Harbinger

“My Lord,” Preitha said, “I had nothing to do with my father’s actions.”

“I know,” he answered curtly.

She fell silent, taking up the increasingly familiar pace at his side as he strode down the hallway. Again she found herself nearly jogging to keep up, and bit back a smile as she recalled his description of her the last time she’d fought to stay beside him.

“What do you know about the latest move of the rebel Alliance?” Vader asked after a time, breaking the silence that had not, in actually, been silent at all.

“Very little, my Lord,” she said, wishing he’d slow down just a bit; she was beginning to sweat. “Really, only what I could discern from Commander Tagge’s statements.”

“And what is that?” he inquired patiently, not slowing his pace a bit, though he was surely aware of her discomfort.

“That the rebels have somehow obtained schematics to this facility. That they hope to analyze the plans, to find and exploit a weakness. And that you have captured someone who knows where these plans are now.”

“The princess from Alderaan,” he supplied. “Her father has been a traitor from the start, and it appears that she has adopted his cause, in kind.”

“Where did you capture her?” Preitha asked.

“Aboard her ship, just outside orbit on Tatooine.”

“The plans were not found on the ship…” she mused. “They must have dropped them onto the planet somehow.”

“An escape pod,” Vader confirmed.

Empty?”

“With droids.”

“Then she was trying to get to someone,” she concluded. “A clever plan, actually. So the question we need her to answer isn’t ‘where’, but ‘whom’.”

Vader had to admit, he was impressed. She was insightful and intelligent; and attractive, for that matter.

“But who can be found on Tatooine beside the Hutts, vagrants, and the occasional farmer?” she wondered aloud. “Which is probably exactly why this mysterious recipient is hiding there…”

“They could have simply been en route elsewhere,” he offered, playing devil’s advocate.

“To where? ‘From’ where, for that matter? The Princess’ home world is in the core. No,” she decided. “Tatooine was the destination. What relation does that desert rock have to the Empire? That’s what I don’t understand.”

Vader’s shoulders stiffened. There ‘was’ no connection, other than his own past. He wasn’t about to explain ‘that’. To his knowledge, very few people in the galaxy were privy to the secret of his former identity. To most, Lord Vader was a figure steeped in mystery, the clenched fist of the Emperor; perhaps a droid, maybe a cyborg, but certainly not a former slave boy from Tatooine. Certainly not the shell of a fallen Jedi named Anakin Skywalker.

Preitha took his silence to mean he disagreed with her hypothesis. “What is your theory, my Lord?”

Her question jolted him out of his musings. “Your theory is a sound one, Lieutenant. I dispatched a battalion of stormtroopers to the surface of the planet to track down the droids.”

“And?” she asked.

“And the droids have, somehow, evaded them thus far,” Vader admitted bitterly. Acknowledging failure angered him.

“I have no doubt that your Lordship will recover the plans,” she placated. In part because she sought to appease his obvious anger, but also because she believed it.

He smiled grimly behind his mask. Lord Vader did not like to lose. Each time the rebels evaded him, it only fueled his anger.

It would make their inevitable downfall that much more painful… for them.

“When they fall, it’ll be hard for them, and satisfying for us,” Preitha said, mirroring his thoughts.

He was pleased to note an eagerness in her tone that matched his own. She was… interesting, this one. “That is the plan, Lieutenant,” he told her.

They were nearing the lift that would take them directly to the cellblock level. By the time they stepped inside and were sealed behind the smooth black doors, Preitha was completely out of breath from the effort of keeping up with Vader’s lengthy stride.

“Why do you wear your hair that way?” he asked her suddenly, face tilted down to gaze at her. She was short, the top of her head not even clearing his shoulders.

“What?” she asked, startled by the question. She looked up at him, one hand idly reaching up to finger the bun at the nape of her neck. “It’s regulation, my Lord.”

His only response was to nod slightly, and Preitha grew uncomfortable as he watched her. It was impossible to gauge his mood through the opaque cover of his mask.

The lift’s arrival at its destination relieved her of her discomfort. The doors slid open, admitting the pair to the detention ward.

The prison Commander greeted them at the elevator. “Lord Vader, everything has been prepared as you requested.”

“Very good. Ready the mind probe,” he instructed. “Lieutenant Motti, you will now learn the importance of interrogation. Follow me.”

