Author's Note: Inspired by Personal Assistant's Day and the Three Dead Trolls in a Baggie. How 'Star Wars' would be very different if Vader had a personal secretary.

Heads bowed over consoles perked up as a single sound made itself heard over the hum and throb and whirr of the Death Star's normal operations. It was a sharp, cutting clicking sound, and it was growing louder. Gradually, minions were so distracted that they abandoned their assigned tracking tasks to star, open-mouthed, at the figure marching directly down the centre of the command catwalk, never sparing a glance to either side. A figure such as this had never been seen in the control dome of the Death Star. It wasn't the fact that she was a woman – the Empire was, after all, an equal-opportunity employer – or that she was on the petite side. No, it was the bright red power suit, miniskirt, black heels, severe thick-framed glasses, and masses of curly hair, neatly clipped back. Tucked under one arm was a large, flat data pad. And this vision of ruthless efficiency was heading straight for the imposing figure of Darth Vader. As soon as the minions realised this, their attention snapped back to their own stations. The first rule of survival on the Death Star was to avoid attracting Vader's attention. Still, their ears strained to hear this conversation.

The woman stopped smartly exactly three paces from the malignant black figure, which had its back to her. The clicking stopped. "Darth Vader?" she asked, as if his name and image hadn't been burned on her brain.

"Yes?" he replied, turning and looming, in full-blown villain mode.

She simply looked up (and up, and up) into his helmet and smiled, extending a hand. "Lord Vader. My name is Tali deLaki. I've just been transferred to Corusant. I'm your new personal secretary."

Vader was . . . taken aback. Almost automatically he took the small hand in his large black glove, which she shook with surprising firmness. "I did not request a personal secretary."

"The Emperor asked me specifically to assume this position," Ms. deLaki said. "He seemed to feel you would benefit from my presence." And we won't be mentioning the need to leave the central planets because of those pesky charges. "Of course, if you have no need of me . . ."

"I will speak with my master on this," Vader intoned. "Perhaps he is right."

Ms. deLaki inclined her head. "Of course, sir. I will return to my ship to wait on your decision." With the barest of flounces, she spun on her heel and strode away, the clicking of her heels resounding around the command dome.

"So then the Wookie says . . ." the stormtrooper stopped mid-raunchy joke as another of his brethren held up a hand.

"Shh!"

A sound. A sound was coming closer. A loud, ominous clicking sound. The small group of stormtroopers snapped to attention so fast they probably caused themselves neck trauma. A moment later, the petite figure of Ms. deLaki rounded the corner. She stopped before the rigid figures of the guards and gave them a slow once-over over the rims of glasses perched on the end of her nose. One eyebrow arched upward and she made a notation on her data pad before clicking away without a word.

The stormtroopers relaxed as the tell-tale sound faded away. There was a moment of silence.

"So," one of the stormtroopers said in a rather shaky voice, "The Wookie says . . ."

Vader and Ms. deLaki faced down the trembling admiral, his stripes still new and shiny, his cap clenching in convulsing hands. "M-my Lord, I-I'm sorry, we l-lost them in t-the ion storm."

"Fool," Vader boomed, raising one hand. "You failed me."

The cap dropped to the floor as the admiral clawed at his throat, gurgling. His face was turning rapidly purple when Ms. deLaki touched Vader's elbow, clearing her throat softly.

"Ah, sir, you might want to keep him this one alive," she murmured. "The immediate replacement hasn't had any combat experience yet. Due to your justly punitive standards, demand is quickly outstripping supply."

Vader seemed to consider it, twisting his hand almost absently. Abruptly, the admiral collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air.

"Out of my sight," Vader growled, turning away.

The still vaguely eggplant-resembling man scrambled to his feet and croaked to Ms. deLaki, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she replied, giving the impression that she was sneering without actually moving her mouth. "You deserved it." She flicked her eyes towards the door. "Go. Go!"

Ms. deLaki patiently waited for Darth Vader to finish his morning ablutions and emerge. When he did, standing impassively before her, she launched into her morning report.

"Field Generator 5 is reporting a major power drain; they still haven't isolated the source of the problem. One of the things that live in the trash compactors has escaped on level eighteen . . ." She reeled off the various situation that had arisen, then pulled up his appointment list for the day. "You have an inspection of the third and fourth stormtrooper battalions at 0900. There is a meeting of the admiralty staff at 1100. I'll have the papers for promotions and death certificates ready for you to look over and sign over lunch. Interrogations from 1400 to 1600. Oh, and your TIE fighter is due in for maintenance at your convenience." She tucked her data pad under her arm and smiled up at him, waiting for his instructions.

He nodded. "Thank you, Ms. deLaki. Follow me." She fell in just behind and just to the side of the Sit Lord, two clicks for every one of his long, echoing thuds, as they swept through the halls of the Death Star. They emerged onto a viewing platform overlooking one of the hanger bays. Ms. deLaki looked with some surprise at the scene before them. A squadron of stormtroopers stood at parade-perfect attention before a heavily armed Imperial shuttle.

"I believe today is Personal Assistant's Day," Vader intoned, extending one hand over the scene. "Flowers seemed . . . inappropriate."

For the first time in her career, she dropped her professional veneer, gasping and dropping her data pad as she ran to the railing and allowed a very worrying smile to cross her face.

"So then the Wookie says . . ." the stormtrooper said, waggling his hands enthusiastically.

"I wasn't aware Wookies could speak human," a cool female voice broke in, and the stormtroopers immediately stiffened, none of them looking directly at the small, power-suited woman who stood with her arms folded across her chest.

"Sorry, Ms. deLaki," the joker said. "We didn't hear – see you there."

"Obviously not." Her eyebrow arched. "I will speak to Lord Vader about this lack of discipline." She spun on her heel and marched away silently. As she headed down the curve of the corridor, the stormtroopers saw that her small feet were stockinged, the tell-tale heels held in either hand.

Moving silently, hyper aware of the massive, malignant disturbance in the Force before him, Luke made his way through Cloud City. Vader was here; he knew it. No other presence could be that evil. Very un-Jedi-like emotions surged through him – rage, excitement, and, he was ashamed to admit, fear. They had Leia, Han, all his friends. He had to do something.

Clouds of steam and gases billowed around him as he moved through the darkened carbon-freezing chamber. Blaster clutched in his hands before him, he whipped around a corner, covering the room. The only figure there was a calm-looking petite woman in a moss-green power suit with matching miniskirt. Her hands were folded before her, and she smiled when she saw him. More than a little surprised, Luke hung the blaster off his belt, moving forward.

"Luke Skywalker?" she asked, confirming his identity.

"Yes," he replied, "But who –"

"Tali deLaki," she replied promptly. "Personal secretary to Darth Vader."

"Vader!" Luke growled. "He's here! I have to kill him!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Skywalker," Ms. deLaki replied perkily, "But Lord Vader had a previous engagement and was unable to make it. He sent me instead." Instantly, a lightsaber was in her hand. Luke pulled out his and activated it, the green glow cutting the darkness, ready for anything.

Her lightsaber activated, glowing hot, electric pink. He faltered, just for an instant. But it was the only instant she needed to slice the up-and-coming Jedi in two. Fastidiously, she clicked over to the body and nudged the two halves into the carbon-freezing chamber with the toe of her matching green heels, swinging the deactivated lightsaber from one hand absently. She made a mental note to arrange flowers to be sent to Leia Organa. It seemed appropriate.

FIN