation through the walls.

Warden glanced at Ezra, put his finger to his mouth in a silencing gesture then moved to the wall closest to where the sound had come from. He fished something out of his pockets and put a small communicator in his ear while placing a palm sized disc up to the wall. He handed a second ear communicator to Ezra who grinned and quickly placed it in his ear.

“… there before Kanan. She has the skills we need and a ship of her own.”

“So does Warden. He’s been dodging Imps for a long time. Knows their blockade patterns. Plus he can slice. We need that. AND he’s only going to cost us four thousand in Calamari Flan. Not twelve. Geez Hera, we can’t afford that!”

“Zepidah will take Imperial credits. You know we have tons of those to spare. Besides, I’ve seen the flight logs for her ship. She’s all over the system. It won’t be odd for her to show up somewhere with those credits.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Kanan, you’re not in charge here.”

“When am I ever?!”

“Kanan.” Her tone was that of exasperation at someone being intentionally obstinate. A moment later Hera spoke again, this time softer, more subdued. “My love, maybe Ezra has a point. Maybe we can use both of them. But how do I know we can trust this Warden guy?”

Kanan snorted. “He doesn’t like Imps. He told me about a couple of sabotage incidents he was a part of. I had Ezra get Chopper to look them up. His stories check out. He’s already on their wanted lists. He’s definitely trustable when it comes to dealing damage to the Empire. You need to trust me, Hera.”

Ezra removed the ear piece and tapped the young man’s shoulder. He looked up and removed his ear piece. “I think we’ve intruded enough.” Ezra said. The young man blushed, his freckles showing up clearly above the red creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

“You’re right. I uh… it’s a force of habit. There’ve been times where listening in has saved my life.”

Ezra nodded. “I don’t doubt it.”

A few moments later there was a knock at Ezra’s door. “Come in!” He shouted. Kanan entered followed by Hera. “Well, Warden,” she said smiling, “looks like you still have a job if you’re willing.”

The young man nodded. “I am. I won’t let you down.”

Kanan sighed, “Alright. Guess I get to go back to those pompous slugs and get another transmitter code.”

“Remember, they’re royalty here, love. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Kanan grumbled under his breath as he walked out the door.

“So uh- I take it me and this other person are both coming?”

“Yep. The more the merrier. Also, if one of us doesn’t get out, there’s always a chance the other will.”

“Yeah. That makes sense. And you trust this other person?” the man asked.

Hera thought for a moment. “I trust her like I trust you: just enough to get the job done.”

The man nodded. “I can work with that.”

“Well, it’s late, and we’re all slated to take off in the morning. So… see you in the docking bay.”

“See you there. I’m staying on my ship. Cheaper than renting a room. It’s in docking bay 72. The Persistent.”

“Good name.”

The man grinned, “I thought so too. See you in the morning.”

The young man left and headed straight for his ship. Though he appeared to be looking around to see and avoid any more stormtroopers, he ignored the silhouette of the Lasat that followed him. When he arrived at his ship, he went inside and noticed out of his peripheral vision the Lasat going back the way he came. The young man smiled.

“So?”

He jumped, blaster in hand, and spun in the direction of the voice. “Kriff! How did you get in here?”

Ailish leaned forward from her position in the captain’s seat. “I taught you everything you know, Ruston, not everything I know.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled.

Ruston Tabor straightened. “It’s Warden Breech.”

Ailish nodded. “You’re right. Now, where are we?”

“They’re using both of us. Also the one called Kanan, he’s getting the transmitter codes from the Hutts- “

“Dank farrik!” Ailish swore.

“We knew that was most likely the case. I couldn’t get out of them what the cargo is, but I didn’t push too hard. I think this is that Phoenix Squadron we’ve been hearing about from Thrawn’s reports considering the kid must have used some sort of force powers on those troopers earlier. If so, I didn’t want to spook them.”

Ailish nodded. “You did good. They are indeed the Phoenixes, I’ve already sent word to Thrawn, perhaps we can finally get them caged. On my front, I think I found our inside man.”

Tabor straightened up. “What?”

Ailish handed Tabor a flimsiplast sheet with a brief sketch she had made of the man along with every detail she could remember. Tabor took it, looked at it for a few minutes, then wiped it. “That should be enough for me to go on to conduct a search.”

Ailish nodded. “Good luck to you tomorrow.”

“And to you.” He shook Ailish’s hand.

Ailish smiled gently at her friend and subordinate. She checked the monitors both of the ship and the ones she had placed nearby to ensure no one was watching, then quickly left the ship and headed to her room at the Hangar Bay. She climbed up the fire escape ladder and entered her room unseen, just as she had left it after she had returned from the cantina.

She showered - one of the perks of getting a room versus sleeping on one’s ship – and went to bed. Sleep allowing the stress that had been slowly building to finally melt from her muscles as her mind drifted in the haunting realm of dreams.

Chapter Text

Grand Moff Tarkin felt at home in space. In reality, Wilhuff Tarkin felt at home anywhere. Everywhere his feet trod, everywhere he laid his head, that was home. For Tarkin, home had no special connotation, no sentimental value, except perhaps the Carrion Plateau, the vast stretch of wilderness that had honed him from the sapling of the boy he had been to the hard, lean, ruthless man he was. In truth, however, everywhere was home because everywhere he went, everywhere he looked, he was the master, by right or by force.

It was early in the morning rotation and Tarkin’s shift had just started. The Executrix was currently travelling the Corellian Run hyperspace lane. Several standard days prior they had transferred to the Run from the Metellos Trade Route which intersected their originating planet of Coruscant.

This was to be an easy trip to Geonosis and back. A spot-check on the men and materials deployed there for work on the Empire’s top-secret project. Tarkin stopped in often enough these days to ensure that there were no delays being covered up, no pirates or smugglers threatening security, and that the workers and slaves were not falling behind schedule. Unlike Count Vidian, Tarkin liked letting the people beneath him have free reign. When you had several star systems to manage, micromanaging did no one any good. Besides, Vidian’s a fool. The levels to which he drives those under his command yield short term results at the loss of long-term sustainability. It's like driving your blurrg so hard to make time that they die before reaching your destination, leaving you stranded in the wilderness.

Tarkin sipped from his cup of caf, pacing aimlessly, thoughts wandering occasionally, while ostensibly reading from his handheld datapad a slew of notable reports that had come in whilst he was off-duty.

Nothing caught his eye that needed his direct attention. Setting his caf down on the hand railing in front of the main viewports, he tapped the device repeatedly, assigning tasks to those beneath him who were best suited to them. That drudgery done, he set the datapad down on the same handrail, picked up his caf and stared out into the expanse of space letting the lengthening lines of starlight mesmerize and wash over him like the regular lapping waves of an ocean tide.

After a time Tarkin resumed reading reports on his datapad, this time they related to his external affairs. Tarkin made notes and administered orders that would be relayed once the Executrix dropped out of hyperspace. Making his way back across the command bridge, Tarkin caught the eye of his first officer.

“Sir?” the dark-skinned woman queried.

“Time for a lookabout, Commander Sloane.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Sloane snapped a sharp salute then strode to the navigation pit, looking down to grab the attention of the Chief Navigation Officer. “Lieutenant Commander Meir, prepare to drop out of hyperspace and perform lookabout maneuvers.”

“Aye aye, sir!” The short, stocky man turned to his charges. “Lieutenant Cydra, warm up the sublight engines and plot a lookabout course as soon as we’re in regular space. Lieutenant Xal, prepare to drop from hyperspace on my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

A chorus of “ayes” accompanied the navigation officer’s orders and the command deck became a flurry of activity as more orders trickled down from the those at the top to those who would be executing them. An order for radio silence was given, holding any transmissions that were set to send upon exiting hyperspace until the silence was lifted. The comms officer “ayed” and furiously worked at his control station adjusting transmission schedules. Another order was given for a squadron of TIE fighter pilots to man their craft and prepare to launch the moment the Executrix went sub-light with an additional four squadrons to be at the ready in case of need.

Tarkin smiled with pride at the efficiency of his crew. They had earned the right to be here with hard work, dedication, attention to detail, and not a little cleverness. Utterly loyal, they were his; yes, they served the Empire and by extension the Emperor, but they would, without hesitation, die for him if he ordered it. As a result, he trusted them to do their jobs without having to constantly micromanage them just as he did those beneath him on Geonosis, Eriadu, and at countless other locales.

Lookabouts had become a commonplace procedure aboard Tarkin’s ship. It was a habit he had picked up from his days on the Carrion Plateau. Cause chaos amongst a group and you can pick off a straggler for dinner. In space, random drops out of hyperspace had netted more than one rebel or pirate for the Grand Moff. Appearing where least expected and with no flight itinerary scheduling the appearance, Tarkin came across pirates hijacking trade ships, scavengers tearing apart old stolen ships, and on rare occasions, rebels in medias res.

There were more times than not, however, where this maneuver did nothing more than waste fuel. But the fear that Tarkin would be there was enough to dissuade more than a few dissenters from a life a crime they otherwise would have pursued. Today is as good a day as any for hunting.

As soon as the ship dropped out of hyperspace, the TIE squadron screamed from its bays, flaring out in a symmetric fan-like pattern and scanning everything in their path. Tarkin strode to the front of the command walkway and stood before the transparisteel viewport looking to see if he could spot anything untoward.

A memory resurfaced unbidden: his uncle, Jova, instructing him many years ago on the plateau “Sometimes the naked eye can spot an anomaly sooner than a scan, my boy. Scans must parse the data while you can tell at a glance if something is out of place.” The memory faded as a glint of something nestled amongst the dust and debris of the Dragonflower Nebula caught Tarkin’s eye.

“Get me an enlarged view of the disturbance just above bridge-horizon, forty-five degrees to port of ship-axis.”

Immediately the words had left his mouth, an enlarged and enhanced image of the detritus Tarkin had seen appeared, as if laid atop the transparisteel window. Leaning forward, staring intently at the flickering image, a wicked grin formed on the Grand Moff’s visage. Here is a hunt! If Uncle Jova could see, he would be baring his teeth in anticipation and tasting the air. Tarkin indulged himself in a brief but deep inhalation; holding his breath a moment to savor and identify the scents. Aside from the smell of clean metal, leather polish, and recirculated air, the smell of adrenalin was sharp. However, Tarkin smelled no fear amongst his crew; they were ready for the hunt. They always are.

Tarkin turned to Commander Sloane, “Report.”

“Our scanners show seventeen ships surrounding the derelict field. Several of which we can identify as belonging to known Rebels.” She pointed to various ships on the visual enhancement and they were immediately outlined in a golden glow that pulsed with their names written above them in galactic basic. “Should we open up the comms sir?”

Tarkin raised his hand to his mouth as he thought. His decision quickly made; his attention snapped to the screen once more. “No. Send out four more squadrons of TIEs, then microjump us to that spot,” he pointed with one of his long bony fingers to an empty area of space near the center of the ships.

“Your plan, sir?” Sloane asked as she programmed the orders for the TIE fighter deployment into a console that would transmit them to the pilots in waiting.

“The TIEs currently in flight will have seen what we see, they know their jobs: eliminate stragglers, harry the edges, shepherd the rebels to an indefensible position. It is our job then to get in the middle of them before they can group up and protect each other. They will of course be offered the chance to surrender. The moment they don’t we will crush them.”

Commander Sloane nodded. “Primary target, sir for when they choose to run?”

Tarkin studied the image of the ships gathered even more closely. There is clearly a lead ship. But no. On the Carrion you did not take out the bull first thing. You thinned the herd by taking out the weak. And humans are so stupid. They will protect their weak, to the point of death making foolish mistakes to do so.

The moments drew on, but no one interrupted Tarkin. Finally, the Governor’s face took on a more determined and grim set.

Yes, the medical frigate. Perhaps some of their wounded are important. Even if they are not, we will remove more of the threat by eliminating their ability to recover.

Turning to his First Officer once more, Tarkin spoke softly, coldly, a serious cast to his face, and a ruthless glint in his eye. “The primary target is the medical frigate. We will hunt it to the ground.

"As soon as the microjump is complete, send out a communications signal offering them our terms of surrender: Cut power to all engines and weapons and prepare for boarding. When they refuse, jam their comms and open ours so we can coordinate with the TIEs”

“Aye aye, sir. Dropping comms jammer at our current location. Navigation,” Sloane turned to the Chief Navigation Officer, “calculate the coordinates for the microjump and execute as soon as you have them.”

Commander Sloane next strode over to the ship wide communications device and the moment the ship was in hyperspace he quickly announced to the whole ship “This is the bridge. All crew to your battle stations!”

The words were barely out of the femme’s mouth when the ship emerged in the midst of the rebel party, arms warmed up and ready to fire with firing solutions locked into the ships targeting computers. There was indeed a clear command ship, the medical frigate, several other mining ships, troop transports, and a few smaller vessels best classified as rogue/smuggler type ships. It was the call sign on the command vessel and one of the transports that identified this group as a rebel cell. Now, all of the call signs would be registered along with any transmitter codes if any of the ships were foolish to be broadcasting them.

