Please note:

1) This is an AU in which Vader is (mostly) raised by Palpatine. Therefore, he was never trained by the Jedi, he has no personal relationship with Obi-Wan, he never dueled the man on Mustafar, and he has no burns/missing limbs. Most importantly, however, he never met Padme. Thus the child is NOT Luke. But I hope you'll like him anyway.

2) I've tinkered every so slightly with the timeline so that some ages are a little off-canon: Jix and the Rebellion were born earlier, that sort of thing. So try to resist the urge to point it out in the reviews. :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Wars, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction about it.

Chapter One

"We are here today," proclaimed the Emperor, an expression of great displeasure on his face, "to discuss an enemy of the Empire." Several of the councilors in the room looked at each other uneasily. "It is not the Rebellion, an enemy whose tactics and purpose we know, but another, the so-called Purple Sky."

The looks became even more uneasy. Standing in the corner of the room, ready to serve whenever the Emperor required her, Head Chamberlain Kaja Or'Zee thought each man looked more nervous than usual. She knew why: Purple Sky was a dangerous topic. Discussing it had ignited the Emperor's wrath on more than one occasion, usually resulting in the death of some nearby unfortunate.

"I don't need to describe to you the activities of Purple Sky," said the Emperor, standing slowly and striding to his right, his hand tracing along the table hypnotically. Kaja caught several councilors staring at it in fascination, as if unable to take their eyes off it. "But I will describe them again anyway. Since it seems, at least," the man's tone sharpened dangerously, and a few councilors flinched back, "that you have forgotten about the problem; so little progress has been made."

A few of the men shuddered as the Emperor began to slowly circle the conference room, his eyes glittering, much like a predator sizing up its prey before the kill.

"A year ago," announced the Emperor, his voice ringing throughout the room, "an enemy of the Empire emerged that stylized itself as the Purple Sky. This humanoid, who disguises his true appearance beneath a purple mask and robes, first contacted myself by hacking into the palace communications systems. It found my personal hologram number, which it then used to contact me and offer me the following ultimatum: to allow the passage of Economic Trade Route Bill 223, or else it would release the locations and defense codes of every military base in the Elrood Sector to the Rebellion. I, of course, refused. The cost, however," said the Emperor, his voice thick with anger, "was staggering."

A breathless silence filled the hall as the Emperor paused, leaned forward, and braced his hands on the surface of the conference table. "This has since happened," he snarled, fury resonating in his voice, "six times in the past year alone!"

He swept away from the table angrily and resumed his path around it. "Our intelligence operatives have both failed to find the leak and have failed to trace the offending holograms whenever they come in. We have, thus far, no lead on our enemy. This is a failure I will not tolerate."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Kaja imagined every councilor's mind was flicking back to the unfortunate fate of Tribi Zhennou, the late head of intelligence. The Emperor had executed him unusually mercilessly the night before. She had heard from her staff that there had been blood everywhere.

"The responsibility," the Emperor proclaimed ominously, "for finding this slime is being passed onto you. I hope, for your sake, you do not fail."

The councilors looked at each other in something akin to panic. At last one of the stupider ones asked timidly, "But what of Lord Vader?"

As one, all the councilors in the room turned to the far corner, where Prince Xizor and Lord Vader stood in silence.

Lord Vader, thought Kaja, her gaze turning to him, cut a mysterious and terrifying figure. Taller than most men and swathed head to toe in black cloth and leather, he looked like something right out of a horror holovid. Not an inch of his skin showed. A cowl perpetually shadowed his head, and beneath it was a blood-red mask that made chills go up and down Kaja's spine. Everything about the Sith was a dangerous mystery—who he was, where he was from, even what species he was. His voice was disguised with a vocabulator, and the resulting tone could give even the strongest men nightmares.

For a moment, everyone but the Emperor seemed transfixed by his terrifying visage. "Lord Vader?" the Emperor finally asked coolly, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "Governor Maros," he said condescendingly, "intelligence investigations are not Lord Vader's responsibility. They're yours. Each Moff, each governor, has a responsibility to undercover spies in his own realm." His voice hardened. "So I expect results from each and every one of you." The men cringed back.

Eyeing them with disgust, the Emperor turned away. "Get to it!"

Silence descended on the hall, and then as one the councilors scrambled out of their seats, practically racing out the door, not wishing to stay a moment longer lest the Emperor change his mind about killing one of them.