Two black-clad soldiers led them down the hallway, past symmetrical holding cells. The corridor was too narrow for Preitha to walk beside Vader, so she fell into step behind him. The constant hum of the IT-O droid floating above her left shoulder resonated in her ears so she hesitated a moment, allowing the droid to drift ahead of her several paces.

The soldiers paused before a cell and the door slid open; they stepped inside, snapping to guarded attention on either side of the entrance. The room was small, the ceiling and floors glowing with the same ominous red luminance as the hallway.

The woman sitting calmly upon the uninviting bench was a sharp contrast to the portentous gloom of her surroundings. She was dressed entirely in white, brown hair curled into tight knots above her ears. Her face was soft and gentle, and she could not hide the traces of fear in her eyes at the sight of the Sith Lord.

“And now, your Highness,” Vader announced, “we will discuss the location of your hidden rebel base.”

Leia’s eyes widened when she saw the probe float into the room. Preitha stepped in neatly behind it, and the door swooshed closed. The captive princess seemed not to notice her, she was watching the droid’s steady approach, regarding the needle affixed to its’ side with a panicked gaze.

The black orb stopped just short of reaching Leia, hovering patiently.

“Where is it, Princess?” he asked.

“Where’s what?” she countered defiantly, tilting her head to regard Vader.

“It’s not wise to play games with me,” he warned.

“I am an Imperial Senator, you have no cause to hold me like this!”

“Didn’t you hear, your Highness? The Senate has been dissolved by the Emperor,” Vader revealed with relish.

“He wouldn’t dare!” Leia exclaimed.

“It’s done,” he said. “And only a traitor would be foolish enough to challenge the Emperor’s authority.”

The princess faltered, clearly shaken by the news, her defiance fading as she returned her gaze to the waiting droid. Its’ red eye regarded her with what, to Preitha, seemed almost like anticipation.

“Where is the rebel base? Where are the data tapes?”

Leia said nothing.

“The hard way, then,” Vader concluded, waving the probe forward.

Leia inched away from the device as far as she could, pressing her back against the wall. Preitha watched the probe’s advancement and couldn’t prevent a wince when the needle positioned itself at Leia’s temple, the sharp point dinting her pale flesh. She observed the needle’s insertion into the sensitive skin, heard a low hiss as the truth serum was dispensed.

Preitha had taken two courses on interrogation technique at the Academy. The IT-O was the latest fad throughout the Empire. It was an effective piece of machinery, using repulsorlift technology,and equipped with various “information extraction” devices. The instructors had shown numerous holovids of actual interrogations, but Preitha had never seen an interrogator inject the serum directly into anyone’s temple before. It was unnecessary. It was… sadistic.

-=I assure you, Lieutenant, it is necessary,=- Vader said, and it took her a moment to realize he had not spoken aloud, but rather in her mind.

She nodded slightly, watching the Princess as the drug began to take effect. Leia’s pupils dilated, and she regarded the Sith Lord with a listless, blank gaze.

“Where are the Death Star plans?” Vader asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leia replied.

“You dropped them onto Tatooine. Why?” he pressed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated.

“Where is the rebel base?” he asked, switching gears.

“I’m a… Senator… diplomatic mission… Alderaan.”

“You’re lying,” he stated flatly. “Where is the rebel base?”

“Don’t know.”

“I grow tired of this, Highness,” Vader growled menacingly. “Where is it?”

“Don’t know,” she repeated. Her eyes drooped closed and then opened again.

He motioned to the IT-O unit. It promptly floated forward and injected Leia with a second dose of the truth serum. It was not uncommon to use multiple doses on unresponsive targets, but it was a delicate process – too little serum and the target would remain uncooperative, too much would render them unconscious, and could ultimately prove fatal.

“Where is the base?”

“Don’t… know.”

“WHERE IS IT?” he roared.

“Don’t…”

“Again!” Vader instructed the droid. It drifted forward obediently to carry out the order.

“Lord Vader,” Preitha interrupted, “I don’t think she can handle any more.”

“We’ll see,” he replied, motioning for the droid to continue.

It wasn’t long before the third dosage took effect. Leia’s hooded eyes were glassy, and a strand of drool trailed down her chin. Preitha realized how young she was – no more than twenty. The Princess let out a low, gurgling moan; her head lolled to one side and she fell still, slipping into unconsciousness.