A perfect jump. We are aimed directly at the medical frigate. Tarkin nodded in signal to his communications officer below in the pit. The man pressed a button, “Transmitting now sir.”

Tarkin nodded again in acknowledgement, “Rebels, this is Grand Moff Tarkin. You will power down your engines and weapons then surrender to the Empire for detainment and trial. Any attempt to escape will be met with extreme prejudice.”

I wonder, will they cave as so many have before them once I have them in my jaws?

The silence grew deafening. Finally, a scratchy response from the command ship came across the channels.

“We don’t understand your meaning. We are not rebels. We have a right-”

In annoyance, Tarkin wave his hand in a quick signal. The viewport flashed green as a turbolaser bolt flashed across the ship’s bow. A moment later, one of the smaller rogue ships burst into dust.

“Try again.” Tarkin said calmly.

“They’ve closed the comm lines sir!” The communications officer shouted.

Immediately that notification was given, Commander Sloane gestured to the man at the comms.

The young man instantly set to work and a few scant seconds later announced, “We’re jamming their transmissions, sir. Our comms are now open to the TIEs”

While this was happening, all on the bridge who looked out could see each of the rebel ships beginning to shift position, preparing for hyperspace jumps. All except for one of the Quasar Fire-class bulk carriers the rebels had converted from a freight transport to a ship carrier. It released its full complement of X-Wings in a graceful arc, each ship opening its wings in full attack position.

The TIEs, full well knowing their orders, did their best to pick on the smaller ships but were caught fairly quickly up in man-to-man combat with the X-Wings whilst the other rebel ships made good their escapes.

All except one TIE. It had hung back, systems at low power, waiting for the enemy to be distracted. Then, very quickly it spun up its engines and darted to the vicinity of the medical frigate. An X-Wing, sensing danger, did an about face, leaving his compatriots to go and do battle with the lone TIE. The X-Wing pilot raced towards the Imperial ship, laser guns firing only when it was assured the bolts would not hit the frigate. The two ships darted around the larger one in a seemingly endless game of hide and seek. Right up until the frigate jumped to light speed. Its disappearance left the TIE wide open to a torpedo blast from the X-Wing, and in mere moments, the Imperial craft and its pilot were no more.

You have served well. Tarkin thought. He looked towards the navigation pit. The Chief Navigation Officer looked up with a grin on his face. “She attached the tracker all right.”

Tarkin nodded his satisfaction. He watched the rest of the battle dispassionately. All the rest of the larger ships had made their escape, except for the one ship transport. Tarkin raised an eyebrow at his first officer and nodded towards the ship.

“Aye aye, sir!” Sloane quickly moved to stand behind the weapons station. “Inform the TIEs to get clear, then concentrate our heavy turbolaser fire on that carrier!”

The flurry of activity continued around Tarkin as he stood, a firm rock, weathering the storm, contemplating all the while.

When the laser beams launched from the Executrix several TIEs broke off from their engagements, feinting at retreat, in reality to escort the missiles of death to their final destination without letting selfless X-Wing pilots suicide themselves to prevent the volley from reaching their target.

By the time those in the X-Wings understood what was going on, it was too late. The transport vessel was gone. An ever-expanding cloud of dust, smoke, detritus, and bodies was all that remained of the Quasar Fire-class ship and its crew.

It took only a few minutes more for his ship along with the TIEs to eliminate the rest of the X-Wings using hardly more than standard laser turrets. Assured there were no survivors, Tarkin strode to the navigation area and issued the order directly to the hyperspace officer himself.

“As soon as we have a fix on their location, follow that frigate, Lieutenant.” he spoke calmly. Every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation but he controlled the outward appearance. It could be days before the medical frigate dropped out of hyperspace. They would have to continue forward with their original mission, waiting all the time for the frigate to drop out of hyperspace, and hoping it was somewhere close enough for them to finish the job they had started.

“Yes sir!” The woman stood, gave a smart salute, then sat back down and huddled over her instruments, anxiously waiting for the medical frigate to drop out of hyperspace so they could get a fix on it and hoping it would happen on her shift so she could have the opportunity to prove herself.

“In the meantime,” Tarkin said, turning once again to his first officer, “Commander Sloane, before we resume our initial course, send a small squad to do a preliminary investigation of the area. I want to know what they were doing there.”

“Yessir.” Rae Sloane set about her task and the bridge, already bustling, became aflutter with life once more.

Tarkin turned to his comms officer next, “Contact the Imperial overseer of Druckenwell. Inform them that rebels have been seen in the nebula. Give them the coordinates and instruct them to send a detachment to investigate what the rebels were doing there and report back to me as soon as possible. Let them know we will send our preliminary results.”

“Aye aye!” The officer turned to his communications devices and began murmuring the message to Druckenwell’s overseer.

Turning to another officer Tarkin said, “Once the detachment from Druckenwell arrives. Call back our squad and send over our findings.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Came the response.

Satisfied with the course of events, Tarkin had a moment of thought to himself, I have set the hounds upon them. Soon we feast on rebel blood.

Chapter Text

The mood on the command deck was elation. They were in pursuit of the enemy, an enemy they had interrupted from doing whatever nefarious deed they had been working on. An enemy who had one less Quasar Fire-class transport ship and forty-eight fewer X-Wings than when the day had started.

Tarkin had lost eleven TIE fighters but had only lost seven pilots as the others had managed to eject and be rescued after their ships had sustained damage that rendered them nothing more than practice targets.

He smiled more to himself than anyone else. His first officer noticed and raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

Unlike on Vader’s ship where one followed orders without question and certainly never interacted with the dark lord unless absolutely necessary, Tarkin let his crew enjoy a bit more freedom. They had earned that right. Besides, a team that communicated with each other learned to trust each other and worked better together. There were times that Tarkin brooked no questions and he always required that orders were followed without hesitation, but because his crew trusted him, because he gave them respect and a reason to trust him, they never balked during the times they had to rigorously adhere to the rules without the benefit of an explanation.

Tarkin acknowledged his first officer’s unspoken question with a widening of his sly smile. “Considering the firepower that was on hand, the rebels could have easily destroyed us had they just used their minds rather than succumbing to panic.”

Sloane shook her head, “Yes, but there have been plenty of times when you’ve done that maneuver, sir, where you have had an entire fleet with you. These rebels didn’t have much time between when you just appeared in their midst and when you started blowing up their ships.”

Tarkin chuckled, a low, dark sound the originated from deep within his core. “Precisely. And rather than using their eyes, taking what would have been acceptable losses to stop me, they scampered away like the vermin they are.”

It was Commander Sloane’s turn to laugh slightly. “Indeed. But I shall never count on them doing that again.”

“Nor should you. Just remember that panic at the wrong moment can turn certain victory into certain defeat.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tarkin walked to the viewport, arms clasped behind his back lost in his ruminations once more.

***

After a brief time investigating the Dragonflower Nebula – during which the preliminary determination was that the rebels had been scavenging bits from old mining vessels for an as of yet undetermined purpose – the Executrix resumed its previous journey to Geonosis, dropping out of hyperspace every so often to see if their prey had emerged.

The homing beacon that had been attached during the brief battle was still transmitting. However, it was a basic unit; one that attaches to a ship’s hull and nothing more. As a result, the unit could only transmit a listing of current HoloNet relays that it was passing rather than exact navigational coordinates. It was enough to give the Executrix a rough idea of where the ship was heading through hyperspace, but not a precise location.

It was several days later when a bright red dot labeled BEACON1 finally appeared on their instrument panel. The frigate had taken the predictable and safe path of the main hyperspace route and had dropped out near Falleen hoping to lose itself in the myriad ships coming and going from that highly trafficked planet.

Tarkin grimaced when he saw the location one of his subordinates indicated on the holomap. That world had been a thorn in Tarkin’s side ever since the Clone Wars when Count Dooku had tried to seduce him to the side of the Separatists using Falleen as bait. Falleen was in an ideal location close to hyperspace routes and trade planets, and it was a major transportation hub. Eriadu, Tarkin’s home world, was a producer of great quantities of lomite ore which needed to be transported off-world for refining and manufacture. Among many other tactics Dooku had used to convince Tarkin to switch sides, he had offered Tarkin the ability to ship Eriadu’s ore through Falleen. Now, even though it was ostensibly under Imperial control, the world gathered pirates, rebels, smugglers, and all other assorted pieces of space trash due to its location.

Falleen. That makes sense. Despite a heavy Imperial presence there, something about that world attracts the dregs. Perhaps… Tarkin stroked his lip for a moment then shook his head, No. As Commander Sloane said, we should not count on their running away when we catch up. Perhaps…

Tarkin, a statuesque figurehead at the front of the command walkway, lost in deep thought with the fingers of his right hand toying his lower lip, while his left hand cupped his right elbow, looked every inch the inspirational leader the Imperial propaganda machine had put forth. He started to nod slowly as a decision began to solidify. Once he ascertained that he was indeed committed to that course of action he sprung into motion, striding swiftly again to his communications officer.

“Ensign Fring, see if you can raise Lord Vader.”

Ensign Fring, one of the newer additions to Tarkin’s crew, swallowed, then immediately replied, “Aye, sir.” There was a tinge of fear in his voice, but the comms officer executed the command with precision and without hesitation.

At the sound of the man’s fear, a thought unbidden struck Tarkin. That of he and his uncle on the Carrion Plateau. His uncle lecturing him about the importance of ensuring that the local wildlife fear him so it knew its rightful place and never tried to hunt him mistaking him for prey. Vader moves as a predator among men. They fear him for the devastation he can cause. Uncle Jova would have liked Vader.

Tarkin walked back to the alcove that housed the holoprojector. After a few minutes, Vader’s visage appeared in blue light accompanied by the somewhat garbled sounds of the telltale hiss of his transpirator.

“Lord Vader.” Tarkin inclined his head briefly.

“Governor Tarkin.” Vader did the same, his head bowing slightly more than Tarkin’s had. “For what reason have you called?”

“I have uncovered a small group of rebels. I have tracked their medical frigate to the space above Falleen. I believe you are near that sector; I would appreciate the numbers as I bring this prey to ground.”

Aside from his breathing, Vader was silent for quite some time. Tarkin stood patiently, arms clasped behind his back. It was Vader’s move and there was no use thinking ahead until that decision was made.

“How did you manage to find these rebels?” The deep voice rumbled.

“The usual, I dropped out of hyperspace at random. I saw a gathering of ships near the edges of the Dragonflower Nebula and decided to take a look. Our initial scans showed several of the ships to be ones we know to be currently in use by known rebels and dissenters.”

“You have a knack being at the right place at the right time.” Vader mused. It was only because their friendship spanned decades that Tarkin understood the statement to be one of admiration rather than accusatory. Any other person would be nervous of the implied treason of Vader’s words.

“Perhaps.” Tarkin said coolly, “I prefer to think that I am prepared for whatever place I am located, at whatever time it happens to be.”

Vader’s voice box made what sounded like a strangled noise that Tarkin could only interpret as a grunt of approval or… a laugh?

“I will join you in your hunt, Governor. Send me the coordinates.” With those words, Vader ended the transmission.

The coordinates sent, the Executrix leapt into hyperspace like a foxhound released from its leash, foaming at the mouth to catch its prey. Falleen was not too far off the path that the ship had been headed down anyway, so there had been little in the way of lost time while they had waited for the homing beacon to ping with an exact location.

When the Executrix dropped out of hyperspace behind one of Falleen’s moons, Tarkin saw that the Devastator was already waiting for him. To avoid the interception of rogue communications, Tarkin traveled via Lambda shuttle to Vader’s ship. He could have just as easily insisted that Vader travel to his vessel. In theory, he occupied a higher place setting than the black clad demon. And yet, it just didn’t seem necessary to throw his weight around in that manner. Rather, it served his purposes to learn firsthand from those who had been there the longest, what the lay of the land was.

His docking was unceremonious and practical. The only crew he took with him was the Lambda pilot and two of his death trooper guards. When Tarkin emerged from the ship, striding down its ramp as jets of steam burst from exhaust ports, he was greeted by an aide. Upon seeing the man, Tarkin’s step faltered for a moment.

“Good day, sir. I’m Lieutenant Commander Fife. I’ll be your aide aboard ship.”

Tarkin resumed walking down the ramp to greet the soldier. He was a bit older, but his accent and bearing – not to mention the strong facial features that Tarkin had seen countless times – gave him away. He was a clone. One of the few remaining in the service anymore. Vader has always been partial to them, I wonder why. They were decent enough I suppose. Though Vader always had a knack for finding the exemplary ones. Lieutenant Commander Fife wore his hair close cropped on the sides with three long horizontal scars on the right side starting from the back of his head and ending slightly before his eye socket, his cap covered the top of his head; there was some gray at his temples and his goatee had a sprinkling of white. All of it gave the man a distinguished mien, like that of some old-time small-town law man in wild space that so frequented the plots in holodramas these days.