Only Vader and Xizor remained. Kaja watched them out of the corner of her eye as she cleaned up the mess made by the councilors' hasty departure. There was something odd about the way the two were standing. Neither of the two had reason to be tense; the meeting didn't concern them. Yet they seemed like they were barely restraining themselves, so strong was the hostility emanating from them. Of course, Kaja had heard about their infamous rivalry, but she had never imagined it would be to this degree. It was obvious they could barely stand one another. As she wiped down the table, she marveled at the two's ability to communicate their utter hatred for each other without so much as moving an inch.

-Scene Break-

In the Emperor's Retreat, only three people knew who existed behind Vader's mask. One was obviously Vader himself. The second, of course, was the Emperor. The last was Wrenga Jixton.

At the moment, the lattermost was lounging in the living room of Vader's quarters, his eye half on the door, waiting for Vader himself to appear. Jix knew Vader was attending a late-night court meeting, and he could only imagine the indomitable temper the Dark Lord would return in. Yet Jix didn't worry for himself. Vader couldn't afford to kill him.

Oh, it wasn't that Vader couldn't find a new personal assassin/special agent/slave-in-everything-but-name. But it was that Jix was the absolute closest thing the man had to a confidante, and both he and Vader knew Vader was unlikely to find one of those again. The only reason Jix put up with the man was because, one, he owed Vader, and two, he had known the man before he had turned completely into a cold, unfeeling statue; back then, he had only been somewhat of a statue.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, the door slammed open and Vader strode in, his cloak swirling angrily behind him. He slammed shut the door and rounded on Jix.

"What are you doing here?" he growled. "You are supposed to be on Alsakan!"

"But Naboo is so much prettier," Jix mock-whined.

An ominous silence followed. Jix didn't need to see Vader's face to know the man was glowering at him.

Jix explained quickly: "The target has already been eliminated."

A pause. "Already?" Disbelief colored Vader's tone. "You are good, Jix, but are not that good."

Jix scowled in irritation. "I wish I could take credit for the job," he said pointedly, "and be able to say I planned and executed a brilliant, untraceable assassination in the first four standard hours I arrived on Alsakan, but alas, that would be a lie." He added the last part a little sarcastically.

Vader paused, processing this. "What happened?" he asked, lowering his hood and slipping off his mask. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"Well," started Jix flippantly, "I was halfway done making an absolutely brilliant plan involving two moving speeders and a canister of—"

"Jix."

"Oh, all right," he said irritably. Vader never wanted to hear about any of his brilliant plans. "Cut out the interesting parts, I get it. Long story short, another bounty hunter got him soon after I arrived planet-side. He made a whole mess of the thing—big explosion, several other people dead, police caught him. I checked out their interviews—apparently our little dead friend had some bad business with the Hutts. Jabba put a price out on him."

"You are sure the bomb wasn't staged?" Vader asked sharply, narrowing his eyes. "He is dead?"

"Knew you'd ask that," said Jix with a grin. "Ran the DNA test myself on the remains of his brain. Trust me, he's definitely dead."

"Hmm," Vader grunted. "At least one thing went right today."

He picked himself up off the wall and strode to his liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of Tarul wine. He took a large gulp from it before setting it down.

"That bad, huh?" asked Jix, raising an eyebrow.

Vader snorted. "Xizor was there. He makes every meeting bad."

That was something Vader would only ever confess to Jix. Jix couldn't even begin to count the times Vader had mentioned how much he hated Xizor; Jix had no doubt if the man wasn't the Emperor's favorite after Vader, he would be dead by now. But Jix couldn't really blame Vader. He couldn't much stand the Falleen himself: Xizor was a slimy sort of fellow.

"He's going to be here for another three weeks," Vader revealed, draining the first glass of wine and pouring himself another. "Apparently the Emperor's pet project might require a few more guns, and he's hired Xizor to provide them. Tonight, they're scheduled to happily start chatting away about all sorts of special weapons to give the thing—ones that will no doubt drain the Imperial budget even more." He downed another glass of wine. "As if that technological terror has any real power." Utter scorn laced Vader's voice as his words turned to the Death Star. "It's insignificant in comparison to the Force. A single person in tune with the Force could take it out with a single shot." His lip curled.

Jix rolled his eyes. He had heard this particular rant several times. "Lord V," he said seriously, "you need to take your mind off that thing."

"How can I?" Vader snarled. "When it's such a colossal mistake? With the money we're pouring into that project, we could build over a 300 Star Destroyers or feed all of Imperial Center!" He gripped his wine glass so hard it shattered in his hand, and he glanced down at it in surprise. Then he let loose a stream of profanities that would have made Jix blush had he been any less seasoned of a spacer.

