DISCLAIMER: I MAKE NO MONEY OFF MY WRITINGS AND ALL CHARACTERS (SANS THOSE OF MY OWN CREATION) BELONG TO GEORGE LUCAS AND LUCASFILM, LTD.

Episode I

Chapter 1

The Devil's Due

Another day, another two million creds, the Hunter mused silently.

Lord Vader obviously heard the thought, his black helm turning slightly over his shoulder in Boba Fett's direction. And as it was usually the case regarding Fett, Vader let the silent comment go. The Sith Lord stood in front the massive window of his meditation chamber, gazing into the stars, as he always did when addressing his most trustworthy (if most demanding and petulant) bounty hunter. Fett stood in his usual place, along side the door, just slightly behind the peripheral vision of anyone who may enter. And he stood in his usual position, cradling his rifle closely to his breastplate.

"So two million is satisfactory, bounty hunter?" Vader rumbled softly.

"Quite satisfactory, Lord Vader", Fett replied cordially, tipping his head forward in his customary bow. Vader turned and faced the bounty hunter, the first time since their conversation commenced. They stood for several moments facing each other, saying nothing. Fett and Vader would often do this during their business meetings, taking time to reflect upon the orders given, the price haggled, and their general opinions of one another.

It was Vader who broke the silence first as he stepped away from the window and stepped up to his meditation cubicle. "Then it is agreed. We will reach the Dia-Orri system within 36 hours. From there you will leave for Tatooine to gather information concerning the last sighting of Han Solo." Vader settled his armored bulk into the chair, from which automated sensors and drones immediately started attaching themselves to the various points necessary.

Vader made it a point not to mentally scan Boba Fett during his visits—Fett was one of the very few in the galaxy for which he had an iota of respect, and hence Vader never felt it necessary to read Fett's mind. But he could not help but feel the wave of annoyance coming from Fett's direction. "There is something not to your liking, Fett?"

And Fett made it a point never to allow the Dark Lord too close to him, either physically or mentally. That was never good for business. But he had obviously slipped this time. Damn. "My Lord, I do not understand the delay. I would prefer to leave the Executor today on my own power and accord. Respectfully."

"You have something more pressing to attend to, bounty hunter, than my 2 million credits?"

Fett shifted slightly in his armor. He was, after all, still fairly new in Vader's service—this was only his fourth job working for the Sith Lord. And he obviously was still testing Darth Vader's dark waters. He was still developing an approach with Vader, an approach he had never had to take with any of his previous employers. Throughout the entire galaxy, the name Boba Fett was synonymous with terror. Most people never spoke his name above a whisper, as though he would turn the nearest corner at his name's mention. And most employers agreed to any price he demanded, any desire he wished, without argument or haggling. Years of dealing with such sheep had not only made him more arrogant; it made him a legend, a terrifying, sinister legend.

But now, Fett was in the employ of an even more terrifying legend than himself; if most of the populace only whispered Fett's name, these same inhabitants wouldn't even dare to utter the name of Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith. He found himself having to brush up on his manners and decorum. And he hated it. But he liked the money. And he appreciated the freedom the Dark Lord allowed him—Vader never asked questions regarding his methods or means. Until now, that is…

"I meant no disrespect, My Lord Vader", the Hunter stated flatly. "I am merely anxious to begin this assignment. I do not like standing idle for long. It dulls my edge."

Vader allowed himself a scan of Fett, and found no ulterior motives within his statement. Fett indeed was a man of action, and Vader touched only slightly on the rage in Fett's soul, the darkness, the obsession—he needed no more than a glimpse to see that Boba Fett was everything his reputation had made him out to be. He also saw Fett's mental and physical exhaustion; he viewed Fett in his ship many days before, sleeping upright in the pilot seat of the Slave I; he saw the last meal Fett ate, a mere amino packet days earlier. Despite his obvious physical superiority to mere mother-born humans, Fett would need rest before being sent on this assignment. This was the first chapter in the destruction of the Rebellion; a short, seemingly insignificant chapter entailing the capture of a lowly spice smuggler and his return to the wretched Jabba the Hutt. But Vader understood that details which seemed insignificant would often bring down entire empires…No, he needed this breathing living demon sharp, healthy, and rested.

"I understand your desire to proceed, Hunter. I too am most anxious to begin, but all in good time. You will need to be briefed further regarding the details, your ship must be inspected and tuned, and you will need rest, Fett."

Inspected and tuned, hmm? More like bugged for surveillance. Fett fought with everything he had to close himself off to Vader. He stood stoic, unmoving and unfeeling, fighting the urge to blast the Sith Lord bastard through that damn window of his! He was insulted, being spoken to as though he were a mere child, and a woman-born child at that…

Vader immediately intercepted Fett's rage. "Fett, do not misunderstand my intentions. As far as your personal well being is concerned, I don't give a damn—once Solo is captured and returned to that disgusting criminal slug on Tatooine, you may do what you like to destroy yourself. But until then, you are in my service and I require you sharp. I do not tolerate mistakes, as you well know." The Sith Lord, nourished by the oxygen drodes implanted within his suit, allowed himself to sit back in his meditation throne. His tone relaxed. "You will reside in the guest quarters. There you will find food, a fresher, drink, all that you may require."

"I require a woman. Will that be provided for me as well?"

Fett couldn't suppress the smirk that crossed his lips under his helm. For the first time, he wished he could actually see Vader's face. Yes, he knew he was testing dark waters again. But if he were to be kept on the Executor at the Empire's expense, against his own personal wishes, and if Vader truly wanted him "sharp"…

Vader sat perfectly still in the silence, his only movement a tapping finger on the arm of his throne. Oh yes, that. He was not dealing with Imperial military personnel. Yes, women were kept aboard the Executor for the relief of the higher-ranking officers, but Vader never had to deal with that aspect of military service. And after decades refuting his own desires for flesh, he had forgotten about the intimate world of men and women…and this request annoyed him. He had hoped that Fett was a more like himself; dedicated, driven, not to be bothered with such …bestial frivolity. But if it would make Fett pliable and keep himself from killing the arrogant bounty hunter…it was a trivial request.

"What is your pleasure, Fett?"

With that, Fett relaxed his stance for the first time, lowering the blast rifle from his chest, setting it against his leg, and adjusting his bracers. Aim high, Hunter, he thought to himself. It's on the Emperor's tab. "Human, purebred. Not too old or too young. Brunette." He looked up in Vader's direction and said with a smile in his voice, "And long on legs and brains."

If Vader could have sighed within his breathing apparatus, he would have. "Agreed, Hunter." The lid of his meditation chamber began its slow descent as he added, "The guards will lead you to your quarters. Expect your guest within 2 hours."

With that, the chamber doors swished open to reveal Fett's stormtrooper escort. Fett once again performed his customary bow, but with more a thankful flourish. He turned and strode out of the chamber, accompanied by the stormtroopers.

Vader's throne turned toward the window as the black shell closed upon him. Is this what I have become, he thought, irritated. A pimp for bounty hunting scum? But as with everything, Vader weighed this detestable task against the possible outcome—the capture of Solo, the seduction of Skywalker, the execution of Leia Organa, the absolute destruction of the Rebellion, and his own ascent into the destiny he had created for himself decades before…again, a trivial request.

