Harbinger

“Do you think he meant it?” Preitha asked some time later, still nestled comfortably in the circle of Vader’s arms. She was on her side, back pulled in against the Sith Lord’s chest, with her head resting on one muscular bicep, tucked snugly beneath his chin. Her fingers were laced through his, and his other arm was wrapped possessively around her slender waist, holding her close. She could feel the plasteel hardness of his chestbox pressing between her shoulder blades; she ignored it.

“Meant what?” Vader mumbled, half-asleep. He was completely relaxed, for the first time in years. He didn’t think Preitha realized the significance of him letting his guard down enough to doze off in her presence, vulnerable and exposed as he was.

“When he called me a whore. Do you think he meant it?”

Vader sighed and tightened his embrace. He’d known the questions would come eventually, but he’d hoped the time would be later, rather than sooner – certainly not at ‘this’ moment, after the mind-numbing fuck they’d just had. There were many things he didn’t want to think about right now.

“No. Of course not,” he said finally.

“But why did he say it?”

“Because he was a pathetic, weak man.” He couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice.

“I can’t let myself think that. He was my father.”

Vader squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “Preitha… there are things that he did that even I cannot approve of or justify. And I’ve done many evil things myself.”

“Like what? If you know, then tell me.” She twisted her body around and looked up at him, pleading. “Just tell me.”

Like denying a child her identity, her family, her real father. Like lying to her for no reason other than to control her. Just as Obi-Wan had done to Luke – to ‘Vader’s’ son.

Part of him wanted to lie to her. To protect her? Perhaps. To avoid an unpleasant discussion? Maybe. To avoid having to think of his own son, being raised by Owen Lars and being lied to for 19 years? Definitely.

But if Luke were to go searching for answers about his parents, Vader would hope he could find them. And it had been Preitha that had told Vader the truth about his son, albeit unknowingly. In a way… he owed her.

Another sigh as he made up his mind. “He was not your father.”

“Hmm?” Her response was casual and unexcited. She’d misheard him, he couldn’t possibly have just said…

“He was not your father.”

“What do you mean?” She smiled as she asked the question, thinking he was joking, or perhaps using more cryptic language about the Force that she didn’t comprehend.

“You were adopted.”

The smile disappeared.

“I don’t understand,” she said, still looking at him with wide eyes. Force, she was just a child – not much older than Luke – and she looked every bit the innocent now. Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to fuck her. But Vader already had enough regret to last a lifetime, there wasn’t room within him for more.

“Your real father was Antath Skarin, from Chandrila. He was killed when you were a child.”

“I don’t understand,” she repeated, disengaging herself from his embrace to sit up, as if the change in position would clarify things for her.

“Your father was killed. Admiral Motti took you from Chandrila, and raised you as his own daughter.” Vader was looking at her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. His words didn’t seem to be sinking in at all.

“Who killed him?” she asked, dazed. She wasn’t looking at him; she wasn’t looking at anything. She was just staring across the room blankly. He noticed the large bruise covering her breast, the wound crusted with blood, already a deep, purple shade, and felt a twinge of guilt.

“Admiral Motti.”

“Why?”

“He was accused of aiding the Rebellion.”

“Was he? Aiding them?” There was still no sign of understanding in her eyes. Vader wondered if she was in shock. To find out that her real father had been an anti-Imperialist, well… it was probably as disturbing as finding out that one’s son was a rebel.

“Yes.”

“But…” she looked at him finally, and her lashes were wet with tears that threatened to spill over. “I don’t understand,” she said again, still avoiding his eyes.

Her calm was unnerving. He wanted her to scream, to rage at him. That he could understand. That he could deal with. There was the barely-audible “whirr” and “click” of gears as Vader raised his hand and touched it to her cheek, turning her face to look at him. He tried to hold her gaze, but she still wasn’t - wouldn’t look at him. She was looking ‘through’ him.

“Preitha,” he said softly.

No reaction.

“ ‘Preitha’.”

“Huh?” There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a spark as her gaze focused on him for a brief moment before they glazed over again.

“Talk to me.” The words seemed strange to him. When had he ever wanted someone to ‘talk’ to him? They were lovers, but they weren’t friends. And he was Sith.

“Where are the records on the arrest? Or my birth registration?” Another spark, this time it looked almost like hope.

“There are none.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried to find them.” His hand glided through her hair in an awkward attempt at comfort.

“But… there has to be.”

“You need to rest,” he told her, pulling her gently back down onto the bed. She allowed him to wrap her in his arms, but made no move to settle in against him as she had done before.

“What does that make me?”

“What?”

“If my father was a traitor, what does that make me? If I hadn’t… would I have been a rebel too?”

“But you aren’t.”

Vader didn’t blame her for wondering, though he found it strange that she would be concerned about ‘that’ right now. After all, how many times had he asked himself how his own son had come to be the one responsible for destroying the Death Star?

“But shouldn’t I be?”