That was the final straw. Jix knew the man had to be pretty upset to curse that badly. "Lord V," he said, standing up slowly, "You need to get laid."

There was a brief silence in which Vader stared at him as if he didn't quite believe what he had just heard. At last he said, in shock, "What?"

Jix almost sniggered at the man's stunned expression but caught himself just in time. Instead he articulated, slowly and clearly, "You. Need. To. Get. Laid. It would do you wonders. Trust me. Just get out of the palace. Go clubbing or something. Get laid. You'll feel a lot better about Xizor's presence in the morning."

Vader just stared at him. "Jix," he said at last, "I haven't had enough alcohol to do that."

Jix smiled slowly. He grabbed another bottle of wine and another glass and shoved them both into Vader's hands. "Then," he said sweetly, "drink up."

-Scene Break-

Jix had to hand it to the man: he could handle his alcohol. Vader had downed practically the entire bottle of wine and hadn't even gotten tipsy. He simply became slightly more open-minded, but enough so that after a good hour of nagging, he finally relented and agreed to go into the nearby town of Moenia with Jix. Still, Vader insisted, he wasn't going out to get laid. He was just going out to get out of the palace; Xizor's presence, he claimed, made the atmosphere suffocating. Jix didn't care how Vader justified it to himself as long as the man came.

"You're going to need to get out of your horror-vid outfit," Jix remarked as Vader disappeared into his bedroom.

"I know." Vader's voice managed to sound irritated despite being muffled by the door.

A minute later Vader emerged in plain black pants and a matching shirt, his lightsaber somehow disguised on his pant leg. Jix examined him briefly before giving him the okay. It would've been too much to ask for the man to put on a little color.

The two sped out of the Emperor's Retreat in one of Vader's black speeders, the kind with windows that let you see outside but allowed no one to see inside. They spent the next twenty minutes shaking the numerous political spies following them before slipping anonymously into Moenia.

Jix was full of suggestions as to where to go. "There's the Singing Quill Club, the Nine Muses Club, the Exlar Kirr Club, the Bradeo Club—"

Vader's hands tightened on the controls. He spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to a club, Jix."

Jix rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "Only 25 year old in the Galaxy who doesn't want to go to clubs." When Vader glowered at him, Jix knew he had been heard. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "Let's compromise."

Vader gave him a warning look that said quite clearly compromise wasn't his strong suit.

"Hear me out." Jix held up his hands. "I know of a place called Ixi-Mari that has a really great atmosphere, serves meals all night. Downstairs in the basement is a really great dance scene if you get bored eating upstairs. It's going to be one of the few, non-club places open at this time of night. Sound okay, Lord V?"

Vader appeared reluctant, so Jinx said, pointedly, "If not, we could just head back to the palace."

Vader swore under his breath. "Fine."

-Scene Break-

Moenia was said to be Naboo's retreat for the suffering artist, and Mirté was a suffering artist in need of a retreat. She arrived in the city late in the evening, and, after checking into her hotel, headed straight out for a night on the town. Soon she came across a café offering a performance poetry show, which featured the poems of Ezza Gaius, a man famous for writing about heartbreak. It was an absolutely perfect theme for Mirté, so she sat down and drowned in hers and Ezza Gaius's sorrows.

Mirté normally wasn't into the gloom and doom scene. As an artist, she was all for rich, organic shapes and bright colors. She enjoyed the random and erratic. But then had come that terrible fight with Paolo, her lover of three years, and it seemed like inside her all the bright and organic shapes had shriveled into black morass.

Maybe I could get into this, she thought, closing her eyes and sipping her fruity drink, do a series on black and grey shapes. My agent would like it. Dapé is always encouraging me to do something new.

"And that was our last performance!" the owner of the café announced, breaking her out of her reverie. "Please leave all tips at the foot of the stage, and if you have any requests for next time, please see me up front—"

Mirté ignored his speech, slipped a bill onto the table to pay, and ducked out of the café before the crowd could start moving. It was past midnight, and most places were closed, but Mirté didn't want to go back to the hotel. She wanted to lose herself. Across the street, she spotted a restaurant still open, and so, dumping the remains of her drink in a trash receptacle, made her way to it.

The restaurant itself busy, so it was a good thing Mirté wasn't in the mood for food. Instead of seating her at one of the tables, at her request the waiter guided her across the room to the steps leading down to the disco basement. Someone had locked the door to it, and the waiter cursed as he fumbled around for the keys. The wait allowed Mirté the time to gaze around the room. In the corner, she eyed two young men sitting at a secluded table. One was facing her; with his dark hair and eyes, he looked a bit like Paolo. She couldn't see the face of the other one—only that he had golden hair, so different from ex's.