His finger flicked the console. "Piett!"

The voice of the Admiral answered. "Yes, Lord Vader?"

Vader paused for a brief moment as a notion newly formed in his mind… "I request a service of our current guest aboard ship, Grand Moff Denivrian…"

* * *

I'Lai's effervescent laughter bubbled throughout the dining chamber, tinkling off the crystal chandelier that hung gracefully over their sumptuous table. As many times as she had heard the story the last few days, she never tired when the Grand Moff told of the Imperial Anniversary banquet from which they were returning and how the wife of the Mon Calamari ambassador continuously drank from the finger bowl even after being kindly told not to… several times.

Grand Moff Denivrian sat across from her, drinking in the sweet wine that was her laughter as well as the wine in his cup. His eyes swept over her slender hands and fingers, and wondered exactly when she would no longer be able to lift them due to the weight of the jeweled rings and bracelets he was constantly lavishing upon them…it was his own personal little game, a game he enjoyed greatly.

Denivrian leaned back in his chair, and placed a hand upon the roundness of his protruding belly, filled with rich food and drink. He smiled adoringly at his concubine. "The food is to your liking, precious I'Lai?"

I'Lai glanced up from her plate and returned the smile. "Excellent cuisine, Reynau. I had no idea that a military ship could provide such exquisite faire." She glanced around the chamber, taking in the subtle décor and gentle music. "As well as such a sublime atmosphere." She turned back to her liege, lightly yet purposely fingering the thick red jewel-encrusted neck collar he had given her that very evening. "It's beautiful, Reynau. You have done so much to make this trip…less stressful for me. Thank you, my liege."

He smiled again. "Everything I do, precious, I do for you. I know your fears regarding interstellar travel, so I contacted the Emperor personally and arranged passage on this, the finest ship in all the Empire. What, I would have my darling girl shipped about like some cargo on a third-rate freighter? Especially when I know how space travel frightens her?"

Denivrian reached over the table and took her hand. By the gods, how he adored this woman. From the first moment she arrived at his palace and he gazed upon her, he had been madly, deeply in love with her. She was a mere child at the time, only sixteen years of age, freshly graduated from the Imperial Courtesan Discipline. He remembered how, at the time, the Emperor had opened the books of the Dia-Orri mining operation and was very pleased with what he saw. In addition to the gifts of High Governorship of the entire Dia-Orri system and even greater personal wealth bestowed upon Denivrian, the Emperor gave him one more gift—the most beautiful, highest-ranking and most sought-after courtesan that year's Discipline could provide, I'Lai.

As she settled into her new role as part of Denivrian's harem, he found her to be much more than just beautiful. She proved to be exceptionally intelligent, voraciously reading anything she could find and insatiably curious about Imperial politics and current affairs. She had an exquisite eye for art and décor as well as fashion—he would never leave his palace wearing anything I'Lai did not lay out for him. But mostly, she had a heart. She showed a warmth and compassion never seen in most women of her caste. She treated everyone around her, no matter their class or station in the galaxy, with kindness and respect, even if Denivrian himself did not find them worthy of her very presence. Denivrian remembered how she would simply sit quietly in his private chambers, listening intently as he droned on about such nonsense as shipping snares or slave miner uprisings or camp epidemics or how much he hated his wife. And she would merely laugh when he told her how much his wife hated her.

Thankfully, within two years of I'Lai's service to him and his house, the wretched crone died. Although Grand Moff Denivrian was one of the highest ranking and wealthiest nobles in the Empire, he sadly could not persuade the Emperor to change the law barring aristocracy from marriage to one in the courtesan caste. So he did the next best thing and appointed I'Lai First House Concubine, a position that made her practically his equal regarding palace affairs. When he heard of the discord within the harem regarding his decision and the hostile jealousy of I'Lai that ensued thereafter, he had the harem disbanded.

Here it was, ten years after her first arrival, and he still doted on her like a father Bantha. He showered her with gifts almost every day, and every day she would admonish and scold him for it. Because of her nervousness regarding space travel, I'Lai would accompany him on few diplomatic trips but, when she did, she would travel as his High Consort despite her courtesan caste.

The short drone of the chamber comlink interrupted Denivrian's daydreaming and the peaceful mood of their dinner. Irritated, he gently broke his grasp on I'Lai's soft hand and hit the link button. "Grand Moff Denivrian here."

"Your Excellency, this is Admiral Piett. I…seek counsel on your private line with you regarding a request from Lord Vader."

Denivrian knit his brow in concern, and glanced at I'Lai, who did the same. Both knew that Lord Vader never requested anything (but rather demanded it), and neither could possibly know what the Sith Lord could want from either of them. Denivrian rarely ever used his private comlink—I'Lai had a say in almost all his personal and business dealings. He hit the com button again. "Is this a matter of grave importance, Admiral, that I must use my private comlink?"

There was a short hesitation before Piett replied. "I cannot go into further details, Your Excellency, while we are on a public channel. If you will, please log on your private comlink."

I'Lai looked down into her plate, picking nervously. Denivrian paused for a brief moment, staring at the comlink, before rising from his chair. He turned to I'Lai. "Precious, do not be nervous. I'm sure it is nothing. His Lordship may merely want to know how we like the accommodations so he can make his report to the Emperor. Please, enjoy your dessert—it's your favorite, Jhing'ca parfait. I ordered it just for you… I will return in just a moment."

Denivrian stepped through the doors of the antechamber, leaving I'Lai alone with the dessert for which she had suddenly lost her taste.

* * *

As the doors to the guest chamber closed with their near silent hiss, Boba Fett stood and surveyed the quarters he had been given. "Lights, twenty percent", he told the computerized room console.

A wall of windows two meters high welcomed his gaze across the chamber. From this view he could see three star nurseries and their surrounding nebulae. He peered to his left—a relaxation area with two sofas, a large stuffed chair, a low table carved from black marble equipped with a holovid, and a matching marble bar against the far end of the windows. He turned to his right. He could see another door, probably to the fresher. In the area directly next to the door laid a huge, pillow-laden bed draped in what appeared to be black Arisand silk.

As Fett stepped toward the large bed, he reached up and pressed the collar latch to his helmet. Its tiny hydraulic lock opened with a cold whisper, and he pulled it off his head. He removed the protective cloth undermask, all the time never taking his eyes off the bed, hating the thing down to his angry dark soul. Fett hadn't slept in a bed in almost twenty years. The pilot seat in the Slave I had been his pillow. There were many things in this galaxy, this universe that sickened Fett but nothing more than things of comfort and convenience. A soft place to lay one's head and body, to drift into a netherworld of dark and warmth, to forget, only if for a while…to dream…

He threw his helmet on the bed in disgust. "And you wonder why I do not sleep, Vader. Dreaming is for the weak, the feeble of heart." He began unlatching the breastplate from the shoulder pads of his armor, turning and heading toward the de-con room, when he stopped and noticed the other thing he hated intensely—a mirror, hanging on the wall next to the exit.

If it had been twenty years since Fett had slept in a bed, it had even been longer since he had looked at his own face in a mirror. From where he stood, he was a good six meters from the thing, so he did not see his visage clearly. For that, he was glad. He purposely stepped around the far parameters of the room on his way to the fresher to avoid the thing.