Vader growled, enraged, and raised one clenched fist. The IT-O exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. Preitha turned away from the explosion, arms flying up to protect her face. A shard of durasteel grazed her bicep, cutting through the fabric of her uniform jacket and slicing her skin.

One of the soldiers by the door was less fortunate. A piece of shrapnel caught him in the eye and he slumped to the floor with a strangled cry.

Preitha shrank back against the wall, hoping to avoid becoming the target of Vader’s fury. She did not drop her arms from her face until she felt a strong hand take hold of her, examining her wound.

“It’s not bad,” Vader told her.

“No,” she answered.

“A bacta bandage should be sufficient to heal this,” he continued, sounding slightly guilty.

“I’m fine, my Lord,” she said, straightening to regard him.

“Come, Tarkin will want a report on our lack of progress,” he said, leading her by the elbow to the door. “You were right, three doses was too much.”

“There was no way to know that, sire. Two was not enough. You had no choice.”

He nodded. “First we’ll meet with Tarkin. Then we will see to this wound.”

******

They found the Grand Moff in one of the operational command centers, deep in conversation with Commander Tagge. Preitha stayed back, out of the way of the men, and watched the conversation unfold.

“Her resistance to the mind probe is considerable; it may be some time before we can extract any information from her.” Vader announced, pacing back and forth as he spoke.

“The final checkout is completed. All systems are operational. What course shall we set?” Motti asked, approaching the trio. He smiled at Preitha, and she saw a hint of triumph in his eyes at Vader’s admission of failure.

“Perhaps she would respond to an alternative form of persuasion,” Tarkin mused.

“What do you mean?” Vader asked defensively.

“I think it is time we demonstrated the full power of this station. Set your course for Alderaan,” Tarkin instructed.

“With pleasure,” Motti gloated, stalking off to carry out Tarkin’s orders.

“It will be some time before we reach Alderaan,” Vader said, speaking more to Preitha than to Tarkin or Tagge. “I will retire for a time.”

“Very good, Lord Vader,” Tarkin acquiesced.

Preitha hung back, pleased with the chance to be out from under the Sith Lord’s watchful eye for a while; but as he swept past her his hand shot out and latched onto her elbow.

“The Lieutenant will accompany me,” he said over his shoulder.

She threw a panicked glance in Tarkin’s direction. The man merely nodded, hawkish features mutating into a perverse smile.

“That will be fine,” he said complacently.

Vader's quarters were quite large; the receiving room alone was nearly three times the size of Preitha's single-room apartment. The walls were black, similar to those of the prison levels, and there were several oversized pieces of furniture upholstered in bantha leather dyed an equally dark shade. Globed sconces, affixed to the walls at regular intervals, bathed the space in soft light. One curved wall boasted a huge, floor-length viewport, which afforded them a generous view of space.

"Make yourself comfortable, Lieutenant," Vader said, gesturing to the sofa.

Comfort did not seem possible to Preitha at the moment; she'd heard the distinctive "click" of the door locking behind them and had noticed the encrypted access code scanner next to the door on the wall. She was truly alone with Lord Vader for the first time. There was no escape.

"If I wanted to harm you, I would have done so before now," he told her patiently. "You know that."

She nodded and took a seat on the corner of the couch, exhaling a deep, calming breath. She watched the Sith Lord walk to a control box set into the far wall and enter a lengthy code. The durasteel wall paneling to the left of the box slid upwards, revealing a waist high refrigerated compartment. Reaching into the recessed cubby, he withdrew a large syringe filled with a cloudy, nondescript liquid. Preitha's eyes widened and she couldn't prevent a gasp.

Vader seemed surprised by her reaction. "No, Lieutenant, this is for my own use," he explained, reading her thoughts. "It has been some time since I've had any nourishment."

"Can you remove it at all?" she asked, gesturing to his armor.

"Not here," he answered. The hand holding the syringe disappeared beneath the folds of his cloak. When it reappeared, the syringe was empty. He placed the needle back inside the compartment and the panel slid closed. "Are you hungry?" he asked awkwardly. "I don't have an autochef, but I could have something brought in."

She blinked at him. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"You haven't eaten," he stated matter-of-factly.

It was true, she hadn't eaten in two days, ever since she'd learned of her assignment, but she doubted she could digest anything at the moment, even if she cared to try. "I'm fine," she repeated.

"Am I truly ‘that’ imposing, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"You are," she responded flatly, "and you know you are."

