Title: By a Route Obscure and Lonely
Author: Mama Vader
Characters: Vader, OC
By a Route Obscure and Lonely
The raid on her village had come just before dawn. It was a cold morning, the land still caught between winter and spring, cold one morning, merely cool the next and then back again. Samri had been reluctant to leave her warm bed, even though she knew her father would soon be rousing her from her cozy nest.
Her brother, Yantir, had been moving around in the next room, getting ready to feed the livestock and he had stuck his head in through her door. "Samri," he called softly. "Best get that fire going or Da will have your hide."
With a groan, she had rolled over and buried her head under the covers. A distant roar of sound had only gradually intruded on her consciousness, but then Yantir had given a yell and the door to their small home had been reduced to splinters.
The villagers had been efficiently gathered up and then separated by the white armored figures, who kept blasters trained on the frightened, huddled groups. The young women had been put into one group, the young men in another and the elders and children in a third. Each of the assembled, frightened groups had been guarded by the anonymous and menacing figures in white.
Her brother Yantir was standing beside their cousin, Lamtas, who was newly married. His bride, Ylez, was crouched by Samri, her hair hanging wildly about her face. Her clothing was torn from where a trooper had ripped her from Lamtas' protective arms. Samri's father was stone-faced, standing with the rest of the elders. Everyone looked at each other with shocked expressions, none of them quite sure of what would happen next. They watched as their homes were burnt, their crops destroyed, and their livestock slaughtered. Even if they survived the day, there would be many lean months ahead of them.
Then a painfully thin man in a crisp gray uniform had stood in the center of the village and read from a data pad.
"Citizens of the village of Harrko: By Imperial Proclamation, all residents of Harrko are hereby charged with treason for the harboring of an outlaw Jedi by your shaman, Illo Meskinir. As traitors to the Empire, all properties, including sentient beings, are hereby confiscated to be distributed according to the will and great mercy of our great Emperor."
They all stood, staring dumbly at the man who wore such a coldly pleased expression. Their shaman had died two winters ago and now they were being held responsible for his mercy to a wounded stranger?
"Load up the slaves!" The gray man ordered the troopers.
For the first time, they realized their peril. Death would have least ended their misery, but slavery? The horror of that word settled on the faces of the villagers as they looked helplessly at each other. The three groups were directed to three different transports. All around were wails of despair as loved ones were literally ripped from each other's arms and children were lost to their mothers' sight forever.
Quickly and with terrible efficiency, the troopers loaded the woman into one transport. The children and elders were ushered to yet another. The transports lifted away before the men loaded into yet another, bound for a slave labor camp.
Once on the ship, the women were told they were being sent to the pleasure houses that served the Imperial troops stationed all over the galaxy. They were human and they were young, a prime commodity that would please the Emperor's loyal troops. Those who fought for the Empire must be rewarded, and they were nothing but traitors and slaves.
Three days into their journey, the man in gray came to the cargo hold to look over the merchandise. A few particularly pretty young girls were separated out, including Samri. After this was done, a tall man who wore a dark cloak entered the hold.
"My Lord was very specific," Samri heard the cloaked figure telling the man.
"I'm sure we'll find something to suit him," the gray man said.
"We shall see." The other man's voice revealed his doubt.
"Here are the best of the lot," Gray explained. "A poor shipment, but one must make do," he said apologetically.
"Yes, one must," the tall man's voice was dry.
Four women, Samri, Ylez and two others were presented to the cloaked man. The hood was thrown back and a pale hand came up and turned Ylez's face, pale gray eyes studying her carefully. His mouth turned down in disappointment and he shook his head.
"No, she's not got the right coloring," he said dismissively. "And besides, she's weak." Ylez's eyes were swollen and red, her face blotched and tear-stained.
A rough hand shoved Samri forward. She stumbled at the unexpected push but quickly righted herself. She squared her shoulders and gazed at him with defiance, not really caring if he killed her in that moment.
The man was probably her father's age, but he had not spent long grueling hours in the harsh sun and wind. Instead, he had the stretched look of a Core-Worlder who has seen the plasti-med droid too often. His face was pale and refined, but oddly immobile. His eyes reminded Samri of the skies before a telan storm came. The icy eyes were a promise of destruction and grief. Samri shivered, but met the cool, gray gaze.
The man chuckled in approval, studying her clear brown eyes. Then he yanked her forward by pulling on her long brown curls. Idly he rubbed the silken length between his fingers, giving a sharp, painful tug before releasing it.
Coming to a sudden decision, he turned to Gray. "She'll do," he said. "Put her on my transport."
Samri cried out, trying to grab Ylez, but the troopers dragged her out of the cargo hold with insulting ease.
She looked back over her shoulder, trying to get one last glimpse of Ylez, but then the doors slid closed and there was nothing more to see.
Nothing at all.
**************************
The pale man came to her small room – cell? – his frame filling the doorway. She blinked at the sudden light flowing in from the hall behind him. They had kept her in the dark for the most part.
"You should feel honored, girl," he said in a haughty tone.
"Excuse my rudeness, but I don't feel particularly honored," she replied through clenched teeth.
Quicker than a blink, he had crossed the room and his hand had connected with her face in a stinging slap. She tasted blood and her cheek burned.
"You'd better learn some manners if you want to survive very long," he said.
"I'd rather be dead than to pleasure you," Samri hissed.
He laughed and she shivered. "Oh, you're not for me, girl," he told her with an odd and gleeful smile on his face. "You're intended for someone much more important than me!" His hand squeezed her breast cruelly. Samri glared at him, but would not give him the satisfaction of begging him to release his grip on her. He had the look of one who would like to hear a woman beg just so he could make her suffer more.
She grew still and his other hand closed around her jaw. "And if you don't learn to behave yourself, it will be your family that suffers."
Samri paled. "No, you can't do-"
His hand came rushing up to her face once more and a loud smack filled the small cabin. "I can do whatever I please to your family, and you would do well to remember that."
The tall man threw her on the bunk.
He stopped in the doorway and turned to her once more. "The one you'll be serving wants only your unquestioning obedience," he said. "Give him that and you may survive." Then he laughed cruelly. "Though I doubt you'll last any longer than the others."