It was undeniably a Mary Sue. A substandard one, admittedly – its waist-length, shiny gold hair didn't shimmer or move in unnatural breezes, its clear blue eyes weren't instantly captivating, it didn't glow with a bright aura, of any color, and its (clearly civilian) clothes were surprisingly modest – but undeniably a Sue. It was also sitting the Admiral's quarters.
It was looking about when he entered, but turned at the sound of the door opening. Its face lit up – figuratively – but it froze, hands flying up about level with its head. "Don't shoot!" it squeaked, Admiral Piett's blaster trained squarely between its eyes.
"Who are you and how did you get here?" he demanded, shooting a quick covert glance around the room.
"My name is Bryony Vivanna Alithea Aubriella Persephone Starshooter – no relation to anyone else of any similar name, just to be clear – although I go by Bria. And I got here by wishing on a shooting star, only it was a crashing X-wing," it added matter-of-factly. It made an absurd figure, hands by its ears, rattling off its name and reasonably saying it wished on a dying Rebel pilot. The blaster in its face didn't move a centimeter.
"How do you know it was an X-wing?" the Admiral asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed. It had been awhile since any of the near-human species Mary Sue had invaded the Lady, but it had previously been a highly common occurrence and for awhile the crew had been as up to their necks in beautiful dingdongs as they had been in Tribbles, that one time. Piett did not like the idea of lascivious females with some otherworldly allure overrunning his ship again.
The Sue gave him a rather offended look before apparently deciding that he couldn't be expected to know the circumstances and relenting. "It was close enough that when it came down out of the atmosphere, I could see it. The S-foils are very recognizable, especially when locked in attack position," it said respectfully. "You know, I really am no threat to you..." it added, eying the blaster warily.
"I'll decide that," Piett said firmly, using his free hand to indicate one of the chairs at the edge of the wall. "Sit down – hands in your lap, where I can see them." It obediently sat down, feet neatly together, knotted hands placed on its legs as it looked up at him expectantly. He sat down behind his desk, laying the blaster right in front of himself. "Now, you've told me your name, and how you got here, but you haven't told me what you're doing here."
It looked very eager. "I'm your new slave girl."
"Your what?" On a less dignified man, the expression General Veers was sporting would have been called 'goggling.'
"Slave girl," Firmus muttered, looking unhappy. General Veers made a snorting sound, which quickly turned into a cough and then a thoughtful hum as he looked down at his coffee. His afflicted friend sent him a reproachful look.
"Maybe you should report this to Lord Vader?" Veers suggested.
"I'll figure it out," the Admiral muttered, picking at his sandwich. "I don't want to bother him with it."
"I doubt His Lordship would be bothered by knowing that another Sue invasion may be imminent," the General pointed out.
"It's just one," Firmus said defensively. "And it's not bad, for a Sue."
Max shook his head. "Can I at least meet it?"
The Admiral stood. "Certainly. No time like the present, they say."
The Sue was studying the art on the walls of the Admiral's quarters, although it turned when it heard the door. "Admiral – General!" it gasped breathlessly, then dithered a moment. As a civilian, it shouldn't greet them with a salute, but it should do something as acknowledgment. It finally made an odd little dip that was presumably supposed to pass as a curtsy. When it stood straight again, it clasped its hands in front of itself and stared at them with glowing – figuratively – eyes.
"General, this is Bryony," Firmus said, then turned to her. "You are aware of General Veers' identity...?"
"Oh, yes," it assured him, looking like a child who had just been handed a fistful of candy. "I'm rather a Lady Ex aficionado, and that includes knowing her inhabitants. Especially the admirable ones."
"Thank you, Miss Bryony," Veers said with an amused glance at his friend. Ah, what the hell. "I hear you've entered Admiral Piett's service?" he added smoothly.
It beamed, and Firmus glowered. "Yes, I have," it replied, clearly excited and yet trying to contain its enthusiasm to a respectful level.
"I'm sure you'll both be very happy with this arrangement," Veers said wickedly, ignoring his friend's wooden posture and completely blank face.
Darth Vader stared it at wordlessly. It stared back, face guarded, eyes wary, for several long seconds before swallowing. Piett stared at them both, hiding his own anxiety. Finally, it flinched a little and dropped its gaze, and Vader turned to his admiral. "I suggest dishwashing duty, if you cannot think of anything more … interesting," he rumbled, and swept out.