"These devices of comfort, vanity," Fett rumbled in his throat, setting the helm on the headrest of the large chair and the armor pieces in the seat. "It's a damn wonder the Empire ever came to be with all these distractions."

And the woman you crave, Fett. Is she not a device for your comfort and vanity?

Fett had been removing his right bracer when he froze in mid-motion. Slowly, he turned over his shoulder, trying to determine where the voice had come from. He was certain there was no one in the room. Thanks to his genetically altered eyes, Fett could see better in dim light than bright, giving him the precise, deadly vision of a predator.

Is she not merely a distraction from the torment of your cold black heart? A point of light in your vast well of loneliness and despair?

Most beings would have run from the room like panicked animals, or torn the place apart looking for the comlink and thought themselves mad when they found nothing. Not Fett. He merely straightened himself, closed his eyes, and answered in his mind.

Lord Vader. I thank you again for the accommodations, and for your patronage. As for the woman…yes, she is a distraction. From the boredom and restlessness I am forced to endure as we head for the Dia-Orri system. She is for my amusement only. Now if you will excuse me, My Lord…respectfully.

With that, Fett erected a black wall within his mind, threw the last piece of armor into the chair, and stormed into the fresher, thinking how next time he would demand four million credits for his services.

* * *

The creamy layers of red, orange, and white fluff had already melted into each other in the tall glass, and I'Lai idly mixed the colors even more with her spoon. It had been almost a half hour since the Grand Moff went into his private antechamber to speak with Admiral Piett. She smiled almost sadly to herself as she watched the sweet abstracts she created swirl and dance. She had told Denivrian that hyperspace jumps frightened her, which was why she seldom accompanied him on his diplomatic trips. But that was not true…this was why she hated these trips. The politics, the whispers in darkened corridors, the smiling villains at every turn, greeting with one hand and stabbing with the other, the court intrigue breeding with its despicable decadence. I'Lai had no stomach for it despite the fact she had been born, raised, and bred in this particular universe. She was happiest on Orri Prime, continuing the work she had started many years earlier.

I'Lai never liked lying to Reynau. He trusted her with everything, down to the very depths of his soul. And she knew he was in love with her, and she felt sad that she couldn't reciprocate his feelings. She cared deeply for him and did her best to take care of him, but…Reynau was a product of the corrupt Galactic Empire. His treatment of the indentured miners in his system secretly disgusted her and kept her from giving herself completely to him. She never denied him her company in his bed---when asked she came to him willingly and without argument. But that was her duty, plain and simple. However, because of his failing health, the requests had come fewer and more far between as of recent years, and for that I'Lai was secretly glad. Denivrian was more like a doting father to her than a lover, a relationship that suited her just fine.

The antechamber door swished open, and I'Lai looked up to greet her liege with a warm smile. The smile quickly dissipated when she saw the somber, almost angry look in the Grand Moff's eyes. Denivrian walked toward the table and took his seat, never once raising his eyes. I'Lai's eyelids fluttered, and she cleared her throat. "My goodness, " she stated in a falsely jovial tone, "Piett must have asked about the accommodations down to the last detail for you to be gone so long, Reynau." When the Grand Moff remained silent, she repeated, "Reynau…?"

Denivrian grabbed the napkin off the table, thrust it into his lap, and snatched at his spoon hastily. "Eat your dessert," he barked lowly.

I'Lai dropped the spoon to her plate, sat up on her chair and folded her arms. Her tone was that of an annoyed mother. "Reynau. Will you please tell me what is the matter?"

Denivrian stopped irritably poking at his dessert and set the spoon down. His expression changed from anger to utter despair. He shut his eyes briefly, took a long slow breath, then lifted his gaze to I'Lai and met her eyes. "Your company for the evening has been requested by the Lord Darth Vader."

I'Lai's arms dropped from their folded position as she blankly stared at the Grand Moff. She knitted her brow and for a moment forgot to breathe. "W…What?" she stammered. Denivrian held her stunned gaze for only a second before having to avert his eyes. They both knew what those words meant, for it was a form of polite code known throughout the aristocratic circles of the Empire.

They meant that I'Lai was to sleep in another man's bed that night.

"Reynau", I'Lai blurted as she fought to catch her breath, "There must be some mistake…I have never been called for before in all the years I have been your concubine. I thought it was understood throughout court that I…was yours only." She blinked back tears, fighting to remain calm and regal. "I do not understand…"

"Nor do I, precious. Nor do I." Denivrian suddenly snapped out of his chair so fast he sent it falling back. He ferociously paced up and down the length of the dining chamber, rubbing his white-hued temples. "I have done Lord Vader no offense to best of my knowledge. Granted, he dislikes me intensely, that I know, but---Vader detests everyone. I can find no reason why he should demand this…horrific, detestable charge of me."

I'Lai said nothing. She simply sat and stared down into the melted parfait. She squeezed her eyes, and felt the warm trickle of a teardrop. She had been foolish to think that this day would never come. The years of comfort and serenity on Orri Prime had given her a false sense of security. The time she and Reynau had spent together in his palace had caused them both to forget that, according to Imperial Law, an aristocrat's courtesan could be called upon by anyone of higher position. Luckily, there were very, very few who ranked higher than Denivrian in the Emperor's circle; in fact, there were only three. But Darth Vader, The Dark Lord of the Sith and the Emperor's second in command was, unfortunately, one of the three. And there was absolutely nothing the Grand Moff could do or say to persuade the Dark Lord. He had to obey.

He turned and gazed upon his precious I'Lai who met his gaze with eyes braised with tears. In the silence, they were both reminded of a harsh, cold fact; that I'Lai, despite her breeding and position, was the product and property of the Galactic Empire. I'Lai was a woman of pleasure. A whore.

"Reynau, is there nothing you can do? Please…I am afraid. I do not want to go…" She turned her head, trying to hide her tears. "Lord Vader frightens me terribly."

Denivrian came around to her chair and fell to his knees in front of her. He took both her hands in his, squeezing them tight. His eyes were sad, imploring, and growing moist. "I'Lai, listen to me. I promise you on my own life that no harm whatsoever will come to you, you have my word." He reached up and touched her face, wiping away her tears. "I…I will do ANYTHING to make this up to you, my precious, darling girl. Anything you want, command it, I'Lai. It is yours without question."

I'Lai's tears stopped. She raised her head to look at Denivrian, her lip still quivering slightly, but she had begun to regain her composure. An idea suddenly crossed her mind, a way to help assuage her humiliation and degradation at this moment and for some good to come from this awful situation…"Anything, Reynau? Anything I desire?"

"Yes, dearest one. Anything you want."

I'Lai leaned into him and murmured, "I want you to build a children's hospital in the mining camp. Complete with a fully trained medical staff."

Denivrian leaned back in surprise. By the gods I'Lai, he thought to himself, you never cease to surprise me after all these years. He knew of I'Lai's concern for the indentured miners and their families, for what reason he never fully understood. He never considered the miners much more than animals who spoke Imperial vernacular. As for their children, they were useful only if they survived long enough to start working the mines themselves. And the gods themselves knew those damn miners had no problem breeding constantly… But he had made her a promise, and he never broke his promises to I'Lai.

He patted her hand and smiled sadly. "It is done, I'Lai. For you, it is done."