The layout of the Devastator was identical to the layout of his own ship and Tarkin’s long legs easily outpaced the aide sent to lead him to the command deck.

Vader’s bridge was near silent save for the whirring and beeping of the instrument panels. Orders were given in short phrases and acknowledged in a similar clipped fashion. Vader brooked no deviation from his orders, nor did he indulge in curiosity. As a result, his crew were as close to a machine as could be.

A brief smile touched Tarkin’s lips at seeing his old friend again. It had been a while since their last meeting on Coruscant when the monster of a man had nearly killed Director Orden before his eyes. She looked so frail and fragile in the air… Tarkin blinked a few times and cleared his thoughts from the woman who had been occupying them more and more as of late.

“Lord Vader.” Tarkin began. Again, he bowed his head slightly in respect. Vader said nothing but inclined his head, again, a fraction further. “Tell me, what have you discovered of our prey?”

“Tell me first, why the medical frigate? You had the opportunity to track their command ship.” It was almost an accusation.

At this Tarkin really smiled, baring his teeth. In that moment, he looked nothing so much as a beast ready to spring on its prey. “If you kill the bull of a herd first, the rest will disperse. If you kill the stragglers, the weak, the vulnerable, the herd will still follow the bull, and it will be easier to find them in the future. That way you can whittle the herd down systematically, one by one, until only the bull is left, harried and weak.

“To our even greater advantage, Rebels will defend the weak on the frigate, it’s part of their core beliefs, to defend the weak. Another reason is that any ship could be a command ship. But medical facilities are more difficult to come by. We cripple their ability to recover from future encounters.

“Some will call it cruel or claim it flies against the rules of war. I can assure you, there are no rules to war but to win swiftly so that as few as possible need die. If rebels and dissenters realize that no one is safe, then there will be fewer willing to stick their necks out for them. Do you only kill the adult moth and leave the larvae to devastate your crops, or do you eliminate the pest wholly and completely?”

Vader stared at Tarkin; his black gaze inscrutable as he digested Tarkin’s logic.

I wonder if there is a hint of the Jedi in him still. Will he balk at harming the weak?

Suddenly, Vader turned, his cape flaring out behind him, and walked towards one of the crew pits. Tarkin followed, the durasteel heels of his boots clacking loudly in the near silent bridge.

“Report.” Vader spoke to one of his crew.

“The medical frigate is receiving a resupply from the planet surface. They appear to be unaware of our presence. Scans show their only protection is one squadron of various fighters, sir.”

Vader nodded his assent and turned to Tarkin, “Our hiding behind this moon is a tactically poor position. We will be seen the moment we emerge; they will flee.” His voice held disappointment.

“Let us use that to our advantage and drive them into a trap then.”

Vader’s head cocked. “Your plan?”

Tarkin turned to the informations officer, “What other Imperial ships are nearby?”

The crewman rapidly typed into his panel. “Sir, the only close ships are the Chimaera and a few of the Seventh Fleet. They are currently enroute to Lothal.”

Tarkin mused for a moment, then turned to Vader. “I propose we set Thrawn up in their most likely path, one we drive them to. When they run into him, we strike. He can use some of his much-vaunted TIE Defenders.”

At the first mention of Thrawn, Vader had stiffened. He and the Chiss had worked together but their relations had always been prickly at best. Tarkin noticed the movement but said nothing.

“Very well.”

“Excellent. Will you call him, or shall I?”

Vader’s gaze bored into Wilhuff Tarkin. Tarkin shrugged it off. “You may have that honor, Governor.”

Tarkin nodded to Vader’s communications officer who, a few moments later, motioned to the holoprojector and quietly said, “Sirs, it is encrypted, but the rebels can most certainly intercept this transmission.”

Tarkin grinned again, a feral, bestial grin. “Fear can cause even the cleverest to make a wrong choice. Let them begin to fear us.” He turned to the holoprojector where a 3d image of Thrawn, slightly more blue than his normal shade, appeared. “Good day, Admiral.”

“Good day, Governor. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I am hunting and require your assistance.”

Thrawn’s visage took on a slightly uncomfortable mien for a brief moment before he spoke. “If your Excellency pleases, I am on a pursuit of my own and would prefer not to interrup-”

Vader stepped into the field of view. “I have dispatched several of my Inquisitors to take care of your phoenix problem, Admiral. Your presence is required elsewhere.”

Visibly uncomfortable, Thrawn spoke softly, “My lord, your inquisitors have had ample opportunity to achieve success and have failed each time. I was hoping that this time a joint eff-”

The bridge of Vader’s ship began to rumble. “You will do as the Grand Moff has ordered, Admiral.”

Thrawn bowed in acquiescence. “Of course, my lord.” Turning to the image of Tarkin again Thrawn queried, “Where would you have me?”

Tarkin had only begun to think of appropriate locations when Vader interjected abruptly, “Tatooine.” He growled. The rumbling of the bridge stopped.

Tarkin raised an eyebrow at Vader in an unspoken question. But the large man did not answer him.

Thrawn looked off to the side for a moment, ostensibly speaking with one of his crew. His attention returning to the pair of blue holograms in front of him he spoke. “I see that you are near Falleen. I take it then, that your plan is to drive them towards myself and surround them.”

“Correct.” Vader said.

“The Chimaera will be ready.”

“Very good, Admiral.” Vader threw all of his venom into the title as he spoke it.

Either ignorant of or just plain ignoring the dig, Thrawn addressed both Vader and Tarkin, “I believe the correct expression is ‘good hunting.’”

Tarkin chuckled, “Indeed it is, and to you as well.”

The transmission ended, the holoprojection disappearing in a flurry of bits and blue squares.

“Well, I’d better head back. Now that we’ve broken comm silence, there’s no point to it now. Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Vader.”

The behemoth stared silently at Tarkin for a moment, then inclined his head.

A few brief minutes later, Tarkin was aboard his own ship. I wonder if Vader takes joy in the hunt, or if it is just something else for him to do?

***

“Trouble sir?” Eli asked Thrawn.

Thrawn’s face was unreadable as he spoke, “We have new orders Commander Vanto. Rather than pursue our phoenixes, Lord Vader is leaving that to his Inquisitors while we have been ordered elsewhere to assist Vader and Tarkin in a different hunt.”

“That lead was worth its weight in gold, sir!” Eli ejaculated. “You know they said that the Phoenixes won’t be on Lothal for long and Vader’s Inquisitors don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to Phoenix squadron!”

Thrawn smiled a tight-lipped grimace. “We must hope, Commander, that this new mission is worth the loss. Besides, Lord Vader has faith in his Jedi hunters, we should as well.”

Eli opened his mouth to object further, then quickly decided against it. There was no arguing with Vader or Tarkin and Thrawn would tell him so if he continued down this line of conversation.

Sensing that Eli was done speaking, Thrawn turned to his first officer and the bridge became a flurry of activity as orders were given to halt their current progress and change routes.

***

Agent Kallus had been nearby reading several reports on rebel activity in the location of Lothal when he overheard the salient points of Eli’s conversation with Thrawn. Once bridge activity peaked, Kallus quietly left the bridge unbeknownst to anyone else.

The whole ship was alive with crew members moving to and fro. No one noticed the ISB agent as he walked the halls. As a high ranking ISB agent, Alexsandr Kallus had authorization to go just about anywhere but had no specific duty on board that needed to be done unless directly ordered by Admiral Thrawn.

Kallus headed to a little used maintenance hallway that happened to have a communications terminal at its end. Communications terminals were located throughout the ship. In theory, only maintenance crew had access to using the ones in maintenance areas, and then only a supervisor could send a transmission outside the ship. It was often done to order parts for things that had been broken or to consult with other experts on a problem without having to route the calls through other communications hubs.

ISB had master access to nearly everything on a ship up to a point. But the trick was to fake a maintenance supervisor’s access codes to get a message sent outwards. Kallus was not the best at splicing, but he had been learning. He attached a small datapad to the terminal and pulled up a basic code he had designed for this purpose. After uploading it to the terminal he heard a satisfying beep and saw that he had been given communications access under a fake ID.

Glancing around to make sure no one was taking particular notice, Kallus bent low and whispered, “Spectre One, this is Fulcrum. Imps have news of your locale from unidentified reliable source and Inquisitors are incoming. Fulcrum out.” He dared not repeat the message or wait for a receipt signal. Removing his datapad, he strode away from the terminal nonchalantly and returned to the bridge.

Chapter Text

The desert at night was quiet, peaceful, serene. Kanan liked it out here. You could be alone with your thoughts. You could be alone with the stars. Though Kanan could no longer see the pinpricks of light set in the sky like a jeweled net, he could feel their presence, bathing him in their faint light. He had started the journey from Mos Espa to Jabba’s Palace as soon as he and Hera had made the decision to use both smugglers. He would end up riding on his Joben T-85 speeder bike through the night and a good portion of the next day to make it back in time. Still, he was more than happy to be away from town.

A little over an hour into his journey, his comm pinged. He didn’t notice it at first, he was too busy listening to the sounds of the wind rushing by, the swishing of the desert sands, and the engine of his speeder bike. After a few minutes, the constant blipping sound finally broke through his reveries.

Kanan slowed to a stop and dug the comlink out of his vest. Opening the channel, he heard a series of mechanical sounding whoops, grunts, whirrs, whistles, and boops.  

“Okay Chopper, slow down, what is it?” The robotic voice of the astromech came through the comlink slower this time, followed by a noise that sounded suspiciously like Chopper was blowing a raspberry at Kanan.

The Jedi huffed in exasperation, “Yes, Chop, I know you’re more than a simple relay station. Just send the message through already.”

Chopper grunted a few more times before Kanan heard a click followed by a muffled male voice he recognized instantly as Aleksandr Kallus, “Spectre One, this is Fulcrum. Imps have news of your locale from unidentified, reliable source and Inquisitors are incoming. Fulcrum out.”

“Dank farrik!” he swore. “Chopper, patch me through to Hera.”

The noises Chopper made next could only be described as disparaging as they came through the speaker in an irritated jumble.

“I don’t care! This is important Chopper.”

Chopper’s noises indicated something about radio silence in town, and that Kanan was not the boss of him then the line went dead.

“Kriffing droids.” He muttered to himself. He was agitated and that was not going to help their situation any. Think, breathe, calm down. Kanan dismounted the speeder bike and sat cross-legged in the sand. He could feel the cold top crust of the sand and the warmer layer beneath that had yet to release its stored heat into the night. Though they were white and useless, Kanan closed his eyes anyway and began to center his thoughts. Counting his breaths he felt his racing heart calm. Sure of himself and his place in the Force he began to reach out.

At first, all Kanan could sense was the present. He felt the faint lifeforce of the insects buried in the nearby sand slowly resting for the night. He felt the quiet stillness of the sparse watering holes with various desert fauna lapping at them. He felt the temperature of the air slipping quickly from warm to cold. He felt the weight of the few clouds in the sky as they greedily held on to every dew drop of water and so much more.

Kanan did not follow any particular path of thought, rather he opened himself to whatever the Force chose to show him. Right now, the Force was taking its sweet time, caressing him with the sensations of the present. A stray thought occurred to him, what is going on right now that’s so important? Immediately that thought occurred and his vision shifted to space. Three arrowheads were converging on something at high speed. He could not identify the blurred image of the hunted thing, but he knew its time was short.

Turbo lasers erupted from the arrowheads. It was then Kanan realized they were Imperial Star Destroyers. In the next instant the turbolasers had added red and blue to their green bolts and now they were lightsabers. Kanan could feel the passage of time now, this was most certainly the future he was seeing.

The lightsabers clashed over and over in a cacophonous riot of noise. Then, suddenly, shimmering see through figures pulled the green and blue sabers to their side and the fiery wings of a large bird surrounded them.

Kanan opened his eyes and exhaled. The world was still dark. But in his vision he had seen their survival. He still did not know which way to go. Heading to his speeder bike he resolved to go back to Hera, but as soon as he started the engine, he felt the urge to continue forward on his mission. He sighed; it was the heavy sigh of a man resigned to his course of action against his better judgement.

Not wanting to spend more time away from the group than was necessary, he rode as fast as he could through the rest of the night, relying more heavily on the Force to guide his path than normal.

*******

“Sir?”

Thrawn was seated in the chair behind his desk in the executive officer’s office – a small office to the side of the bridge allowing the officer on duty a place off side of the bridge to work in solitude, confidentially meet with personnel, or review classified data. He regarded the officer addressing him and the maintenance crewman next to him. They shift their weight between their feet. Their eyes dart everywhere but refuse to look at me except in their periphery. Their body temperature is elevated, and their hearts beat faster. Nervousness. Fear, perhaps? “Yes?”. His tone was calm, softly questioning, as if coaxing a truth from a child.