"Here you go," said the waiter, as the sound of music suddenly blared in her ears.

Mirté brought her eyes back to him, thanked him, and descended into the welcoming, throbbing mass of anonymity.

-Scene Break-

For the past hour, Jix had been trying to convince Vader to go down to the club. "Come on, Lord V," he cajoled. "It would be fun."

"You," said Vader slowly and carefully, as if he had explained this several times before, "are not making it worth my time. You have yet to give me any good reason to do so."

Jix scowled. Vader was a difficult man to convince of anything. Jix had exhausted every line of reasoning but one. "I'll do that Septaki job for you," he offered suddenly, causing Vader to pause in stirring his drink.

"Not enough," Vader said at last, taking a sip and setting down his cup again. "I could have compelled you to do the Septaki job anyway."

True. Jix racked his brain for something Vader couldn't compel him to do. "I could…" he floundered, tapping his fingers on the table and staring at the ceiling. "Hmm." Wow. He had never realized how strong of a hold Vader had on him before.

He would have to be tricky about this. "Well," he said carefully, "there is a gift I have been thinking about giving you. But perhaps I shouldn't."

Vader stopped and stared at him incredulously. "Are you trying to reprimand me the way a parent does their child? Behave, or you won't get that present I bought you for Carnival Week?"

Jix winced. When Vader said it like that, it did sound bad. But still. "If I try to bribe you any other way, you can force me to do it," he tried justifying himself. If it worked… "But you can't pluck the name of the gift out of my mind, and if you try to force me to give it to you you'll never know if it was the real gift or not." He resisted the urge to add that this was a gift Vader would actually enjoy—that Artoo unit Jix had won in that game of sabaac was the spunkiest little droid he had ever seen.

Vader snorted. "I'd never know if it was the real gift even if I did go down there." He jerked his head toward the basement door.

Jix frowned, not liking the implication. "I wouldn't break our deal," he said, sounding insulted. "I swear on Aridus."

Vader shook his head. "No."

"Oh, come on!" Jix exclaimed, exasperated. "Not everyone will be dancing down there. A lot of people will be just talking on the side. They'll be serving drinks." He added the last part enticingly. He could tell Vader was in the mood to drink.

"No."

It took several more minutes of whining, at which point Jix suspected Vader was simply sick of the topic, before he was able to convince the man to come down with him.

-Scene Break-

Mirté saw him standing on the side talking to the Paolo look-alike, a drink in his hand, a serious expression on his face. He looked like an angel, this man. Golden curls, high cheekbones, a solid, masculine chin and darkly-tanned skin. His eyes were an impossibly deep blue, and they glowed with intensity as he spoke. Mirté couldn't imagine anyone could look more different from Paolo. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she wanted to know him.

So she kept him in the corner of her eye, watching him carefully as she moved with the music. She noticed several other girls admiring him as well—but too bad. She was determined to get to him first. She moved closer, and a minute later the look-alike moved away to get more drinks.

She made her move.

-Scene Break-

When Jix turned back from the bar, Vader was lounging against the wall, talking quietly to a woman. Jix couldn't see much of her—just the back of her slim body and long brown hair. He recognized the expression on Vader's face, though: he was interested in her.

Jix shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him that a man as serious and as terrifying as Vader attracted women the way honey attracted flies whenever he dropped his mask. And he could be perfectly charming, too—look! Jix thought. The woman was already giggling. Jix could see it in the way her shoulders were shaking.

Jix took a sip of his drink and leaned against the wall, watching the two. Sure enough, Vader made his move fairly quickly. One minute the two were talking, and the next the girl had grabbed the Sith Lord's hand, and he was following her out of the club and up the stairs.

"I suppose I'll be walking home this evening," Jix muttered, taking another sip. There was no way Vader would allow him to pilot his speeder. Then Jix caught sight of a bubbly blond girl with big green eyes and a great rack. "Or not."

-Scene Break-

The next morning, Mirté woke up alone in her hotel room. On the pillow beside her was a single white rose with a black ribbon tied around it. She inhaled its fragrance, smiling at the memory of the previous night, before rising to get dressed. As she did, she noticed a message waiting for her on her comlink.

It was from Paolo. He said he was so sorry for what he had said. "Please, baby," he begged, "let's get together and talk things through. I really want things to work out between us. You're the one. I know it."

Mirté listened to the recording, glanced down at the white rose, and began to cry.