I'Lai relaxed. She reached down and touched Denivrian's face. "Thank you, Reynau. You are so good to me. And I will make you a promise in return. I will go to Vader as an ambassador of the Grand House of Denivrian. I will make you proud of me, Reynau. And when I return…this night will have never happened, understand? We will be happy again. " She took a napkin from the table and daintily dried her eyes. She cleared her throat. "Well then, I suppose I should prepare myself for Lord Vader." She stood up and sighed. "I shall wear my green gown…no, no, the black one. Yes, one should wear black for the Lord of the Sith."

* * *

I'Lai stood in front of the large black door, watching Admiral Piett and his two-man entourage speed down the wide corridor in their roundabout. As they pulled away, she saw Piett turn around. She saw the pity, the concern in his eyes as he looked back at her. He had been so kind to her; when he and his team came to the Grand Moff Denivrian's suite to claim her for the evening, he had kissed her hand and proclaimed, "Lady I'Lai, the stars that surround us could only hope to mimic your luminance. You are truly the brightest, most radiant star in all the galaxy." Although he had sounded quite sincere, she noted a hint of discomfort in his voice. She pitied him this task he obviously had no choice but to perform.

They had ridden through the dark halls of the Executor in silence. With every few meters driven, with every corner they turned, I'Lai fought the urge to jump out of the transport and run back to her suite. But of course she would not do that. It would be…unseemly at best. At worst, it would be an astronomical insult to Lord Vader and could result in…she didn't even want to guess. She thought perhaps she should try to strike up conversation, as was one of her talents and duties as an Imperial courtesan. But she was afraid that if she attempted to speak, she would cry instead…she thought it best just to be silent and hold herself proud as they sped to her destination…

She didn't know quite how long she had been standing there—a few minutes, an hour…? Dozens of technicians, troopers, and various other personnel had passed her, some twice. I'Lai, she scolded herself, would you just open the door…?

Her hand shook as she reached up for the console, and her jeweled bracelet tinkled in nervous song. She pressed the button, and the doors swooshed open. She stepped through…

* * *

I'Lai stood in the doorway of the chamber, frozen, barely breathing. The room was quite dark, and she could barely make out the outlines of the furnishings. The chamber was deathly quiet, save for the low hum of the life support systems. She stepped forward to notice a mirror directly to her left. Turning, she gazed into it and nervously pulled the curls framing her face downward despite the fact that she could not see what she was doing very well.

She turned toward the wall of windows. By this time her eyes had started to adjust to the dimness, and she thought she could make out…in the chair…

The round crown of a helmet.

I'Lai could feel her lip tremble and her hands shake. Had he been sitting there the entire time, watching her? She squinted a little, and began to see that the chair's back was to her, as was the helmet.

Her voice sounded like the cry of a newborn bird. "Lord Vader…?"

Silence.

She furrowed her brow when she listened again to the dead clam of the room. Silence, absolute silence. There was no hint of the electronic wheeze of the Sith Lord's respirator mask whatsoever.

I'Lai inched toward the chair slowly yet steadily. As she came up behind the chair, she reached forward to touch the helmet…

It fell off the headrest and clanged noisily into the armor lying in the seat below, then rolled onto the floor.

I'Lai released a tiny high-pitched scream and jumped back. She held her breath briefly, her fingers covering her mouth as she waited for…she didn't know what she was waiting for. But whatever could be expected at that moment didn't come. The room remained silent.

She took a long, calming breath deeply through her nose and blew it out her mouth. Straightening up and shaking herself alert, she moved forward to pick up the helmet that had fallen to the floor. But as she lifted it and looked at it carefully for the first time, her breathing stopped again—and so, she feared, would her heart.

Though the room was dim and the finish was faded and chipped, she recognized it as a Mandelorian helm. And she knew of only one man who wore such a helm. She spun around to look at the armor in the chair, and felt as though her legs would buckle from under her. The owner's name rose in her throat, and stopped just shy of her lips.

Boba Fett.

This was the man she was to pleasure this night, not Darth Vader. Slave Trader, Bounty Hunter, Mercenary, Killer For Hire. Devil.

I'Lai's head began to swim, and her eyes darted around the room. As she threw the helm into the chair as though it was burning her hands, she could feel tears swelling in her eyes, and blinked hard to curb their drop. Get a hold of yourself, woman. Breathe, breathe…

She heard the barely audible hiss of a door open behind her and saw the sudden shadow she cast on the wall in front of her. For a split second, she saw the red dot of a targeting laser dance off the wall before disappearing behind her shadow and landing, she assumed, on her back. She heard the distinctive hum of a hand blaster powering up and a voice hiss, "Don't move."

This is all happening too fast, she screamed silently. Please, I don't know what to do…

She then heard a sigh, and the voice again. "Oh…you are the woman Lord Vader has sent me for the evening, I presume?"

Lord Vader SENT her? It made sense now, and then again no sense at all. Why, in the name of the Emperor, would Vader arrange this liaison with her and Boba Fett, the galaxy's most feared bounty hunter and mercenary? For that question, she had no logical answer. Had Reynau offended the Dark Lord in some way? She couldn't think how, for this had been the first time the Grand Moff had seen Vader in years…By the gods, what sort of sadistic game was Vader playing with them?

In any case, it didn't matter. She was still in a situation in which she had no recourse. And her request would still be fulfilled, that's all that mattered…

I'Lai hastily nodded her affirmation.

She heard the blaster power off, and then the sound of it being chucked across the room, hitting the carpeted floor. The voice offered no apology, but rather said, "You are here. Good. I was growing impatient."

The voice was a low, cold sound of buffed gravel. She swore she could feel it actually brush her neck from across the room. She stiffened up, her back tying itself into knots of adrenaline and terror.

"Do you have a name, woman?"

"Yes." The words were barely a whisper, but she cleared her throat and pushed on. "My name is…I'Lai, sir."

"I'Lai." He repeated her name with reverence wrapped in a hungry growl. "A lovely name. I take it you know my name, don't you, I'Lai?"

Again, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Yes."

"Are you afraid, I'Lai?"

Her first impulse was to say "No"—but she knew that if she had, something in her body, a hand fidget or a spasm in her neck, would reveal her to be a liar—and the last thing she wanted was to anger him…

"Yes."

There was a silent pause. Then Fett spoke. "Would you turn around? I cannot see your face." Pause. "Please."

I'Lai turned her head toward the direction of his voice and then, taking another long deep breath, allowed her body to follow suit. She straightened herself, smoothing the front of her gown with her hands, and looked directly in Fett's direction.

She could see nothing but the broad, tall silhouette of a human male leaning against the de-con doorjamb, with his arms folded over his torso.

Fett, thanks to his genetically altered vision, could see far more. And what Fett saw was…perfection.

Now, having spent a vast majority of his jaded career in and around the most despicable and dangerous regions of the Galactic Empire, Fett had learned NOT to be a picky man. Quite frankly, as long as it was a humanoid female with all of her teeth and hair, only two breasts and an odor that was not completely repugnant, Fett could tolerate her for the brief amount of time she was needed to perform her tasks and then get the hell out. So he was not prepared whatsoever for what stood before him…

She was the most stunning woman Fett had ever seen.