The officer, a short, blonde mel, began to speak with a confidence Thrawn knew he did not feel. “This crew member, Maintenance Supervisor Daigee Tung, reports that one of his communications stations was sliced.”

Thrawn turned to the maintenance supervisor. “Is this true?”

“Y-y-yessir.” The man stammered, wringing his hands.

“How do you know this is so?”

The officer produced a data pad with a report on it. “He says-”

Thrawn held up his hand to interrupt the officer. “Please, I wish to hear the details from Supervisor Tung.”

The officer rolled his eyes but closed his mouth.

Supervisor Tung began to speak again haltingly at first, his confidence growing as he was allowed to continue, “I was workin’ a couple of hallways over. Have been fer the better part of seven hours. I got to a point where I needed t’request some parts be waiting fer us next time we dock. Well, I went to the maintenance comm station to log my request. Thing is, aside from me an’ five other supe’s on this ship, ain’t no-one s‘posed to have access to that station. But when I fired it up, it was already logged in. That ain’t normal. And then I looked at the name of the last log in and that t’aint one of our supervisors. So, someone must’ve sliced it.” As an afterthought, Supervisor Tung added a “Sir” for good measure at the end of his tale.

Thrawn blinked for a few moments, his face stoic and impassive as he digested this information. Then he stood and put a reassuring hand on Tung’s shoulder as he addressed him. “Thank you, Supervisor Tung. Your perceptiveness to things out of the ordinary will be rewarded. In the meantime, resume your tasks and tell no one.” He turned to the officer, “Officer Pannes, isn’t it?”

The man nodded and stiffened his posture.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It will not be forgotten. You too, are to resume your duties and tell no one of this matter.” The officer saluted and with the maintenance supervisor in tow, left Thrawn’s office.

Pressing a button, Thrawn commed his aide. “Commander Vanto, retrieve my datapad from my quarters and bring it to executive officer’s office.”

“Acknowledged sir.” Came the reply.

Several minutes later the door chimed. “Enter.” Thrawn said cooly. Commander Vanto entered the office taking in, as he did every time, the varied pieces of artwork displayed around the room. Thrawn’s gallery was constantly shifting and changing, depending on what prey he was hunting. Several pieces had been here for a while now though. Most of these “long-timers” were painted in bright, garish colors, with a bird-like symbol emblazoned on them.

Walking swiftly to the desk, Eli held out the datapad. “Here you are, sir.”

Thrawn took it and began immediately to scroll through the various communications listed on it. Eli stood at parade rest wondering if Thrawn had forgotten to dismiss him again. Thrawn’s lips curved down in a frown and a thoughtful, “hmm” rumbled in his throat.

“Sir?” Eli queried.

Without looking at him, Thrawn responded, “It is as I suspected. We have a rebel informant on this ship.”

“Sir?!” Eli’s question contained much more concern this time.

Thrawn looked up, his red eyes narrowed. Eli swallowed. He had served with Thrawn for years now, but the chiss Admiral still intimidated him at times. Then it was as if Thrawn saw Eli, his eyes widened and his face relaxed. He handed the datapad back.

“Can you decipher this message?”

Eli looked at the message on the screen. “I’ve never seen a code like this, sir. I’m sure I could break it with time. I just don’t know how much time.”

Thrawn nodded. “You will work on it in here alone and speak of neither this message, nor the informant, to anyone.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Eli saluted and sat down to his task.

*******

“Thought we were going to be out of here by now?” Zepidah asked.

“Well, it seems my copilot also recruited a smug- another ship to help us all out. As a result, he needs to grab another Imperial code to get past the blockade.”

Zepidah looked wary. “You’re not trying to pull one over on me and turn me in, are you?”

“If she is,” a young man walked into the hangar, “then she’s pulling one over on us both.”

“And who are you?”

“Just another pilot on a job. Same as you.”

Zepidah looked at the young man mistrustingly “I hope you’re worth it.” She turned to Hera. “I’ve got a schedule to keep. When is your copilot getting back?”

“Sometime this afternoon. In the meantime, you two should get to know each other.”

Both Zepidah and Ruston harumphed with impatience and headed over to the dock master droid to update their flight plans. Hera noticed the two pilots avoided each other and flashed each other dirty looks when they thought no one was looking. Fine by her, if they were suspicious of each other and the other knew it, then that would hopefully keep them both in check.

*******

“Did Fulcrum tell you which location was compromised?” Hera asked.

“No. The exact words were ‘Spectre One, this is Fulcrum. Imps have news of your locale from unidentified reliable source and Inquisitors are incoming. Fulcrum out.’ That’s all I know.”

“We can’t abort this mission Kanan. If we do this one job, the Hutts have promised to back more of our endeavors. To abandon this now will earn their everlasting enmity and that’s something our rebellion cannot afford.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Kanan exhaled forcefully as he ran a hand through his hair. After a minute to think, he nodded as if coming to some internal decision. “Hera, I’ll be honest, I still don’t trust Fulcrum. Not completely, anyway. And… when I meditated, I got the feeling that we succeed. So, I guess I’m on your side in thinking we should go through with this. Though I also got the feeling our success is going to be close.

“Isn’t it always, love?” Hera smiled softly and reached out to stroke Kanan’s face.

He smiled back, then the smile cooled. “I don’t think we should tell the others. The intel is dubious at best - considering the source - and I don’t want them jumpy.”

Hera grumbled, “I don’t like keeping secrets from them. They’re a good crew and they’ve been through a lot with us.”

Kanan nodded, “I know, I know, but you know that Ezra talks too much sometimes, and he’s been getting close to that Warden Breech guy.”

“He knows better than to talk.”

“Oh? Like he knows better than to talk to Hondo.”

Hera rolled her eyes.

“Or Vizago?”

“Fine Kanan, you made your point1” Hera exclaimed throwing her arms up in exasperation. “We keep it to ourselves for now.” She paused, her eyes unfocusing, “The real question,” Hera said thoughtfully, “is who let the Imps know about us?”

“I have a hunch it’s one of our two smuggler captains. I suspect the woman.”

Hera snorted, “You would. If it weren’t for me showing you that women can be good AND good pilots, you’d still be hauling moon rocks around running away from Count Vidian.”

Kanan grimaced. “Now it’s you who has made your point. We’ll keep an eye on both of them.”

Chapter Text

“Supply convoy, you are required to transmit your clearance codes immediately or risk being fired upon.” Commanded the disconnected voice with an Imperial Standard accent through the three ships’ linked communications channels.

“Transmitting now.” Hera closed off her sound transmitter, pressed the button to transmit the ship’s clearance codes to land on Lothal and turned to Kanan. “Here’s hoping the Hutt’s didn’t double cross us to the Imps.”

“Or just give us bad codes and steal our money, those greedy slugs.” Grumbled Zeb.

“That’s the same thing Zeb.” Whispered Sabine.

The Lasat grunted and grew quiet, as did the rest of the crew on board the Ghost.

The silence grew louder by the moment until it was deafening. Everyone on the Ghost was twitching with anxiety. Hera could only imagine what Zepidah and Warden were feeling.

After an interminably long time, the speakers crackled. “Are you and the other two ships in the lane behind you traveling together or separately?”

“Uh, yes, we’re together.” Hera said hesitantly, after having opened her voice transmission channel once more.

“What is your business on Lothal?”

Hera froze. She always had a reply handy, but somehow, three ships grabbing medical supplies for refugee camps on far planets seemed farfetched. No one would dump that much money into something like that.

Suddenly Warden’s voice crackled through the interconnected transmission line, “We’re here to pick up slav- uh… workers for the big project out near Sentinel base. It has to be incognito for obvious reasons.”

There was a brief pause followed by, “Acknowledged. Give me a moment to run this by my superior.”

Kanan, Zeb, and Chopper all swore simultaneously in different languages while Hera’s eyes opened in fear and Sabine took out her blaster to make sure it was loaded with a fully charged clip.

Every moment of silence was agony. The cockpit of the Ghost was flooded with the acrid smell of stress sweat from everyone as they waited with bated breath for the Imperial’s response.

“kkkrsk!” the crackle of the line opening had each crew member jumping in their seats with Zeb so caught off guard that he bashed his head into the top of the cockpit and swore again. “You all are cleared to land. Make sure you follow standard procedures for worker procurement.”

“Acknowledged.” Hera breathed a sigh of relief. She closed the tethered comms between their ships and slumped back in her chair.

“That was a close one!” Ezra quipped.

“Yeah. Too close.” Kanan mumbled as he ran a hand through the few strands of hair that had loosed from his hair tie. He faced Hera and she knew that if he still had eyes that could see, he would be giving her a pointed look.

An indicator light and sound began to beep alerting Hera to an incoming comm. It was Warden and Zepidah. Hera connected both feeds, but before she could say anything, Warden asked “Commander, we’re headed to the Basins, right?”

There was a moment of confusion before Hera responded, “Uh, yes. The Basins.”

“Roger that. Over and out.” The line went dead.

“What was that about?” Sabine asked.

“That,” Hera said thoughtfully, “Was Warden telling us where to go to not arouse suspicion by where we land.” Hera pulled up a map of Lothal and located the area known as the Basins. It was located close enough to a main city center for supplies to be easily accessible, yet far enough away that prying eyes would not find anything close by to be curious about. There were rolling hills, a small rocky outcropping, and – as its name suggested – several large depressions in the earth that resembled nothing so much as water basins. One or two of them even had some water gathered at the bottom.

“Alright crew,” Hera said brightly “The hard part hasn’t even started yet. We’ve gotta fool these Imps long enough to get those people and get away. Everyone to your positions.” Everyone began shuffling out of the cockpit, save Hera, Kanan, and Chopper. “Chop, I need you out of here too.”

The droid grumbled and groaned before abruptly spinning on a wheel, nearly hitting Kanan with a mechanical arm on the way out.

“Hera,” Kanan started slowly, “I don’t know what’s more concerning, the fact that the Empire let us in to pick up slaves or the fact that Warden knew they had slaves and that would work to bypass them and knows where to land.”

Hera chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Finally, she spoke up, “Probably the first part. After all, didn’t we find proof that the Empire has been hunting Warden because he’s sabotaged stuff like this? It would only make sense he knows things. We know things about what the Empire is up to here on Lothal because we’re involved here. Sounds like Warden is involved elsewhere that has connections to whatever the Imps are doing here.”

Kanaan shook his head slowly, his right hand massaging the back of his neck, thumb and forefinger finding a knot each to dig into. “I guess you’re right. Still, it makes me curious. I wonder what that ‘big project’ is that Warden mentioned by Sentinel Base?”

“I dunno. But right now, we need to focus on our big project here.”

Kanan nodded in agreement and left the cockpit to assume his position as Hera brought the Ghost in for a landing with Zepidah’s and Warden’s ships trailing close behind.

*****

“Admiral! We are receiving a communication from Lord Vader.”

Commander Eli Vanto emerged from the executive officer’s office to see the bridge alive with activity. The Chimera had just dropped from hyperspace and Admiral Thrawn was orchestrating his crew in the intricate dance of space warfare.

“Put it through here.” The Admiral stood near the front of the command deck and was just now staring into space at the dust planet ahead of him when the blued visage of Vader was projected before him.

Eli froze in fear at the sight of the dread lord, even though he knew the man- person? - machine? - individual could not see him from where he stood.

Thrawn inclined his head. Without preamble Vader began, “You will deploy one of the Grysk gravity wells at the coordinates I send you. You will activate it when I give the signal. Have the Chimera perched above the northern pole of the planet. Your job is containment. Do not let them leave.” He commanded, his voice booming throughout the bridge.

“Understood, my lord.”

The hologram faded and everyone on the command deck sighed in relief. Thrawn spent a few more moments staring ahead before turning. He caught notice of Eli who had started to raise a hand, but Thrawn gently shook his head; it would have to wait. Continuing his turn to face Commander Faro, “You heard the instructions. Is there anything you would add?”

The woman narrowed her eyes in thought. “Deploy the Tie Defenders…” her voice trailed off.

Her eyes narrow, she chews the inside of her cheek in thought. She is visualizing the scene as if it were a Dejarik match. Her weight shifts between her feet. She is unsure of her answer.

“Perhaps,” Faro began, “we should commandeer some of the commercial ships around here to set up as an impromptu blockade. They won’t have any real firepower, but they would prevent the target from jumping immediately after they see us.”

Thrawn seemed to contemplate the idea, “It would put civilian lives in danger, perhaps needlessly.”

Faro looked up and sighed, “You’re right, sir. It was just a thought.”

A beeping at the comms panel caught Thrawn’s attention. The officer stationed there spent a few moments pressing buttons before running up to Thrawn with a datapad in hand.