It looked at the blank-faced admiral, a little pale. "I thought I was toast," it admitted, sounding much more natural than it usually did.
Piett took a deep breath. "Well, since His Lordship didn't turn you into twice-cooked bread, I'd best figure out what to do with you."
"Do with me?" it asked pathetically, giving him puppy eyes.
"A job to keep you occupied," he responded firmly.
"I'm old enough to be your father," he pointed out, baffled. "Surely it's not common on your world to marry young women off to men that old?"
"It's been done a time or two in the past," it said cautiously.
A display lit up on the other side of the room, detailing the eras when such a practice had been usual, and the current time stamp. The Sue glared at the ceiling. "I think I like you better when I'm reading about you, than aboard you," it said huffily, and a frisson of static shivered over the walls. Piett rubbed his forehead.
"Is this true?" he asked wearily, waving a hand at the display.
"Yes," the Sue admitted in a small voice. A sense of smugness pervaded the room.
"Bryony," he said carefully, "I really don't like this romance idea. I'm very invested in my career, and Lady keeps me very good company."
"I thought she was your Lady Ex," it injected slyly. Arcs of electricity ran across the floor and up the metal chair, making the Sue jerk slightly. "Sithspit, Lady!" The Sue drooped a little. "Okay, so that was a very bad pun. Sorry." Seeming downcast – and more human than usual – it looked wistfully at the Admiral. "I could be an aide. It can't be that hard, fetching and carrying datapads and datachips and memos and caf. The hardest part would be not getting lost in the corridors."
"My aides are all members of the Navy," he explained gently.
It looked rebellious before brightening, hitting on an idea. "Well, I could be yours and Lord Vader's liaison," it suggested hopefully. "For when memos aren't discrete enough. I'm expendable, so you won't have to risk any of your Navy-issued aides." It beamed. Piett frowned. He didn't like the idea of any young woman, Sue or not, being expendable. "Please?" it added pathetically, watching him.
Piett relented. "Very well. You can be one of my aides."
Many of Vader's pastimes were sadistic, or rumored to be. Messing with his favorite admiral's newest aide was far from his cruelest caprice yet, but he was having a lot of fun doing so. At first, he had found himself regretting his advice to the Admiral, finding the annoying Sue to be almost utterly unafraid of him, respectful, usually, but saucy. It was far too much like Jix – a reflection that had given him a wonderful, evil idea. It was not difficult to contrive a reason to get Piett to send the creature down, and he was anticipating its arrival with dark glee. Jix was pacing, bored and wired. "I thought there was something you wanted me to see, Uncle D?" he asked, slightly accusing.
"It is on its way here right now," Vader assured him, counting down mentally. 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 …
The door opened. Jix turned, swore, and fired off three shots in quick succession. The Sue shrieked and dropped to the floor like a stone, while Vader stifled his laughter valiantly. "By the Sithing hells!" the Corellian snarled. "A Sue!"
"I am not a Sue!" the Sue squawked from the floor, and stood, glaring at the massive man as it brushed its uniform off. "I am Admiral Piett's aide," it said with frosty dignity, and lay a datapad on Vader's desk. "A message for you, sir."
"You are a Sue," Jix growled.
"And you are an unwashed bantha," it shot back before striding out, swinging its hair irritably. Jix sputtered, staring after it, and Vader, behind his helmet, gaped.
"I could eat her for breakfast!" Jix spluttered, furious.
"I don't think it cares," his boss replied dryly.
Several meters down the hall, it stopped and looked down at itself. "Okay, so maybe I'm a Sue," it muttered glumly.
"Admiral..." Piett looked up to see the Sue twisting its hands together as it stood in front of his desk, staring at its feet. It lifted its head to look at him, its expression rather unhappy. "I've really enjoyed working for you, but I have to be going home now," it said quietly. "It's been wonderful, the experience of a lifetime, but... my family will be wondering where I've gone."
Piett stood, extending his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Bryony," he said soberly.
It shook his hand, summoning a smile. "It has, Admiral," it agreed, then looked up at the ceiling. "Take care, Lady." A thrum went through the floor beneath their feet.
The Sue stepped back a pace, fading and – momentarily – becoming a rather plain girl with dark heavy brows, tired eyes, and acne (though the hair remained, oddly, the same,) before dissipating and vanishing altogether.
Piett sat back down and stared at his datapad on his desk. Things would seem a bit dull without the cheerful, ignorant, cocky Sue around to add a bit of life.