She was quite tall, almost as tall as he. He saw a pale, sweet oval face, and the low light in the room gently kissed her sweeping cheekbones. Glistening black hair was pulled tightly back to the crown of her head and held by a jeweled clasp, which poured an explosion of glossy ringlets back over her bare shoulders and curved back. She wore a black silk gown fastened in the front to the heavy jewel-studded collar adorning her long throat. The dress clung lovingly to the swell of her full teardrop breasts, and continued to caress her slim waist, down over the graceful swell of her belly and finally, the fluid arc of her hips. Her lips were full, the color of an Alderaani rose, and were slightly parted. Her eyes, though frightened, were large and bright, and heavy with the weight of her dense lashes. Her hands were refined as well, with a fortune of jewels studding every long tapered finger and both slender wrists.

For several long, frustrating moments, Fett could not think of a damn thing to say. By the Slayer, he thought, I can even smell her from here. He never shifted his position however, nor gave the woman any indication that she had had any affect on him whatsoever. He realized that, perhaps, he should take a different approach than was his usual when dealing with women of pleasure…for this was obviously not a typical whore. Pulling a blaster on her was probably not the best way to begin this evening, he mused. The thought, however, made him recall the last thing she said, and he decided to reply to it.

"You are afraid of me. Good. You should be." He stepped out of the door toward her. I'Lai felt her lip tremble. She was about to see the unmasked face of the galaxy's most terrifying legend, a face she was sure more dead than living had ever seen. She shut her eyes as he approached closer. She pictured his hands gripping a fistful of her hair, tearing the dress from its collar, throwing her to the bed, or even the floor…

She did indeed feel his hand—in hers. She opened her eyes to see Boba Fett lift her hand to his bowed head.

"But it is my sincerest hope, Lady, that you will no longer feel that way by the morning." With that, he turned her hand over and brushed her palm with his lips, never once averting his eyes from hers. I'Lai stared into those eyes and was lost in a stunned eon of a moment.

He raised himself and stood before her, never releasing her hand, actually allowing her to see his face. Narrow serpentine black eyes coldly glowered out from under a strong brow, a brow that hosted a thick scar that continued down over the bridge of a prominent nose that had obviously been broken more than once. Another scar outlined the left cheekbone, traveling along the jaw and under his square chin. His lip as well was scarred, seeming to have been split many years before. His hair was dark chestnut, cut in traditional spiked military crop. I'Lai found his face harsh, severe, and battered…and yet not unattractive. She found herself a little less afraid.

Her eyes fluttered downward and realized Fett was shirtless, wearing loose trousers. She scanned his neck and wide shoulders that, had they not also sported scars of long passed combat, would have seemed struck from flesh-hued stone. She felt her eyes drop further, surveying his chest down his carved torso before snapping her eyes shut and fighting the blush and its heat that currently spread across her face. She breathed in his scent, clean and hot from the fresher with just an intimation of masculine musk. That scent…I don't recall Reynau ever…Then she remembered where she was and whom she was with. The terror returned.

I'Lai straightened herself as best she could and said in the most stately manner she could muster, "Then I thank you, Master Fett, for your gracious hospitality this evening." She tried to sound sincere, but she wasn't sure if she succeeded.

Fett, still holding I'Lai's hand, led her to the sofa area. "Sit, be comfortable." He assisted her into her seat, then let go her hand and grabbed a battered satchel off the chair. He strode to the bar and, ignoring the numerous ornate bottles displayed there, pulled a flask from the satchel and poured the contents into a glass. She watched him move, noting how he never make a sound. It seemed as though his feet never touched the floor. He was quick, smooth, silent. He moved like a predator.

He reached and touched a button on the bar. Low music emanated from unseen speakers. He turned and stepped toward her. "I do not like music, but I thought perhaps you may." He stood before her and extended the glass. "Drink."

I'Lai cleared her throat, unconsciously touching her jeweled collar. "Thank you, Master Fett, but I do not drink…"

"Drink," Fett repeated, and not kindly. I'Lai looked up at him with wide eyes. Fett lowered his lids slightly and added, "It is not liquor. It will help you to… relax." He softened his tone. "Please."

I'Lai hesitated briefly, then took the glass and raised it to her lips. She took a small sip. The liquid was warm, and she could actually feel it slide down her throat. She suddenly had the sensation that the warm liquid began flowing through her veins, her muscles, her thoughts…She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and she felt her entire body bloom into a blossom of warmth and serenity.

She lazily opened her eyes and looked at Fett. "Am I drugged?"

Fett's mouth lifted slightly at the corner as he reached down and took the glass from her hand. "It is a mild tranq. It's harmless. You have complete control of your faculties, do not fear." He stepped back to the bar, set the glass down, and folded his thick arms over his chest. "I am interested in knowing more about you, I'Lai. Your garb suggests that you may be aristocracy. Are you?"

I'Lai uttered a small, bubbly laugh in spite of herself and her situation. "No, Master Fett. I am not. I am of the…courtesan caste."

Fett tilted his head back slightly. "Ah, I see. And tell me, " he continued, "What sort of payment will you receive for your service this evening? I hope it will be a substantial sum."

I'Lai shot her glare at Fett, and narrowed her eyes. Perhaps it was the substance he had given her that allowed this switch from fear to pride. Or perhaps it was because I'Lai had not been addressed as a whore for lo these many years. Her voice was steady and regal as she replied, "A children's infirmary will be built in the indentured mining camps on my homeworld of Orri Prime. That is the only payment I requested for this evening."

Fett furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

I'Lai straightened herself tall in her seat, elongating her neck and holding her head proud. She glared directly into the bounty hunter's eyes as she stated, "I am the Lady I'Lai, High Consort of the Grand Moff Denivrian of the Dia-Orri system. I am fortunate that I will never want for anything for the rest of my life. I will always have food on my table, clothes on my back, shelter over my head, and medicine to keep me healthy. The slave miners of Orri Prime and their children are not as fortunate as I am. So I use my position and means to help them as best I can. That is why I am here with you now, Master Fett. Not for my own gains, but for theirs."

A long silence ensued. Fett and I'Lai stared at each other waiting for…neither was sure what. I'Lai's heart pounded in her breast, and she knew she was trembling, but she never lowered her gaze. Fett felt the familiar urge to step forward and backhand her across the face, as he would with any other whore who got out of line. But then he remembered he did not hire her. And now that he knew she was a Grand Moff's concubine, he would have to watch his manners… He couldn't help but wonder what the Grand Moff had done to so offend Darth Vader that the Sith Lord would hand his concubine over to a bounty hunter for a night's pleasure…

Finally, Fett broke the silence. "These miners of yours—you care for them? Tell me about them."

I'Lai relaxed her shoulders and finally took a breath. She had a feeling that this was Boba Fett's way of apologizing. The wave of warmth washed over her again. She tilted her head slightly and asked, "Do you really want to know?"

There was the hint of severe humor in Fett's voice. "Your caste is trained in the art of conversation, correct? Converse with me."

"Then please, sir, sit. I find it difficult to relax when you stand over me like that."

Fett seemed to hesitate, eyeing the adjacent sofa with disdain. I'Lai motioned toward the couch. "It would please me if you would relax as well."

He walked over to the far end of the sofa and lowered himself into it. He seemed oddly stiff, as though the cushions' softness were offensive to him.