Thrawn scanned the message and scowled. “It would seem, Commander, that Lord Vader has the same idea.” He read the message again, then handed the datapad back to the comms officer and turned back to Faro. “Find at least twelve ships that can be run by skeleton crew or remote. Remove the civilians from harm’s way and place our own pilots and crews on them or rig them for remote running. There is not much time.”

“Aye aye, sir!” Faro saluted and set about her task, giving orders that sparked frenzied activity over the entirety of the ship.

Within a standard hour Thrawn’s vessel along with seventeen others hovered in space around Tatooine. There were a few smaller personal craft coming from and going to the planet, but fairly quickly word got out that the Empire was commandeering anything larger than a two-man craft for some unknown military operation and other ships decided to stay clear of the area until the dust settled.

“Report.” Thrawn said to Faro. His tone calm and relaxed, despite the anxious and anticipatory atmosphere among the rest of the members of the crew.

“Seventeen ships all told sir. Nine of them are being run by remote by our pilots. We’ve essentially tacked their controls to those of our flight simulators, sir. The other eight ships are either too old or have ordinance that require a skeleton crew to operate. We’ve taken positions surrounding where the ship will most likely drop when it passes the gravity well.

“Given Governor Tarkin’s disaster when he deployed such tactics at Obroa-Skai in trying to trap his personal corvette, I have maneuvered the Chimera into such a position that we can tractor beam anything that comes through and move them out of the way as quickly as possible, providing they aren’t the ship we’re looking for.”

Thrawn nodded his approval. “Excellent, Commander. I approve of your forethought.”

Faro’s face flushed slightly with the approval, “Thank you, sir. The Tie Defenders have been deployed. We have also deployed the gravity well and are awaiting your orders to turn it on and commence the operation in earnest.”

Taking a look around at his command deck, Thrawn felt pride at his crew, working with the utmost efficiency, without complaint, to hunt the rebels Tarkin had flushed out of hiding. There is no fear here. They have their orders, and they know how to improvise. We shall be victorious this day.

“Very well, Commander. Let us begin.”

Where the bridge had been alive moments before, it was positively buzzing with activity now. Thrawn had given the word and each crewmember set to their tasks eagerly, like massifs chomping on their favorite bones. Sailors relayed commands, recited readouts, and darted from station to station to complete their tasks. Immediately the Grysk gravity well generator activated, a steady stream of ships were plucked from their hyperspace runs as a thieving child snatching a meiloorun from a vendor’s stall as they ran by. Despite the best efforts of Thrawn’s crew, several of the vessels crashed into each other as they dropped from hyperspace owing to the fact that not all of them could be cleared fast enough from the “entrance zone” - as it had been dubbed - in time before the next ship appeared.

Even so, they had not long to wait before the medical frigate they were waiting for dropped out of hyperspace neatly in front of the Chimera.

It was Commander Faro’s voice that sung out across the bridge, “Switch off the gravity well generator. Defender’s group into attack formation and hold. This is Tarkin’s prey to take, we are just the trap to catch their paws. Keep the barricade ships in position to prevent any hyperspace jumps.”

Faro’s orders were repeated and obeyed.

“Commander, we’re receiving requests from the ships we dropped from hyperspace. They wish to leave.”

Faro looked for Thrawn and saw that he and Vanto were headed into the X.O.’s office. Rather than calling Thrawn’s attention, she assumed his trust. There was a quick moment of thoughts and scenarios racing through her mind. Settling on one she deemed the best course of action she turned to the comms officer who awaited her response, “Confirm for me we have not received orders to detain any ships other than the medical frigate.”

The comms officer scrolled through their log quickly. “Confirmed, sir. Our orders only state to detain the frigate.”

“Inform the other captains their requests are granted and they are to clear the space quickly else they risk detention or worse.”

“Aye, sir!”

Learn from our mistakes, and from the mistakes of others. She thought to herself as the report of the disaster at Obroa-Skai returned again to the forefront of her mind.

The medical frigate began to move, as it did so, the Tie Defenders flitted about it, making quick work of any hull mounted weapons the ship had, though not before it had managed to damage several of the freighters positioned in front of it.

“Send a message to the captain of that frigate. They are to remain in place and await further communication. Any additional movement will be seen as hostile and will be punished as such.”

The comms office nodded and quickly sent the message.

“Good work, Commander.” Thrawn had reappeared with Vanto at his side just as the frigate had come to a halt once more. “It appears our part in this operation is nearly done.” Thrawn nodded toward the viewport where two other Imperial Star Destroyers emerged from hyperspace; as if by magic, they appeared, their sleek bulk aimed directly at the medical frigate.

Chapter Text

“You don’t see an assortment of ships like this every day.” Said the Imperial soldier who was checking Hera’s, Zepidah’s, and Warden’s ship registrations.

Warden chuckled, “Well, that’s the point. Who’s gonna guess that this motley assortment is runnin’ favors for the Empire? Best way to keep a secret, y’know?”

The soldier chuckled in turn. “True. I’ve got a few good batches here for release, show me your holds and I’ll get the numbers we can send with you.”

“As many as we can carry.” Hera chimed in. The soldier looked at her with interest for a moment. “We’re being paid by the head.” She added.

The soldier smiled a knowing smile and followed Warden to the hold of his ship, next inspecting Zepidah’s, finally looking at Hera’s. The soldier came out smiling, “Yep, we can get you a healthy bunch here. Good for your pay day and good for my numbers. Wait right here.”

The soldier was gone for a few moments, but when he returned it was at the head of three groups of shackled prisoners – slaves – surrounded by a few Stormtroopers to keep the prisoners in line. Each group of beings was directed to the various holds of each ship. It was a varied assortment of beings that made up the prisoners. Primarily Wookies, the groups also included Neimoidians, Rodians, Humans, and the odd Ithorian. Once inside they were all forced into a seated position and chained to the floor to restrict movement. A few of them resisted and were rewarded with sharp jabs from stun rods that made them howl in pain, no matter their species.

The soldier handed Warden a flimsiplast sheet, “Here’s your manifest. Good luck, and be careful with those Wookies, they bite.”

Warden nodded and laughed. “Makes sense. Good thing we have a knockout gas to keep ‘em nice an’ peaceful on their trip.” He winked at the soldier, who grinned wildly as Warden turned to leave. Seemingly as an afterthought, Warden turned his head to shout back, “Just a heads up, we’re going to do a low fly at different trajectories until we get some distance from here.”

Zepidah chimed in, “I’ve got plans to refuel at a depot before lighting out.”

The soldier nodded. “Yeah, nothing to worry about, all the pilots we get here do the same. We appreciate the attention to detail to preserve the secrecy of the site. You just get those goods to where they’re going on time and relatively undamaged and you’ll be doing fine.”

As they each headed to their respective ships, Kanaan whispered to Warden and Zepidah, “There’s a small stone circle to the west of here, out of range of Imperial sensors. Rendezvous with us there.” The two pilots nodded their understanding and went to their separate ships.

It was a quick flight, with each of the three ships headed out in slightly different directions, then finally turning and converging to land at what Hera’s crew knew to be Vizago’s camp.

Zepidah emerged from her ship to find a green-skinned Devaronian with a broken horn walking over. “Well well well, who do we have here?” He stopped, looked at the three ships, then broke into a grin when he saw the crew emerge from the Ghost. “Hera, Ezra, Kanaan, Sabine. So good to see you all.”

Zeb harumphed at being ignored and opened his mouth to speak when Ezra elbowed him in the stomach and stepped forward. “Hey Vizago. Soooooo how would you like to be a hero?”

The Devaronian blinked his eyes in surprise. “What are you on about? I’m a smuggler. Smugglers aren’t heroes. That would be bad for business.”

Ezra attempted his best cagey sounding voice, “Let’s just say this would be good for business.”

Vizago narrowed his eyes. “You’re here to pick up supplies. How does that make me a hero?”

“Welllll…” Ezra let the word hang in the air but before he could continue, Hera interrupted. “We have some people here who need to get back to their respective homes. We’d owe you a big favor if you could arrange that for us.”

The Devaronian’s eyes opened wide, “A favor you say? What sort of people are we talking about?”

Hera nodded to Sabine and Zeb who were standing at the cargo door of the Ghost. Zepidah and Warden threw each other a quick glance and walked back to their ship’s holds. They opened the doors and Vizago got a good look at the dozens of people shackled to the floor and each other.

Vizago swallowed, “Didn’t know you were in the slaver business.” He said softly.

“We’re not.” Kanaan spat out forcefully, but picking them up was the easiest way to get passed the blockade. Which,” Kanaan turned to Warden, “I’m going to expect an explanation from you on how you knew what to say and where that base was located.”

Warden held up his hands. “Hey, I find things out same as you. I hear things in this job. The trick with the Empire is to tell them something unexpected that is also what they want to hear. People willing to move slaves is a rare thing, even in these times, so being willing to do that almost immediately earns you credit with them.”

Kanaan narrowed his blind eyes. He was starting to feel off about both other captains. But so far, they had done everything to plan perfectly, so he had nothing of substance to go on.

It wasn’t long before all the slaves had been removed from the cargo holds and their shackles undone. Many of them burst into tears at the realization that they were free. They hugged all the crews and Vizago who begrudgingly agreed to find those of them that wanted, transport off Lothal.

“That just leaves our pickup, Viz.” Hera announced after things had settled down.

“Sure. Sure. This way.” Vizago led them to where the medical supplies and food aid were stored.

Zepidah’s eyes opened wide, “I’m going to have to offload my mining equipment here if you want all of that gone this trip.”

Vizago looked at the brunette with green eyes. “What sort of mining equipment?”

Zepidah levelled a fierce gaze at him, “The kind I expect to be well paid for.”

“Well well, let’s take a looksie shall we?” Vizago visibly rubbed his hands together as he stepped into Zepidah’s cargo hold. She and her ship’s droid removed the smuggling panels and revealed a treasure trove of mining equipment. Vizago laughed out loud. “Great stars this will make me rich! How much are you looking for?”

“Thirteen thousand.” Zepidah said with a straight face.

Vizago gasped and clutched his chest with a hand. “I don’t have that kind of dosh on hand.”

Zepidah looked at Hera, “You said your buyer would take these off my hands for a fair price if I came along on this run.”

Before the Twi’lek could respond, Vizago started waving his hands, “I- I can pay that, but only if you take Imperial credits.”

Zepidah grinned, “Why didn’t you say that before? I travel in the Core often enough and can easily use ten thousand Imp credits. But,” she held up a finger, ‘I want three thousand wupiupi, that spends much better out here in the Outer Rim.”

Vizago grimaced, “Eleven and two.”

Zepidah chewed on her lip for a moment, waiting to see if the silence would encourage a better deal. Seeing that none was forthcoming, she nodded. “Fine, eleven and two.” She nodded at her droid, “Help unload that cargo and load up the supplies.”

The droid chirped an affirmative and set to work.

****

“You are to be congratulated for keeping collateral damage to a minimum, Admiral.” Tarkin’s voice rang out across the bridge of the Chimera in an audio only transmission. “You and your crew have done a commendable job in containing our quarry. It will not be much longer, and you will be able to resume your pursuit of the Phoenix Squadron.”

“Thank you, Governor. I await your commands.”

“Very good.” With those words, Tarkin ended his communications with Thrawn. He turned to his comms officer. “Patch in both the Devastator and the Chimera, then open a transmission line to the medical frigate.”

Barely a minute later the comms officer responded, “Done sir.”

“Excellent.” Tarkin turned to the viewport and glared at the frigate as he began his address. “This is the Imperial Star Destroyer, Executrix. Respond.”

The transmission line crackled and buzzed. Tarkin looked to his comms officer. “Oh, they heard us sir. They’re jus- “

“Look! They’ve opened their launch bay doors!” Another officer announced.

All on the command deck watched as a small shuttle emerged.

“It appears to be a personal shuttle. It’s transmitting a parlay signal.”

Tarkin grimaced. He made a hand signal and his comms officer closed the feed to the rebel ship. “Admiral Thrawn?”

“Yes, Governor.”

“Have you a shuttle craft on board that is disposable?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Launch it. Preferably with a single human on board, if you have a prisoner who is equally disposable.”

“It shall be done.” Tarkin heard Thrawn begin to give orders before his line turned to receiving only.

A few moments later, a single lambda shuttle emerged from Thrawn’s vessel. From the readouts his crew gave him, Tarkin saw that there was indeed a single being inside. As soon as the ship reached the parlay shuttle, a bright, piercing, white light erupted from the small craft.

“Front shields, full power!” Tarkin’s voice was elevated to an almost but not quite yell. He had been expecting this, but to have raised his shields sooner may have signaled to the rebels that their plan would go awry.

When the blast wave radius from the small shuttle had passed by, gently rocking the ship as it buffeted the front shield, Tarkin spoke again. “Lord Vader, Admiral Thrawn, instruct your Ties to attack the frigate. I want it wounded with a thousand bolts. Keep their bridge intact but cripple it.”