“Preitha, you need to rest ‘now’.” He reached out and touched her mind with the Force, easing her into sleep. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

******

Vader gave serious thought to altering Preitha’s memories. He could do it without my difficulty – make her forget the entire conversation. She was Force-blind, she’d never know he’d done it. But in the end, he couldn’t. She deserved the truth; she’d earned it.

When she awoke, still in Vader’s private apartments, she was alone. A pale lavender dress hung from the bedpost, another present from his Lordship, but the Sith himself was absent. She found the refresher through an open door off to the side of the bedroom, and bathed and dressed in painful solitude. When she emerged into the hallway, a protocol droid was waiting for her with a message from Vader – he’d been summoned to the Imperial Palace for an audience with the Emperor. She was free to wait for him here, or in her own rooms. He would see her as soon as he was able.

Breakfast was waiting in the study but Preitha had no appetite. The mere thought of food made her stomach churn. It seemed foolish to eat, or do anything “normal” when her world had just been shattered.

“I’m not hungry, thank you,” she told the droid.

“His Lordship said you’d say that, my Lady,” the droid responded. “He said you need to eat.”

“To be honest, I feel a little sick. I don’t think eating would be a good idea.”

“Shall I take you to medical, my Lady?”

“No, no… it’s not that kind of sick.”

The droid cocked his head to the side in an oddly human gesture. “I don’t understand, Madam.”

“Please just take me back to my rooms,” she sighed.

“Of course. Follow me.”

The lengthy trek back to her suite was made in relative silence, for which Preitha was grateful. She completely understood why Vader preferred the company of droids to humans – no unwanted questions, and they didn’t comprehend emotion. She dreaded seeing Yana. She knew the young girl would question her endlessly about the past twenty-four hours, and she didn’t much feel like talking.

Part of her still didn’t believe it. She kept searching through her memories for some indication that she’d known the truth, that maybe she’d always known, deep in her subconscious. If it ‘was’ true, why couldn’t she remember? How could she have forgotten something as important as that? How could she have betrayed herself that way?

Even though she knew it was irrational, her anger at the moment was directed at herself, not the Admiral. She ‘wanted’ to be angry with Motti. She wanted to hate him, but he was dead. Wasn’t that punishment enough for his sins? Besides, she’d gotten her revenge in an unknowing, unintentional way. She’d chosen his most hated enemy over him, and he had died before she’d been able to explain to him why.

The protocol droid left her at the entrance to her suite, and she was relieved to find that Yana was absent. Though the young servant girl spent the majority of her time with Preitha, she did have other duties within the Fortress, and also had school lessons several times a week.

Preitha went immediately into her private library and locked the door, pausing at the comm. console to hit the “mute” button. She wanted to be alone. If Vader needed to reach her, he’d know where she was.

The library was a small, windowless room, with a lone, rectangular durasteel table spanning its’ length, and several holoconsoles set into the table top.

She seated herself at the center console and called up a holonet connection. Birth and death records were technically public information, but to access the archives, one required a log-in and password, and those could only be obtained with pre-approved clearance. Authorization was difficult to obtain for an ordinary Imperial citizen, but for a Naval Intelligence officer, they were standard issue.

Preitha navigated her way to the Archive’s Main Page, and then to the birth records registry. She knew that all traffic within the archives was monitored, that her superiors would be notified of her perusal, but at this point, she didn’t care. They’d also see that she’d accessed the records from inside Vader’s private residence on Imperial Center, and that knowledge might be enough to encourage them to avoid asking questions.

The archive was a searchable database. She entered a query for “Motti, Preitha >> Birth Record”. The screen was blank for several moments as her request was processed, then in bold, black letters:

“NO RECORD MATCH FOUND.”

She tried again. “Motti, Preitha >> All Records”. The response was swifter this time.

“MILITARY SERVICE RECORDS FOUND FOR MOTTI, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER, PREITHA, IMPERIAL NAVY. NO BIRTH OR DEATH RECORD ON FILE.”

With shaking fingers, she entered the next query. “Skarin, Preitha >> All Records.”

“NO RECORD MATCH FOUND.”

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. She took another breath and tried another tactic. “Skarin, Antath >> All Records.”

“BIRTH, DEATH RECORDS FOUND FOR SKARIN, ANTATH. ACCESS RESTRICTED. QUERY DENIED.”

She frowned and entered: “Skarin, Antath >> All Records >> Restriction Override Requested.”

The faint hum from the console grated her nerves as she waited for a response, the seconds ticking by with maddening slowness.

“SKARIN, ANTATH. ACCESS RESTRICTED. OVERRIDE REQUEST DENIED.”

“’Why’?” she shouted at the console, pounding her fist against the table. Passing one hand over her eyes in an effort to prevent the tears that were threatening, she navigated her way to the archive maintenance screen. This she probably ‘would’ get reprimanded for, but she didn’t care.

“Search Access Restriction >> Records Access >> Skarin, Antath.”

“SKARIN, ANTATH. RECORDS RESTRICTED BY MOTTI, ADMIRAL, SKELLARD.”