I'Lai cleared her throat and began to speak. She told the bounty hunter of her arrangements with the dock captain to smuggle in supplies, and how she paid for those supplies by trading the gifts Denivrian lavished upon her daily. She told of her secret early morning trips into the camps, her mount loaded with satchels stuffed with food, blankets, medicine and other supplies needed. She told how she would bribe the manor doctor to go and tend the injured miners and their sick families. She told how she helped deliver the baby of a miner who had died in an accident the day before. She told him the stories of the misery, the despair, but also of the great love, camaraderie, and friendship these people had for each other…

I'Lai realized she had no idea how long she had been talking. At one point, she turned to Fett to see his face. He sat motionless, but he had at least allowed the sofa's comfort to pull him back. She noticed for the first time the exhaustion in his face, but she also noticed his expression had…softened as he listened to her. He seemed relaxed, almost comfortable. He had never taken his eyes off her for a moment.

I'Lai lowered her gaze. "I'm sure you find this all quite boring."

"I never find dedication or passion boring, Lady. We see so little of either in this universe."

She looked at him again, furrowing her brow. "You confound me, Master Fett. You…are not what I expected." She laughed at her little inside joke—she hadn't expected him at ALL. Her head felt swimmy, and she idly played with a tendril of hair that laced her delicate ear.

Fett allowed a slight smile. I'Lai found it…appealing. "You are not what I expected either, Lady I'Lai."

"May I ask you something, Master Fett?"

Fett paused, then nodded his permission.

"Have you killed as many people as they say?"

She immediately knew asking that question was a huge mistake, and she silently cursed herself for allowing the tranquilizer to perform so well. She saw Fett's expression darken, and his eyes slit. As he leaned forward, she instinctively leaned back and lowered her eyes to her lap. "And just who are they, Lady I'Lai?"

I'Lai's breathing became shortened and erratic. "The…stories. About you, your…work. I would hear the smugglers at the dock port speak your name in fear, as do the nobles in court." She glanced up at him briefly, then down again. "I just…do not see that person sitting with me now. You have treated me…with nothing but respect and hospitality."

Fett paused for a moment, and then stated, "You cannot believe everything, Lady I'Lai. Unless, of course, THEY say it. Then it is true."

I'Lai fluttered her lashes in confusion. "I'm…sorry, I do not understand…"

"What you see sitting here before you—THIS is the lie. Everything you have heard about me—THAT is fact." Before I'Lai realized what was happening, Fett snapped out of his seat and, in his silent, swift predator manner, leapt at her, pinning her to the sofa, both hands placed on the head rest, trapping her head on either side. He held his face mere centimeters from hers so she could see nothing but those eyes of black flame. She inhaled every word he hissed.

"I have torched entire settlements to smoke out one bounty," Fett spat. "I have killed men in their beds and sold their wives and children into slavery within that same hour. If the purse were fat enough, I would think nothing of cutting the throats of your precious miners and relishing the screams of their snotty brats! I take what I want when I want by any means I deem fit, and I feel nothing. NOTHING!"

Fett grabbed her jaw and drew her face even closer. "The reason I treat you with any shred of respect is quite simple, Lady. I am weary, and I would rather you come to my bed willingly than having to take you in the manner I am accustomed. I would rather you fuck me than fight me—for if you fight me, I will hurt you, and that would be not be easy to explain to your precious Grand Moff!"

I'Lai did not breathe, did not even blink. She remained deathly still and simply stared into Fett's eyes. And what she saw in those eyes caused her own to well with tears.

She may as well have been staring into the eyes of one of the orphaned children in the mining camp. The despair, the pain, the unyielding rage of his soul broke through the armored defense of his scarred brow. She saw the eyes of a child who had never known love or a mother's caress; who had to fight, steal, and kill to survive; who had lost all hope in himself and in a universe in which he was forced to exist. She saw a man who was forced to live in the prison of his actions and his own terrible reputation. She saw the face of loneliness. I'Lai's terror ebbed away as she felt her heart break.

Boba Fett stopped, squeezed his eyes closed and released I'Lai's chin. It all became clear to him now. He now understood why Vader had sent this particular woman to his quarters. Vader was playing a game, a game that would leave Fett humiliated and embarrassed.

Vader could have easily just had one of the galley prostitutes sent to him, for that was what Fett had been expecting. But instead, he sent this—a woman of extreme refinement, of delicate manner, of unsurpassed beauty and keen intelligence. But moreover, she was the gentlest and kindest creature Boba Fett had ever encountered, selfless, courageous. He remembered the voice and its words that had violated his mind earlier…

Is the woman you request not merely a distraction from the torment of your cold black heart? A point of light in your vast well of loneliness and despair?

Vader had sent him a reminder of what Fett could only dream about ever having---warmth, humanity, and unconditional love. Vader had sent The Devil…an angel.

Goddamn you, you twisted son of a bitch, Fett growled in his mind. I hope you burn in the dimensional hells for eternity.

He stood up. I'Lai still stared into his eyes. Fett turned away, stormed to the bar and slammed his hand onto the speaker button. The hushed, gentle music abruptly stopped. He grabbed a tall bottle off the bar, uncorked it, and brought it to his lips, swigging its contents down in heavy gulps. Setting it down, he walked toward the vast windows, set his hands upon the low sill and looked out. A long still silence hung in the room, weighing on them both.

"Lady", Fett finally uttered, still gazing at the nurseries of stars displayed light years before him. "I…have frightened you. That was not my intention for this evening. I am…sorry." He paused. "If you please, you have my permission to go. I will inform Lord Vader that your services were satisfactory." He paused, and with a taste of bitter humor in his voice, he added, "I am not good with women."

I'Lai slowly rose from her seat. She walked quietly, slowly toward Fett until she was standing beside him. Placing her hands on the sill as well, she cleared her throat, a tiny idiosyncrasy that Fett was beginning to find not unpleasant. In a soft yet clear tone, she replied, "No, Master Fett. It is I who should apologize to you. I overstepped my bounds in asking such a question. We were having a…nice conversation, and I spoiled it. I have upset and insulted you, and for that I humbly and most sincerely apologize." She turned her head, lifted her eyes to his face. "If you want me to go, I will. But if you would, I would like to continue our conversation. I do not wish to leave."

Fett turned. I'Lai was standing closer to him than she had all evening. His eyes swept from the creamy knoll of her shoulder up the jeweled collar adoring her neck to finally settle on the tiny curl of a tendril nestled between her ear and cheekbone. The light floral scent of lilac emanated from her raven curls. As he met her eyes, he found that, for the first time that evening, there was no fear, no terror residing in them. They were wide, sparkling teal stars.

It was Fett who cleared his throat this time. "Perhaps…you want to drink from your glass again."

I'Lai's lips curved up in a tiny smile, and her lids dropped. "No, thank you, Master Fett. I do not need it."

Fett felt his ire rising again, but not for I'Lai. He felt…strange. He felt awkward. He wanted to tell her something…Damn it, just say it…

"Lady", he blurted, almost inaudibly, "Do not fear me tonight. If you so wish, be afraid tomorrow. But not tonight, not now."