Tarkin’s orders were acknowledged and what resulted was the space equivalent of kicking a man while he’s down. The frigate’s shields were eliminated, then non-essential areas were targeted. They began heavily venting atmosphere. When one escape pod was seen, Tarkin watched as it fled, after a few moments, he turned to his gunner. “Lase it down.”

The man nodded and fired a precise hit with the turbolaser of the Executrix.

Tarkin announced to his bridge, “It would be overkill, but for one thing, they are all going to die for their rebellion.”

A crackling old voice came through the open transmission, “Executrix? This is the Medical Frigate, Astrolabe. Please, our life support systems are failing and there are many wounded aboard, we surrender. Please, we request mercy.”

Tarkin steeled himself to make what would amount to yet another unpopular but necessary decision. He raised his hand so that his gunnery sergeant could see, “Denied.” His hand dropped. As it did, his ship fired a volley of proton torpedoes directly at the battered frigate.

In a bright burst, the ship became nothing more than space dust to be wiped from the viewport of his ship.

Tarkin turned to his crew knowing his words were being transmitted to the Chimera and the Devastator

"It will be said that I was cruel and merciless this day.” Tarkin paused, looking at the various officers and crewmen on the command deck and in the pit, “It is true, I was.” Eyes opened wide in shock at the admission. “I was cruel and merciless this day. These rebels had their chance for my mercy; they chose to run. They were given a chance to surrender; they chose to fight. They chose this end. They chose my cruelty. They chose my punishment.

“These acts will be vilified by some as barbarous, but know this:” he raised a pointed finger, like some academy professor making a point “If we had rewarded their behavior, if we had granted them mercy and let them live, all others who seek to oppose the Emperor will believe that they too can defy the Empire and get away with it. They will believe that they can take their chances and run and if they are caught, there will be no lasting punishment.

“Today was the time to disillusion them of this belief. Knowing now that they will die should they choose to rebel, should they choose to run, will keep those who are good and honest from being swayed by the lies of the rebellion. What we have done today will result in many more lives being saved in the future.

“If your conscience bothers you, think of a parent with a child. Children must be corrected, yet every parent has said that it hurts them to do so. What you feel now is the hurt of a parent meting out just correction. Delaying punishment is not how you instill law and order in a child, it will not be how it is instilled in the galaxy.”

All on the bridge were silent. The only noises were the whirring of machinery and beeping of alerts. The crewmembers sat in thought at Tarkin’s words. He waited patiently, standing at parade rest, arms behind his back, watching his men digest what he had said.

A few moments more passed and slowly heads began to nod in silent agreement. Another moment slipped by and one of the officers – he never figured out which one – stated firmly, “Here! Here!” That one statement was met by a chorus of “Heres” and “ayes” rippling across the bridge.

Tarkin allowed himself a grim smile. They understand. Good. A thrill of pride rose in him at the understanding and loyalty of his crew.

The comms panel pinged insistently. “Sir? It’s Admiral Thrawn.”

“Put it through.”

“Aye, sir.”

Static crackled in the air and Thrawn’s voice came through the bridge’s speakers.

“Governor, I have returned the captains and crews of the various civilian ships to their vessels and have instructed them that they may leave and must keep this space clear until you have commanded otherwise. Now that your rebel problem has been terminated, I request permission to resume my pursuit of the Phoenixes.”

“Granted, Admiral. Good hunting.”

“Thank you, Governor.” The transmission ended.

“Well,” Tarkin said, addressing the bridge, “time to clean up our mess. Shall we?”

Grand Moff Tarkin began issuing orders for the collection of the flotsam and jetsam created by the medical frigate. Particular attention was to be paid to finding any portion of the navicomputer as well as any logs or journals the captain and crew may have kept. All extraneous debris was quickly moved out of the active flight lane and requisitions were dispatched to the planet below for scrappers and scavengers to come up and do their work to clear the space even further.

Chapter Text

Vader signaled to his communications officer to close the open channel after Tarkin’s speech. He could feel the emotions of his crew. For the most part, they had understood from the outset what Tarkin would do. Now they mostly agreed with what was done. This feeling, Vader thought, was more a product of his training than of Tarkin’s reasoning. His crew was trained to respond to orders and authority. They could think in their off-hours, when they were on duty they were to perform.

Vader considered it a weakness of other men, the need to explain themselves. If one had power, no explanation was needed. Still, he had to admit, there was something to politicking. It could sometimes render a show of power unnecessary. But he had never been good at that and so he did not try to explain why he did what he did. He just expected everyone beneath him to do as they were told. With rare exception, they did.

Ruminating a while longer on Tarkin’s speech, Vader stood still upon his bridge. His crew waited. Nothing would be done without Vader’s orders. For a long time all that could be heard was the eerie sound of his breathing. Its rhythmic hiss was both calming and terrifying at the same time. With a swish of his cape, Vader turned and strode out of his bridge, calling as he did so to his navigator, “Set a course for Lothal.”

“Aye aye, sir” rang the acknowledgement. With the soft hiss of the bridge doors closing, everyone in that room breathed a sigh of relief.

Vader strode down the hallways of his ship, the Devastator, towards his quarters which held his meditation chamber. It was a single-minded pace. I need time out of this damn suit to think. He could feel the thing cloying at him, surrounding him, encompassing him, trapping him, and he wanted to be free of it. From the moment it had been put on him, this prison, he had wanted to be free of it. So long as he lived, he never would be truly free of the medical machinery masquerading as clothes. Still, he would take every temporary reprieve he could manage.

Vader entered his chamber and quickly motioned for the medical droids to remove the half-armor half-life support suit that was the only way he could interact with the galaxy at large. It was time for the servicing of his mechanical limbs as well, so he lay down on the sterilized gurney while the droids removed one of his arms and both of his legs. There was still a bit of flesh beneath the metal, still a bit of the man he was. The lines of his face had not changed, though the skin had been badly burned and scarred; the structure of his torso remained the same beneath the myriad skin grafts; the fully functional arm, and even the remaining stumps still held the leanness and muscle tone that he had known as a Jedi.

Vader sighed as he breathed the sterile air. No smell. Nothing. He missed the scent of flowers. The flowers in the field where he and Padme had first… But no. It did not do to reminisce. Now, the only smell he ever had was in his nightmares: sulphur and burning flesh intermingled with the coppery smell of boiling blood.

When the droids had fully removed all that was not flesh, Vader used the Force, feeling inside the pod in the center of the room, pressing the switch that would open the black clamshell to reveal the pearl white inner maw of his meditation chamber. It hissed as it opened, its pressure equalizing with the room. Then, slowly, carefully, Vader used the Force to move himself inside the unit.

It had several configurations, one for when he was fully suited, one for when he was unsuited with his prostheses still attached, and the current configuration, for when there was only himself without all the accoutrements and accessories. He placed himself gingerly upon the cushion and used his one “good” arm to press the switch that enclosed him in his sphere.

The air pressure lessened, a fine mist of bacta was introduced, and oxygen tubes descended to rest near but not touching his nostrils. In this place, aside from the seat upon which he sat, nothing touched him. Vader was free. In that freedom he could finally close his eyes and wander the pathways of his thoughts. Thoughts that were often so very clouded and confused without his master’s guidance.

In the emptiness of his chamber he visualized the desert of his once home world, Tatooine. It was as if he were upon a sea of sand. But he did not feel the sand, nor did he feel the heat radiating from the twin suns. Yet this place, it grounded him. It was where he began. Words echoed in his mind from a mentor long dead: In order to come to the end, one must start at the beginning. Vader’s chest constricted. So much of what Obi-Wan had taught him had been right. Yet it had not been enough, and his old mentor had been too foolish to see that. Still, even Darth Sidious acknowledged that one could learn from all aspects of the Force, though Sidious’ lessons tended towards power and that was only truly achieved through the Dark Side.

Vader let his mind wander for a moment more before directing it towards the nearby planet, Lothal. He knew it was a vision of the future immediately: A dark spear flew through space. It stabbed deep into the planet yet seemed to cause no damage. Moments later the vision swirled, solidifying into red blades circling round and round only to be stopped time and again by green and blue ones. The vision clarified, he could see his Inquisitors fighting the Jedi Kanan and his apprentice Ezra, but no matter their tactics they could not kill the pair. Vader decided to nudge the Force, to see what would happen if he were to join in the fray. The moment the thought entered his mind to direct his vision, a cloudy milky-purple mist immediately filled his mind’s eye and he could see no more.

It was always thus with the Force for him. It always frustrated Vader. He knew that others could see the future, could influence their visions, be he could not. He let his anger build for a moment like a tidal wave, the room around him began to rumble, and then before anything gave, he let the anger pass, like a wave that never breaks upon the shore.

For the rest of his journey, Darth Vader focused on clearing his mind and trying to let the Force show him things to his advantage. He was not successful, but at least he had been free of his prison for several hours.

*****

When the Devastator dropped out of hyperspace near Lothal, it was only a few minutes after the Chimera had done the same. Less than a minute later, Darth Vader was staring at a blue holoprojection of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

“My Lord.” The Chiss bowed. When he arose, he had a quizzical look on his face and Vader could palpably sense the man’s confusion.

“You are here for the Phoenixes. I am here for the Jedi.”

Thrawn nodded in understanding. “Perhaps…” he said, lingering on the word “we could work together to quarry our prey?”

Vader considered the proposition for a moment and was preparing to respond when his aide, Lieutenant Jir, strode up. “Sir! We’ve received a signal from the Inquisitors. They report they are close to your Jedi.”

Vader took one look at Thrawn, responded, “You may have your Phoenixes when I am done with the Jedi” and ended the transmission. He did not want interference from the alien to mess this up. Sure the Emperor trusted him, but Vader always had an uneasy feeling that the Chiss’ loyalties were divided. Best for him to stay out of the way.

Chapter Text

Ailish, still disguised as Zepidah, watched as Vizago’s motley crew finished loading what he claimed to be food and medical supplies bound for Tatooine. After the last crewperson had left, when she thought no one was looking, she snuck a peak in one of the containers. Food. Hmpf, that’s rather mundane.

Something else bothered her. There’s not a full load here. Where’s the rest of it? Growing both confused and curious, she took a gander inside Warden’s ship. Nearly empty. Why the kriff did they hire us? They could have easily taken these in the Ghost.

When she emerged into the bright Lothalian sunlight, Zepidah heard raised voices coming from where the Devaronian and set up a makeshift canopy. Without seeming to be surreptitious nor in much of a hurry, she meandered over to hear the conversation more clearly.

“… not full shipment, Vizago!” Hera’s voice rang out.

“I know! I know! I was going to have it here. Honest! There was just a snag at getting transportation.” Vizago’s voice had gone up an octave, as if in defense.

In a lowered, menacing voice, Hera asked, “What sort of snag, Viz?”

“Ju- Just a timing issue, nothing big. But” the Devaronian with the broken horn smiled as an idea occurred to him, “Since you’re here you can easily grab the remaining containers. I’ll tell you where they are and you can get them and bring them here.”

Hera narrowed her eyes. “Viz.” she said in a threatening tone.

Kanan followed up, “What’s the catch?”

The Devaronian shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Well, it’s uh… it’s in an Imperial storage warehouse.”

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE ALREADY LIBERATED IT FROM THE WAREHOUSE!” Hera yelled.

Vizago cringed and raised his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. Like I said, it was a timing issue. My crew misread the security chart and uh… well the guards didn’t take their lunch break when we expected them to. That’s all. We were going to go in later today until you signaled you were here.”

Both Kanan and Hera threw up their hands and gave exasperated sighs. It was then that they noticed Zepidah nearby, leaning on a random container of mining equipment that had come from her ship. She was clearly listening and not trying to be stealthy about it. Kanan frowned and muttered, “there’s something off about her”.

Hera shot Kanan a dirty look, “We have bigger problems to solve right now.” Then she sighed heavily. “Fine. You and the others, look at what Vizago has and devise a plan to get us those-” she glanced at Zepidah “get us what we need.” Hera lowered her voice to barely a whisper, “I’ll see if we can keep our new friends in the dark and have them wait here for us.”

Kanan grumbled but Hera pressed on, “We need their cargo space.”

The Jedi closed his blind eyes and nodded his begrudging assent.

*****

“No way! No how! We aren’t waiting here like sitting ducks while you disappear without paying us.” Warden announced after Hera had tried to convince him and Zepidah to wait for them to get back with the rest of the cargo they were smuggling. “We’re in this for the long haul.”

Zepidah nodded. “He’s right. Either you’re legit, or you’re trying to duck payment, or you’re trying to turn us into the Imps for a reward. Two out of the three of those options aren’t in our favor. It behooves us to go with you. We don’t need to know what’s in the cargo, but we aren’t losing sight of you-” She glanced sideways at Warden, “or each other – until the job’s done and we’ve been paid.”