He sighed, and Preitha glimpsed a near-imperceptible shrug of his broad shoulders.

"We need to see to that cut," Vader said, changing the subject. Before she could protest he disappeared down a wide hallway opposite the room's entrance. He returned several moments later carrying a small tray of medical supplies.

"Remove your jacket," he ordered. At her hesitation he explained, "I need to clean the wound."

She complied, unbuttoning the stiff material and slipping the jacket off her shoulders. She winced when the cloth brushed against her torn flesh. Beneath the jacket she wore a plain black, sleeveless undershirt, also standard naval issue.

Vader took a seat beside her. She had the distinct impression that he was studying her upper body carefully. Preitha deliberately wore uniform jackets one size too small, trying to bind her breasts tight against her body in an attempt to appear as androgynous as possible. The undershirt was far less restrictive, and she was suddenly quite self-conscious.

"I can do it myself," she said, reaching for the antiseptic vial.

"I have no doubt," he replied, setting the tray down on the other side of the couch, out of her reach, "but I'd prefer to take care of it for you, since it's my fault."

She pursed her lips, but kept silent, allowing him to lift her arm and examine the cut. She found his touch surprisingly gentle.

"The wound is deeper than I realized," he said, using the antiseptic to wash away the dried blood.

"It doesn't hurt at all," she told him, puzzled.

"No, I saw to that," he muttered, applying an even layer of bacta salve to the bandage.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, placing the bandage over the wound.

"No, I'd like to know what you meant," she pressed, flexing her arm gingerly.

Without warning, Vader reached a hand up and tugged at the clips holding her hair in place, pulling it free. Corkscrew tresses spilled over her shoulders.

"Much better," he said, threading his fingers through her curls and giving them a gentle tug.

She froze, desperately trying to ignore the pleasant sensation, concentrating instead on the transparisteel viewport across the room. Her sigh of relief at his withdrawal was cut short when she felt one gloved finger trace a gentle path down her cheek, then circle her chin to tilt her face in his direction. Preitha tried to rationalize his actions, telling herself they were not necessarily advances of a sexual nature.

"It has been some time," he told her softly, "since I have had a woman."

Or, perhaps they were.

"They are," he confirmed with a chuckle.

"My Lord," she stammered, "there are a number of pleasure slaves aboard the station, I would be happy to – "

"I don't ‘want’ a whore," he interrupted. His hand drifted lower to run along the ridge of her collarbone.

"But, my Lord," she protested.

"You would give yourself to an ensign, one who hates you and longs for your ruin, but not to me?" he asked bitterly. "Even when this is what you were summoned here to do? Even when it's what you want?"

He knew.

"Of course I know," he said, softening his tone once more and tracing lazy patterns down her arm that sent shivers up her spine.

Resisting him would be far easier if she didn't want him so badly, she thought before she could stop herself.

"Then why resist at all? Why fight me, Preitha?" Vader asked, running the fingertips of his other hand across her lower lip. He seemed content to simply study her; waiting patiently but persistently until she either gave in, or was driven mad. His index finger now traced the curve of her upper lip, the tiny cleft that led to her nose. "All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will."

He knew she wouldn't.

She raised one hand tentatively, stopping short of touching his chest. He nodded his invitation and she set her palm against his chest plate, running her fingers along the hard grooves and contours. Then she reached up to trace the angled curve of his mask. He matched her movements, exploring her face the same way. The synthesized exhalation of his breath was warm on her fingers. She tried to look beyond the opaque eye sockets of his mask to see his face, to study his eyes.

"Blue," he told her, answering the unspoken question.

"Blue," she repeated and, on impulse, she leaned forward to lay her head against his chest. Preitha closed her eyes and listened to the soothing rhythm of his breathing, marveling that his chest did not rise and fall in time.

Vader was momentarily startled by the gesture. Gradually he brought his arms up and circled her shoulders, holding her close. One hand idly stroked her hair. Yes, he wanted her, but this was… nice. He couldn't recall the last time he'd held a woman in his arms this way. Padme, he realized, had been the last person to ever trust him. Nearly twenty years ago.

Gods, had it really been that long?

Preitha allowed the cycle of his breath to lull her, relax her. She let her eyes close and hovered there, on the edge of slumber, contented. It seemed impossible, through the layers of armor, but she quite distinctly heard a second rhythm as she drifted to sleep – his heartbeat.

"You are human, after all," she mumbled.