It was at that moment that I'Lai dropped all her defenses of decorum and refinement. She reached up and gingerly touched the scar on Fett's cheek. Fett instinctively flinched, but I'Lai's eyes told him to hold. She ran her slim jeweled finger down the scar to his chin and then, without warning, she slipped her other hand behind his head and crushed her lips against his in a passionate, almost savage kiss.

Fett, probably for the first time in his life, was actually taken aback by a woman. Once again, he was not prepared for her or this lusty attack. I'Lai, he thought, do you ever cease to surprise? But the heat of her lips, the warmth of her hand mixed with cold touch of her gemmed bracer, the scent of her hair and feel of her skin soon overpowered his surprise. He in turn slid his calloused hand through the ebon tangle of her ringlets and gripped her head, pulling her further into the kiss. He released his tongue and found it met by hers without shame or hesitation. He began to fully experience the benefits of her courtesan training, for her tongue moved like a slow, heated dancer along his teeth, his lips.

As I'Lai's arms wrapped themselves around his neck, he slid his free hand down her back, seizing the round perfection of her buttock and then, bending slightly, gripped her thighs and lifted her from the floor, greedily pulling her against him. He broke the kiss and lifted her entire body until his mouth found her breast, devouring the swell of it through the silk of her gown, his teeth pulling at the fabric and the nipple alike.

I'Lai arced back her head and let out a high, rough cry. She was amazed by his strength, his power—he lifted her as though she were a bauble. Her muscles tensed and she felt the heat rise from her body to mix with his. Before she knew it, she had freed a leg from his grip and clenched its length around his waist, freeing her breast from his mouth and replacing it with hers once more. Soon, the natural rhythm of human desire caused her to grind against his pelvis and feel his immediate response. Tearing her mouth from his, she held his head in her hands and leaned into his ear, panting and silently growling one word…

"Hunter…"

Once again, Fett grabbed her hair and pulled her eyes to his. I'Lai's eyes were no longer wide, no longer innocent. They were narrow, hungry slits of green fire. Her lip was curled into a snarl of feline heat. A tiny rivulet of sweat trickled down her face, and several ringlets of her black hair had freed themselves from their jeweled snare. She panted against him, and he drank in her breath. Gone was the refined lady, the aristocratic concubine. Fett held in his arms a breathless, hungry female animal.

He wanted to take her right there, up against the window…but he decided against it. No, he thought, she is not accustomed to… someone like me. She deserves to be comfortable. The bed, its softness so repugnant to him before, no longer seemed so offensive. With I'Lai still in his arms and holding his gaze, he carried her across the room. In one swift, smooth move, Fett laid her upon the bed and lifted the hem of her gown…before I'Lai knew what was happening, she felt his tongue run up along her inner thigh…and he began feasting on the delicate folds his tongue had been seeking …

I'Lai gasped with a mix of alarm and intense need. Fett answered her gasp by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her even further into his mouth. His free hand traveled up the silk landscape of her gown and, reaching the clasp at her throat, unlatched the fabric from her collar. As his hand traveled down, he pulled the silk with it, his hand cupping the firm mound of her breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers. I'Lai writhed and slid her leg around his neck, arcing her back and emitting sharp, soft cries. She felt tears welling again in her eyes. She knew she should not be enjoying this—this man was a killer, a bounty hunter…but as he continued to relentlessly devour her essence, as she felt her entire body tense and contract… she no longer cared.

I'Lai's jeweled hands grabbed fistfuls of the black silk sheets as her body arced violently, her head tilted back, and she let out a scream of pure animal lust. Wave after wave of chilled heat washed through her limbs, her torso, her mind, her soul…until she felt herself drift back down into the slick feel of the silk bed. She panted wildly, trying to catch her breath, and as she did, she found herself sobbing.

She opened her eyes to see Fett bent over her. He actually looked concerned. "I'Lai, I've hurt you…?" he whispered, his hand still resting on her breast.

I'Lai smiled through her tears. "No, no, you haven't at all…I…" She found she had no words.

Boba Fett's eyes swept over her half-clothed body. He pulled his hand from her breast, running his touch over her smooth belly, over her hip to once again grip the flesh of her buttock. He gingerly unlatched the jeweled clasp from her hair. He bent over her and kissed her again, enveloping her entire mouth. I'Lai found herself aroused again when she tasted her own juices mixed in his kiss…Her hand slid down his body now, and slipped it between the waistband of his trousers and his hard abdomen. When she heard Fett take a sharp breath and felt his body jerk, she broke the kiss and allowed her lips to travel down his torso, her hands easing the trousers down. She drank in the scent of his musk and, unashamed, took him into her mouth.

Fett tried to remain still and stoic and show no response---but to no avail. He had heard third and fourth hand stories regarding Imperial courtesans and their outstanding skills for pleasure; and like most things belched out in drunken stupidity in some backwater shithole outpost, he never believed them. But again, as seemed the case with this amazing woman, he was not prepared for her…

She was doing far more than just pleasuring him—she was worshipping him. Her tongue and lips teased and tugged and caressed every inch of his flesh, her hands stroking his inner thighs and regions most women never dared touch him before…she moaned softly, relaying to him that she enjoyed this as much as he…

Fett snapped up, unable to hold himself any longer. He ferociously grabbed I'Lai by the shoulders and pulled her up to his face, then rolled her to her back, pressing his weight onto her. She lay beneath him, her lips wet and her eyes sparkling, her curls surrounding her like a raven nebula.

"I'Lai," he hoarsely breathed, "Shall I take you now?"

I'Lai's lids fluttered, and her hands slid down his powerful back to rest just above his buttocks. As she wrapped her long legs around his waist, she whispered, "Yes..."

With that, he once again cradled her head in his hand and plunged into her; he had wanted to be gentle, but his extreme need for her had overpowered his conscious intentions. I'Lai cried out, but when he looked into her eyes, he saw no pain, no fear. Just the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever experienced in the intense heat of animal pleasure…

I'Lai followed his rhythm, enveloping him to his fullest hilt. She felt the sweet tension once again build throughout her body, and the touch of his lips on her neck and his hoarse whispers of "I'Lai…I'Lai" in her ear only drove her fervor further as he thrust into her, again and again…

As she began to feel the wave of chilled heat break itself against her once more, Fett once again astonished her with his strength. In one fluid motion he pulled her and himself up to rest on his knees, his arms wrapped around her waist. As I'Lai threw her entire body back into an arch and cried out, Fett threw back his head and joined her in that netherworld of physical bliss…

I'Lai panted as she straightened herself up. She opened her eyes and saw Fett returning her gaze, also breathless and glistening with sweat. She sat with him still buried within her, and for several moments they said nothing…and everything…

Fett and I'Lai would mate three more times that night before both finally succumbed to the plush invitation the bed extended. I'Lai lay on her stomach with Boba Fett resting on her back, his head nestled in the thick pillow of her black curls. He still lay inside her as he felt the beckon of sleep, the first in days…weeks? He was no longer sure.

He breathed in the lilac scent of her hair once again, and whispered, "I'Lai…if a man had you in his arms every time he rested his head, he would no longer dread his dreams…"

I'Lai lay still and said nothing. She could tell from his breathing he was falling asleep, and she closed her eyes and mimicked its rhythm, feeling herself falling as well when she heard him say, almost inaudibly…

"Please…do not do this to me…"

Before I'Lai could respond, Boba Fett had drifted off into sleep.