It was no good. Nothing Hera said changed their minds. When Kanan returned, his frown increased upon hearing that they were to have two more accomplices on this journey. “Hera-” he started, his voice taking on that warning tone that he often used when something was happening he didn’t like.

“Look, we already told your girlfriend, you’re not leaving us with contraband in our hold without payment. So figure out how to make us useful or we’ll just tag along anyway and nothing says ‘Capture me for being dumb’ like having two tagalongs with nothing to do.” Zepidah snapped coldly.

Suddenly Zepidah’s attention was briefly distracted from her conversation by movement in her peripheral vision. Having finished making plans with Vizago and attracted by the noise, Ezra and Sabine had started walking over towards the commotion. It was then, in that tiniest of moments when her concentration lapsed that Zepidah felt something. A push. A nudge. An idea. It wriggled its way into her mind. It wouldn’t be so bad to stay. They can do all the hard work and I can get an easy payday. Isn’t that what this was supposed to be? An easy payday?

Zepidah squinted her eyes and fought an infinitesimally brief battle with the thought she knew was not her own. The thought receded and Zepidah blinked her eyes several times shaking her head slightly as if to clear the cobwebs. She avoided looking at Kanan directly, she did not want to let on that she knew what he had done. She did, however, give him a brief glance to ascertain his mood. Kanan was still frowning but had begun to nod in acquiescence to Zepidah’s and Warden’s stubbornness.

“Fine.” He said tersely and walked away. Hera walked after him quickly speaking to him in low, soothing tones.

Ezra was scratching the back of his head watching them walk away, “That was… tense.”

“You could say that again.” Sabine agreed. “What was that about?”

Zepidah looked at Warden who took it upon himself to respond, “We’re all smugglers here in various ways. As such we need to have certain levels of trust, but we also need to have certain levels of consideration. We were…” the young man paused, “negotiating the considerations.”

“Oh?” Ezra queried.

“Yeah, and Kanan should not be complaining, You guys got the better deal.” Zepidah added.

Before Ezra or Sabine could respond to that statement, a land cargo vehicle pulled up from around a rocky outcropping, a hatch opened and, body half-in half-out of the vehicle, Zeb appeared and shouted, “Alright you lumps, time to go steal from the Imps! Again!” He let out a loud, boisterous guffaw. It was infectious. Everyone present laughed for a minute, then clambered into the vehicle.

Chapter Text

“Sir?” an officer standing a few paces behind Governor Tarkin queried.

“Hmm?” Tarkin’s response was soft as he barely registered the officer’s presence. He was pinching his lower lip between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, brows furrowed in thought, staring out of the viewport on the bridge. Ostensibly he was thinking through the reports he would be sending the Emperor about the events that had played out in his hunt for rebels of the Empire. Yet in reality, he was enjoying his victory by letting his mind wander where it would.

His thoughts roamed near and far. One moment he was thinking about how well his sailors had performed, The crew did well. I shall make a note that they are to have an extra week’s pay and perhaps tonight, those off duty can have an extra ration of whatever rotgut they prefer to drink, the next moment he was thinking of his grand uncle, Jova would have loved that chase, if only he didn’t disagree with space so much. Tarkin smiled at the small and seemingly only weakness of his relative that had prevented the man from becoming anything more than the great hunter of the Carion Plateau destined to thresh generations of Tarkin males on that deadly landscape.

Startled out of his reverie when the officer behind him cleared his throat, Tarkin belatedly realized that the man had done so twice before in the previous few moments, and that each time he had increased the volume.

Tarkin turned to the man and raised an eyebrow.

Without missing a beat the officer responded, “Shuttle Caltrops has returned from Tatooine with the crewmen who took their leave there last rotation. They are requesting permission to board, sir.”

It was at that very moment that a wave of tiredness swept over Tarkin. He felt the exhaustion in his bones. Such a mundane thing, granting permission to board his ship, after the thrill of the hunt was just tedious. “Granted” Tarkin sighed as he spoke. I hope the one who makes good caf is part of the returning crew. These past few weeks the caf has been atrocious. Even the kriffing droids make it better than whoever’s been in charge as of late.

He turned back to the viewport, missing the salute of the junior officer, his mind already wandering yet again, drifting now to several instances when he had drunk exceptionally good caf. There was that small, nameless shack on Eriadu that Uncle Jova would take him to. “Puts hair on your back” Jova would say. The caf there was dark, strong, and nothing else. It braced one for the coming day.

A soft smile that only his reflection saw graced Tarkin’s lips as he recalled the small, dimly lit café he had discovered while wandering incognito on one of the lower levels of Coruscant. Later, he had taken Daala there on a discreet date. Tarkin closed his eyes and the vision of his lover, scowling at the storefront morphed into her seated across the table from him, raising a steaming cup of caf to her slightly parted lips. She had liked the drink, if not the locale, well enough, but had also added copious amounts of sweetener into it. I wonder what Ailish would think of it.

Tarkin’s eyes shot open as he came to himself. Dank farrik! She crops up at inconvenient moments. Tarkin shook his head briefly and mentally grumbled in exasperation, wondering if the Emperor was more right about his preferences than he cared to admit.

A little over an hour later, Tarkin’s shift had mercifully ended. He strode towards the doors to exit the bridge when one of his junior officers caught his eye. It was a younger man, a lieutenant, with sandy blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes. The man had looked up and quickly back down at his datapad as Tarkin was about to pass, but the brief gaze of the young man stopped the older one in his tracks. Blue as the seas of Scarif, was the only thought that processed through his mind.

When Tarkin continued to stand there, the young man raised his head once more. Tarkin, his face molded into an impassionate mien, flicked his eyes up and down, obviously taking in the young man’s full physical appearance. It was with pleasure that he saw the man blush and duck his head down once more to his datapad.

A soft chuckle escaped Tarkin’s lips as he continued his walk to exit the bridge. Only the young lieutenant heard it. When he did, something deep inside him did a little flip.

Realizing he was hungry, Tarkin headed to one of the galleys on the way back to his quarters. As he entered, he found several groups of sailors, some officers, others enlisted men, who were still off duty, but had clearly just returned from leave on Tatooine, that had gathered to share a meal together. Some were laughing. Some lamented their losses at the gambling tables or the races. One was recounting a juicy, if most likely embellished, tale of his threesome with a pair of Twi’lek dancers. All the men were sunburnt.

“What’ll it be, sir?” A burly sailor asked the Grand Moff who had made his way over to the officer’s serving line.

Tarkin analyzed the food offerings with a quick, practiced eye. He had lived long enough aboard ships to know at a glance what foods he enjoyed, and which were absolute slop and should never be touched, no matter how desperate one might be. “A rather hearty slice of the bantha rib, a sizeable portion of the roasted veg, and a-” his grey eyes squinted at a box piled high with fruit in a back corner, “is that a bushel of meilooruns?”

The galley cook guffawed, “Can’t git nuthin’ by you. Indeed, sir. ‘Tis.”

Tarkin nodded. “I’ll have one of those.”

“Anything te drink, Admiral? Or uh… anything for dessert?” The cook said with a conspiratorial grin.

A sly smile spread across Tarkin’s face for a moment. Ah how well he knows me. “It has been a while. Hmm…” he pretended to think. “No. No I think not. Unless…” he leaned forward and the cook leaned in as well, “you have anything with eyes the color of Scarif’s blue seas?”

The cook thought for a moment. “I’m not sure ah do, sir. But if’n I do, I’ll send it up to ye.”

“Thank you, Galloway.”

The cook smiled, “O’course, sir.” His smile grew wistful, “I don’t s’pose y’d take something with green eyes what smells as though it’s been slavin’ round the galley kitchins would ye?”

Tarkin eyed the man, his gaze lingering on the scars that ran up and down the man’s forearms. It is a thought. He’s always been a solid choice. But no… “Not tonight. I’m in the mood to… dominate something new; should it appear.”

Galloway laughed again. “Enjoy yer meal, sir. I’ll see about dessert.”

Again Tarkin noted the tans and sunburns on his sailors. He was no stranger to roughing it in the wilds, but he never did understand why anyone would willingly go outside in the Tatooiinian suns. Sure, the gambling was supposed to be good there, and they had access to the best spice, but that was not enough for him to justify a visit to that desolate planet. Although… if I was ever afforded the opportunity to hunt a Krayt dragon… I suppose I’d be willing enough then. He shrugged mentally. To each his own.

*****

A shower and four hours of sleep later found Tarkin at his desk working on his reports with his second cup of disappointing caf steaming in front of him. With slow deliberation, Tarkin picked up his datapad with one hand, his caf with the other, and leaned back in his chair. He read and re-read his report multiple times while sipping the steaming brew, grimacing in distaste with each swallow. Every so often he would set both objects back on his desk, tap a few times on the datapad, and then repeat the process.

It had taken longer than expected, but Tarkin finally had the report he wished the Emperor to see. He queued the report to be sent via maximum encryption as soon as the Executrix dropped out of hyperspace.

A small thought wriggled its way into Tarkin’s head. She would appreciate an update. It would be educational. He pulled his datapad close to him yet again and began to type:

from: Governor Wilhuff Tarkin <WTarkin.DS1>
to: Admiral Natasi Daala <NDaala.MawInst>
subject: Important Lesson
sent via: Imperial Holonet

Admiral,

I trust your work at the Maw Installation is proceeding satisfactorily. I have attached a copy of an encounter report that I have sent the Emperor. I advise you to study it, both my tactics, my logic, and the way I present it for the Emperor’s perusal.

At the very least it will give us something to discuss upon your return to civilized space. Which, I trust will be soon.

-Gov. W. Tarkin

The last line of his email was as much as he dared say.

Tarkin felt a rare sort of affection for the woman. She had been everything he had ever wanted in a protégé; she was smart, cunning, and ruthless. She knew what she wanted, and she stopped at nothing to get it. She understood how the universe worked. She was not a Tarkin by blood and yet she had unwittingly lived her entire life according to his family’s code. He admired her for it.

Despite her detractors, he knew that she had earned her position in the Empire. Tarkin taking her for a lover had nothing to do with it. He chuckled to himself, thinking that in actuality it had been she who had taken him for a lover. She had pursued him for all that he could offer her: advice, knowledge, and finally, pleasure.

But she was merely a pawn, as most who served the Empire were, and he was one of the few players allowed to move the pieces on the board. As a result of their time together, Tarkin had come to the realization that Daala worked best when she was frustrated; that was when her creative prowess would surface. So, he had banished her to the Maw Installation to babysit a bunch of scientists. He needed someone he could trust to motivate those same scientists to find a surefire way to single out those who could tap into what the Jedi called the Force.

Before placing it in the digital queue to send he decided to finally open the last message he had received from Natasi. It had sat in his inbox for quite some time. He supposed he should read it in case he needed to modify his outgoing letter.

from: Admiral Natasi Daala <NDaala.MawInst>
to: Governor Wilhuff Tarkin <WTarkin.DS1>
subject: Report
sent via: Imperial Holonet

Governor,

It has been so long since we have heard from you. I wish to report that our research is netting some interesting results. We have not yet isolated a solution to the Jedi problem, but the scientists assure me that their interim discoveries are no less galaxy shattering.

I have attached several of their essays and reports on their research and findings for your perusal.

I believe that some of these items could solve the Empire’s Rebel problems just as well as what I was initially posted to find.

If you agree, just send the word and we will return to help you eradicate all who oppose us.

I miss your guidance.

-Rear Admiral Natasi Daala

Chapter Text

A brief knock interrupted Tarkin’s perusal of Daala’s letter. The knock was soft, timid, barely audible.

Glancing at the clock on his desk, Tarkin wondered, At this hour? Perhaps… perhaps Galloway was successful. A small, hopeful smirk ghosted across his lips.

“Come in.” Excitement mounting already, Tarkin struggled to keep his voice neutral as he pressed the button that ordered his doors to open with a whoosh.

In the entryway, silhouetted by the hallway lights, was a young lieutenant – the one from the bridge – with bright, blue, pulse stopping eyes. He carried a small tray with what appeared to be a slice of some sort of confection.

“G- Galloway said you’d be wanting this, s- sir.” The man stuttered softly and swallowed.

Feigning disinterest, Tarkin turned to his datapad, “Bring it in, boy.”

The young man nearly jumped out of his skin at the order but did as he was told and brought the durasteel tray to Tarkin’s desk, before hesitating.

Without looking up, Tarkin sighed, “Set it down on the desk.”

The young man did as he was told, then turned to make a hasty retreat. “Wait, boy.” The command stopped the lieutenant in his tracks and turned back to face the gaunt man who dominated his field of vision every time he was in the room.

After pretending to read the rest of Daala’s letter, Tarkin set the datapad down and turned to scrutinize the man in front of him.

He noticed the young man’s pupils dilate, small beads of sweat began to form at the man’s hairline – I wonder what they taste like – and his pulse was obviously racing judging by the quick rhythmic movements of the man’s veins that Tarkin could spy on the scant portions of exposed skin before his uniform’s collar covered it.