Chapter 4

The natural light simulator began its low hum, and the light in the chamber crept brighter by every passing second, indicating early morning. Boba Fett sat on the edge of the bed, fully clad in his Mandelorian armor save for one glove. His ungloved hand held a lock of the sleeping I'Lai's hair, and he rubbed its silk between his thumb and forefinger. He carefully placed the lock back amongst the ebon jungle of her black curls and raised his hand to her face. Keeping his fingers a mere hair's breadth from her skin, he traced the arc of her brows, the sweep of her cheekbone, the full curve of her lips, the round flawlessness of her exposed breast.

He continued to watch her still form through the dark visor of his helm. After several minutes, he reached up to the side of his helm and flicked a tiny switch. Standing slowly as not to disturb her, he silently crossed the room and picked up the satchel, his blaster. Without turning toward her again, Boba Fett, in his silent predator manner, strode through the door.

* * *

With a long deep breath, I'Lai opened her eyes. Staring momentarily to the ceiling, she turned her resting head to the other side of the silk laden bed. It was empty.

She slowly raised herself to one elbow and drowsily scanned the chamber. As her eyes adjusted to the artificial light of natural morning, she noted her gown, shoes, and jewelry had been folded and placed neatly upon the seat of the large chair. But there were no signs of the Mandelorian armor or its owner anywhere.

She sat up, holding the sheets to her breast, listening to the cold silence of the room. She pulled her legs up and bowed her head, resting it on her knees, and her eyes attempted to squeezed back her tears. The thought echoed through her mind, over and over…

She would never see him again.

Her head snapped up at the loud interruption of the entry buzzer. Pulling the sheet around her, she stepped to the floor and made her way to the door, pressing the entry button.

Admiral Piett and two stormtroopers stood in the entryway.

"My Lady. I have come to escort you back to your suite", Piett announced. When Piett saw I'Lai wearing nothing but a sheet she held to her breast, she saw the red hue of his blush start from the stiff collar of his uniform spread up to his face. He abruptly turned and snapped his fingers at one of the troopers, who handed him a folded pile of fabrics. "His Excellency bade us to bring you fresh clothes for the morning, and stated that breakfast is waiting and he is eagerly awaiting your return."

"I thank you humbly for your kindness, Admiral", I'Lai replied in turn. She paused before adding, "Admiral, may I speak to you for a moment? In private?" She turned and walked toward the wall of windows, the sheet dropped low upon her hips and her hair spilling down her back.

Admiral Piett tried to clear the discomfort from his throat as he stepped forward. He heard a low electronic chuckle behind him, and turned around. "Show some respect, you bastards!" he spat in a hoarse whisper. The stormtroopers fell silent.

I'Lai stood in front of the huge windows, framed by the passing stars streaking by. Piett stepped into the room and stood just in front of the doors, still holding the clothes he had brought for her.

After a long silent pause, I'Lai finally spoke. "He's gone, isn't he?"

Piett took in a long breath and let it out in a sigh. "Yes, madam. An hour ago. He left without clearance, injuring two of my technicians in the process." He cleared his throat again, then added, "Lord Vader is not pleased."

Piett heard a bitter laugh quietly erupt from I'Lai's throat. She turned her head over her shoulder and said in a disgusted growl, "Ah, yes, Lord Vader…we don't want to upset Lord Vader now, do we?" She turned completely around to see the stunned look on Piett's face. She knew it would be wise to share Piett's terror of Darth Vader, but I'Lai found she no longer feared the Lord of the Sith. Not anymore.

"Admiral…did you know about this arrangement when you brought me here last night?"

The Admiral straightened himself up and met I'Lai's eyes. He now completely understood why the Lady I'Lai seemed irresistible to everyone she encountered. It was not just her beauty and manners—it was her innocence, her honesty, her courage that drew people to her. She seemed to be a magnet that pulled at a man's very soul. He couldn't bring himself to lie to her.

"Yes, Madam. I was commanded to secrecy by Lord Vader."

I'Lai took a long breath. Still staring into Piett's eyes, she asked, quietly and simply, "Why did he do this?"

"I…I do not know why, Madam." There was a pause before Piett asked, "Madam, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Admiral."

"Are you…all right?"

I'Lai's mouth curved into a soft smile as she walked toward Admiral Piett. Still holding the sheet to her breasts with one hand, she gently laid her other on the Admiral's arm. "I'm fine, Admiral. I'm…fine."

* * *

Boba Fett had finished punching in the Tatooine coordinates into the navigational console. As he pulled his hand back, he noticed the stiffness that had developed in his shoulder. Annoyed, he rolled his shoulder back and forth within the socket, trying to loosen it. He had obviously pulled a tendon when he threw the dock technician who was trying to stop his departure off the roof of his ship by the hair…

The vastness of space spread out before him, silent and cold. It would be several hours before he would reach the proper coordinates for his jump to hyperspace. He stared out into the void momentarily, then reached up and clicked the switch on the side of his helmet again. Within the screen of his visor, a tiny three-dimensional holographic image flickered into clarity. Fett leaned back in his pilot's seat and, once again, watched the Lady I'Lai in dreamful slumber against a bed of stars…

* * *

"I'm FINE!" I'Lai snapped as the medical droid pushed her once again into the pillows of her massive fur-strewn bed. She huffed and folded her arms over her breast. "My word, everyone is making a horrible fuss over a little dizzy spell."

The droid's gears whirred quietly as it turned its head toward I'Lai. "Your Ladyship, it was a bit more than a dizzy spell. You lost consciousness atop your mount and fell off in the middle of the camp square. Three miners had to catch you." The droid turned toward the small table next to the bed and grasped a glass of water with its gripping appendage. It handed the water to I'Lai, who, pouting, hastily took it and drank it down. "Maybe this will teach you to slow down a bit, madam. You take on too much, running the manor and mining operation in the Grand Moff's absence AND overseeing the construction of the new hospital. You have associates to do this type of work. I suggest you use them. And I've heard around the manor that you haven't been sleeping and seem distracted."

I'Lai smiled a tight sarcastic smile and retorted, "You're right, Ten-C-Four. I am a little tired, and hence I became a little dizzy. And now that I have had some rest here, I feel quite well and ready to prepare the household for Master Denivrian's homecoming this evening…" She tried to bolt up from the bed only to have Ten-C-Four's appendage push her down again and hold her there.

"Doctor's orders, Madam. You must rest until the doctor comes back with his test results." The droid noticed the fuming green slits I'Lai's eyes had become and added, "And angry looks do not work on me, Madam."

At that moment, Dr. Him'bron entered the bedchamber, carrying a small medi-console in his hand. I'Lai breathed a sign of relief. "Oh good, Doctor, you're back. Will you kindly inform my mechanical nursemaid here that I am absolutely fine and ready to assume my duties?"

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed, waving the medi-droid away. A warm, fatherly smile spread across his face as he stated, "Oh, Lady I'Lai, I would say that you are more than fine. In fact, His Excellency may call for a month's celebration when he sees the results of your tests."

I'Lai furrowed her brow. "And why would he do that, Dr. Him'bron? I do not understand."

Him'bron reached over and took her hand, beaming like a child about to open a long-awaited gift.

"You are pregnant, Lady I'Lai. With a son."