Tarkin stood up and strode to the man, who, to his credit, held the older man’s gaze for longer than most. Tarkin cocked his head to the side quizzically and spoke softly, “Why did you come here, boy?”

The man swallowed, “I uh- dessert- Galloway.”

“No. no. no. Why did you come here, boy?” He emphasized the words ‘you’ and ‘boy’ hard and was rewarded by seeing the man shudder. Here comes my favorite part. Ah, there it is, the fear in his eyes. He’s afraid of what he wants, afraid of what I want, afraid he doesn’t understand what Galloway told him. Breaking this one in will be a sweet dessert indeed.

“I’m waiting.” Tarkin raised an eyebrow in his quintessential questioning hawklike gaze, the rest of his face remaining stern and impassive.

The young man swallowed again and looked down, his cheeks flushing bright red. “I… uh… I thought… I thought you were interested in… I mean… I” he stopped. He could not bring himself to say what he was thinking.

“Hmm. How very eloquent.” The man’s cheeks, already a rosy pink, turned the bright, blotchy red of embarrassment. “Still, what you lack for in words perhaps you can make up for in… other qualities.” Tarkin had moved very close to the young man, he could feel the heat rushing off the youth. He raised his hand and delicately traced the back of his index finger along the outline of the man’s hair, coating it with the man’s sweat.

The lieutenant shot a startled look up into those unfathomable gray eyes and watched with fascination and terror as the older man… licked the sweat off his finger.

A mischievous grin graced the face of the Governor as he leaned close to the man with sea-bright blue eyes and whispered softly in his ear, “Is this what you wanted, boy?”

The man’s breath caught in his throat. All he could do was nod mutely.

Tarkin laughed, a throaty, lusty laugh as he undressed the man with his eyes. The lieutenant, sensing it was his move, began to unfasten his tunic. He was all thumbs, fumbling with the hooks, eyes, and zipper for far longer than needed.

When the lieutenant had removed his outer tunic and was beginning to start on his button-down shirt, Tarkin placed his hand, with its long, thin, calloused fingers over the man’s. “I need to know, boy, is this what you want?”

He nodded.

“Words, boy. Use your words. You have a tongue in that head of yours, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir, what?” Takin’s voice was sharp.

“I want this.” When the man saw the look on Tarkin’s face, he continued. “I want you to… to…” he hung his head and mumbled the last bit, “to use me, sir.”

“And why is that, boy?”

“I-” the young man swallowed. “I dunno.” Seeing Tarkin’s face harden, the man continued, “I know what I want, I just don’t know why I want it.”

Ah to be young again. “Would you like to know why I want you?”

The lieutenant nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

A wicked grin flashed upon Tarkin’s face as he answered his own question. “Because I want to see those beautiful eyes of yours look up at me with tears in them as I take my pleasure from your lips and throat. I want to hear your cries for mercy even as you beg for more. I want to break you, boy.” He paused. The effect of his words was evident, the lieutenant was breathing heavier, his mouth parted as he quietly panted for air, and his trousers were showing a significant bulge.

Tarkin resumed, “Do you think you could handle that kind of encounter? Is that what you wish from me?”

The lieutenant nodded, vigorously this time. “Y-yessir.” His voice was barely audible, attesting to how parched his mouth had become.

Narrowing his eyes, Tarkin glared at the lieutenant. “If you wish me to stop, to truly stop, I will.”

The young man looked up, “But you said you wouldn’t even if I beg-”

“I enjoy imposing my will on those I take to my bed. And yet, to take someone truly against their will, well...” He thought for a moment, then shrugged, “I’m not a complete savage. Choose a word, a single word. If you speak that word, I will stop. But that will be the end of it. This sort of encounter will never happen again between us if you stop me. Ever. Understand?”

The lieutenant nodded and looked down in contemplation. Finally, after a few minutes, he looked back up. “Solitary”.

“Solitary?” Tarkin repeated.

The lieutenant nodded the affirmative. “It’s uh… personal, but if I say that… then I want it to stop.”

Tarkin eyed the young man intensely. To his credit the lieutenant did not look away. “Very well.” And with those words he slapped the young man hard across the cheek. Before the man could recover, Tarkin had grabbed him by his sandy blonde hair and pulled him close. His lips crashed upon the younger man’s, his tongue probing and tasting, forcing its way into the man’s mouth. Just as the lieutenant recovered from the shock and began to kiss the older man back, Tarkin wrenched the man away by his hair and laughed, “Oh I almost forgot, if your mouth is occupied with other things and you wish to tell me your special word, I’ll leave one of your hands free to tap me.”

The man tried to nod and winced in pain as Tarkin’s grip in his hair tightened with a downward force. “On your knees, boy.”

The sailor obeyed, quickly dropping to his knees before the older man. He looked up, his blue eyes begging for what he knew would come next. Tarkin smirked then nodded once. As quickly as he possibly could, the man loosened Tarkin’s belt and unbuttoned the buttons holding his trousers up. When he had freed Tarkin’s rigid member from his undergarment, the lieutenant’s lips parted slightly. Before he had time to register what was happening, Tarkin twisted his hair again, causing the man’s mouth to open further, but before the moan of mixed pleasure and pain could escape the young man’s lips, Tarkin rammed himself deep into the man’s throat.

The man gagged immediately, his throat contracting, forcing Tarkin’s cock back out. “Tsk tsk. Try again.” The man got one good gasp of air in, before Tarkin shoved himself down his throat again. The man gagged again. He looked up, tears in his eyes, “Please sir, I-“ but he never finished as Tarkin thrust in again. The pattern repeated itself, over and over. After a what felt like an eternity to the young man living in a realm between breathing and suffocation, Tarkin gave the lieutenant a break, letting him take his throbbing cock as far as he comfortably could without forcing the issue.

Desiring to please the older man who held him at his mercy, the lieutenant used the reprieve to attempt to satisfy Tarkin in other ways. His tongue lapped and massaged, licked and swirled. He sucked with a pleasurable force to be sure, but Tarkin wanted more. Patience. He mentally cajoled himself. Take your time with the boy. Tarkin closed his eyes and let his head roll back, enjoying the sensations and letting the lieutenant bring him to the edge of bliss before grabbing his hair with both hands and roughly pulling him away.

The man looked confused, but Tarkin just smiled, a toothy, animal grin. “Remove the rest of your clothes.” His voice had taken on a deeper timbre than usual. He watched as the lieutenant pulled his button-up from his waistband and then unbuttoned it. When the man went to drop it on the floor, Tarkin cleared his throat. “No.” the man stopped, looking for all the galaxy like a kybuck caught in landing lights. “Neatly.” The man swallowed and looked around the room. He found a chair, walked to it, and tentatively hung his shirt neatly off the back. His gaze flicked back to Tarkin who nodded once in approval.

Undershirt, boots, trousers, briefs, and socks followed suit. In a stroke of independent thought, the man went to wear he had dropped his tunic on the floor and retrieved it, hanging it neatly on the same chair as his shirt.

The lieutenant had been so concerned with making sure his clothes were neat that he failed to register what the rustling sounds were that he heard from behind him. When he finished with his clothes, he turned to find the older man naked, his own clothes folded and set upon a different chair.

The man’s breath caught in his throat. Tarkin stood there, naked, proud, his myriad scars on display. There are so many. The man looked up into those gray eyes, his own blue ones mirroring the desire he saw there.

Tarkin walked over to the chair where the man had lain his clothes, examined it with an impassive face, then, after a few moments, stepped back and nodded his satisfaction.

It was only then that Tarkin allowed himself a good, full look at the naked man before him. The man stood at parade rest and his sizeable member stood at full mast, more than a small drop of his desire beading at the end of it. Good. At least he truly finds this arousing, that will make it easier. As he walked around the man, he noted that the youth was not without his own set of scars. Many of which were created by instruments he recognized. Well well, looks like someone knows how to live through a fight.

“Answer me truthfully, boy. Have you ever had someone take you from behind?”

The young man flushed again. “I- uh- yes- well, yes and no.”

“Explain.”

“I-“ the man hung his head in shame. “I was a prisoner-“

An illuminating thought burst into Tarkin’s mind. Solitary. Solitary confinement. Hmm… “I see.” He interrupted the man. “That is not shameful, lieutenant.”

The man looked up, tears in his eyes. “But I- I got off on it, sir. I hated it, and my body loved it and I- I just-“

“Enough. A body has senses, and it will respond if stimulated. There is no shame in that.”

“It’s just that I want it to be my choice this time, sir.”

Tarkin stood, staring into the man’s eyes for a long time. Finally, after a long sigh, he stepped back and spoke. “Tonight, I do not wish to be gentle, boy. I crave the violence. I do not care for you, and I will hurt you. Perhaps it’s best that-”

“No!” The lieutenant cried out, looking into Tarkin’s eyes with his own, unblinking plea. “You said you’d stop if I said my word. Until then, don’t stop. Please. I need this. I need to feel good about this. I want to give myself to this, to you, willingly. I- I trust you, sir.”

Tarkin’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the lieutenant once more. No. He is not a boy. He’s lived through much and is facing his fears. I’ll give him that. Curious that I wished to break him, but he has come here to be repaired.  Finally, he nodded, took a step forward slapped the man so hard that he lost his balance. Tarkin was on him like a nexu on its prey. He grabbed the arm the man had flung out to try to regain his balance and yanked it around behind the man’s back. The man yelped in pain.

“Struggle, young man. I want to work for it.” He hissed in the man’s ear.

The lieutenant threw his head back trying to headbutt the older man who just laughed as he easily dodged the attempt. Tarkin’s grip on the man’s arm tightened and the lieutenant grunted in pain. Without warning, the man rotated on his feet, throwing his elbow behind him, making contact with Tarkin’s jaw. The older man grunted and reflexively let the younger go. The lieutenant lost his balance for a moment and in that brief span of time, Tarkin lunged forward, attempting to grapple the young man.

The two men fought, the younger trying to free himself, the older consistently getting the better of him. It was a game of cat and mouse and both men knew it. The younger man was capable, but Tarkin was fierce and experienced. Time slowed for the two men, both panting, both bodies slick with sweat. A rumble of a chuckle emanated from the older man as he faced his prey for a final time. “Very good effort, young man.” But not as good as Orden. The thought had intruded unbidden, a momentary distraction; the lieutenant saw his chance. Instead of running away, he ran at Tarkin. Intent on tackling the man to the ground. Though not successful, he did knock the older man off balance. But Tarkin used that momentum to pivot and shove the young man against the wall. The lieutenant struggled, but he had used the last of his strength on the gamble and had lost. Tarkin had him firmly in his clutches. A scant moment later, Tarkin dragged the man by his arms off the wall and stood him in front of him, facing his desk.

With a final kick to the back of one of the man’s knees, Tarkin slammed the lieutenant face first on his desk. He saw a small spray of blood where the man’s lip had split on impact. He held the man’s left arm behind his back yet again. Both men were panting hard. Tarkin kicked the man’s legs further apart. “Clench hard, lieutenant. As hard as you can, then release.” He saw the man obey him and the instant he saw the lieutenant’s glutes relax he plunged his fully erect, dripping cock, deep within the man’s rear entrance and began to pump at a brutal pace. The lieutenant yelled, first in pain, but soon the vocalizations turned to moans of pleasure. “No one can hear you in here, lieutenant. Feel free to be loud.” The man obliged him.

Gripping the man’s hips hard enough to form bruises as he pounded into the man before him, Tarkin could feel his own release coming. He slowed his pace, leaned forward, and snaked his free arm around the man’s front. He found the man’s cock, gripped it firmly, and began to pump in time with his own movements.

The man moaned and writhed beneath him until all at once his whole body tightened. Tarkin was deep inside the man then and his own orgasm tore through him violently. He let out a growl, deep, guttural, and pounded into the man a few more times to ride the crest for as long as possible. Finally spent, he removed himself from the man and backed away. He quickly cleaned himself and donned his clothes.

When he turned to look at the young man, the lieutenant was still bent over his desk, shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure. Tarkin walked up to him, his boots clicking on the durasteel spaces of floor between his carpet rugs, smacked his backside, hard, and said in a stern voice “Get up.” Trembling all over the man managed to push himself off Tarkin’s desk.

Tarkin looked pointedly at the blood on the desk and at the semen on the floor. “Clean it.”

It took a moment to register, but the man finally understood. He knelt to the floor and began to lick up his own mess. Looking bored, Tarkin nodded, walked to the other side of his desk, picked up a datapad, and sat in his chair. After he had started reading Daala’s email again Tarkin said as an afterthought, “Good. When you’ve done you may dress and leave.” His voice took on a hard edge, “Make sure you clean every drop.”

He was rewarded by watching the man shiver. Then Tarkin turned his attention away from the naked man before him and set about to finish reading Daala’s email in actuality this time.