It's the end of a long day at the end of a long week when Astral pulls her speeder up to the private terrace of her apartment. The past few days have been a fever pitch of lead up in preparation for next week's big bi-annual sale of contemporary sculpture. Tonight was the pre-party reception for buyers to view the offered works in advance. Monday morning it all goes up for auction, hopefully for high prices that will net the auction house big commissions and help Astral earn a year-end bonus.

But for now, her work is done. Astral shuts off the speeder and climbs out, ducking back in to grab her discarded cloak, purse, and work bag from the passenger seat. She's on autopilot performing the same routine she does every night. Head down and stifling a yawn, Astral marches for the terrace door. She's fumbling blindly for her security key when a deep voice behind her intones, "Good evening."

Astral jumps, drops everything, and gives a small shriek of surprise.

"Do not be afraid," the voice chides with amusement as she whirls.

It's Prince Venamis, the reclusive rich guy who had lent the museum the Clone Wars paintings for the ill-fated exhibit. This is the man who showed Astral his extensive art collection in his country villa. Tonight, he's dressed like the prince he is in rich formal robes. He has a hood pulled down to shield his features partially, but Astral would recognize him anywhere. From his extreme height to his distinctive facial deformities, he is a very memorable fellow. But what is he doing here?

"Do not be afraid," he tells her a second time as Astral blinks at him in confusion.

"Prince," she recovers, breathing out a hasty greeting. Astral reflexively raises a hand to smooth her hair and straighten her dress. She's a bit rumpled from her long work day and the flight home. Plus, she wasn't expecting a guest. "This is a surprise."

"A happy one, I hope." The towering man with the ruined face now favors her with a broad, approving smile to set her at ease. He's just as smooth as she remembers. The man has a strange charisma.

Gallant as always, the prince stoops to help her collect her fallen things. She places them on a nearby table as he explains, "I am rarely on Coruscant these days, but I thought I would look in on a friend."

He stands there surveying her somewhat expectantly, so Astral politely offers, "Won't you come in?"

He declines. "Oh, I won't intrude. Let us remain on your terrace. On a clear evening like this, the view is so pleasing." He turns a bit to look out at the twinkling Upper Level cityscape. "I love this part of the city. Long ago, I used to live three buildings over. So, you might say this is my old stomping grounds."

"Then, welcome home," Astral smiles, still feeling a bit befuddled about this most unusual visitor at this late hour. But the prince got her a job at the auction house and he's a valued customer, so Astral feels she should be especially nice even if this impromptu meeting feels highly unusual and vaguely threatening. "Are you in town for the sculpture auction?" she asks to make conversation.

"Regrettably, no. This is a very quick trip. I must be careful not to linger here." The prince now laments, "Alas, a true Coruscant homecoming is not yet possible. But one day, I wish to return to reclaim what is rightfully mine. And for that, I need your help."

"My help?" she echoes.

"Yes. Merely a small favor," he assures her.

Astral doubts that. But mindful of who this man is, she dutifully solicits, "How may I be of assistance?"

The prince reaches into a pocket to produce a datafile. He proffers it over with a graceful flourish of clawed fingers. "Give this to the pilot."

Astral looks at the datafile and then back at the prince. "The p-pilot?" she stammers.

"Yes. The one you rescued after the terror attack. The injured one who you brought to Coruscant." He slants her a knowing look. "That was the story, right?"

Does he refer to Lord Vader? But how could the prince know that she helped Lord Vader? Suddenly, Astral can feel her heartbeat quicken. She improvises quickly. "I'm afraid that I haven't seen that pilot—"

"Since you spent two nights with him two weeks ago?" the Prince finishes softly. "Here at his Coruscant palace?"

How does he know that? Inwardly, Astral starts to panic. She feels her face flame hot with embarrassment. Flustered, she begins anew. "I'm not sure who you mean—"

"Oh, I think you do." The prince steps forward now to loom over her as he instructs, "Don't be coy, my dear. It doesn't suit you."

Now, her heart is truly racing. "What is this?" she demands, staring hard at the object in his open palm. It's right beneath her nose.

"It's a datafile."

Obviously. "What's on it?"

"The most dangerous thing a person can confront," the prince purrs. "The truth."

Now who's being coy? "The truth of what?" she presses.

"The truth of the Rebel pilot who destroyed the Death Star."

Oh. Ooooh. Astral gulps. This is information about the man with the Force who Lord Vader first wanted to kill but now inexplicably wants to protect.

"I believe he is the number one fugitive on the Imperial most wanted list, is he not?" the prince goads. "Surely, your pilot will want to find him?"

Astral nods, looking at the innocuous looking datafile, wondering if it truly contains such dangerous information. She is especially wary now. Fearful that she will do or say something that will betray too much.

"Take it," the prince orders.

She complies mostly out of fear. "How did you get this information?"

The prince is vague and smug. "I have my ways," he answers. Then, he is stern. "Give it to the pilot and only to the pilot. Not to his staff, not to his servants, not to anyone but the pilot. Trust no one but the pilot. This is for his eyes only. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you really?" the prince persists. Pointing to the datafile now resting in her open palm, he alludes to what Astral already knows. "This truth is a deadly truth. Your pilot could die for it. You could too." The prince peers appraisingly at her now as he asks softly, "Tell me, do you know why?"

She does. Trembling Astral chooses her words carefully. "The Rebel pilot is a threat."

"All Rebels are a threat to the Empire."

"This Rebel is a special threat," she amends, trying to avoid saying the words 'he has the Force' out loud. She's going to give as little away as possible. Especially the bit about how Lord Vader fears he might become his replacement.

"Uhmmmm, yes . . . yessss . . . " the prince concludes as he peers at her. Astral has the uncomfortable feeling that he can see right through her. That he knows what she is thinking. But he looks satisfied. "Good. I'm glad you understand the situation. The need for secrecy cannot be underestimated."

If—and that's a big 'if'—this information is even true, Astral thinks. Somehow, this all feels like a setup. Like a devious trick. Like someone at the palace knows that the Rebel pilot has the Force and is plotting against Lord Vader. What this art dealing alien prince has to do with it is anyone's guess, but Astral refuses to aid and abet whatever scheme is afoot. She's no fool.

So, she takes a deep breath and thrusts her open hand back at him. "I don't want this. Take it back." She will not be duped into betraying Lord Vader. She will not enable this trap.

The prince rebuffs her gently. "If you wish to help the pilot, if you truly care for him, you will give it to him." The prince now reaches to close her fingers around the datafile. "Give it to the pilot," he coaxes. "You know he wants it."

She refuses. "Give it to him yourself."

"I cannot do that. I cannot risk that the information might not reach him directly."

"You're risking it with me," Astral points out.

"No, I'm not. I know I can trust you," her visitor counters.

Astral lifts her chin. "What makes you think that?"

"473 million credits worth of my paintings that you might easily have sold onto the black market for stolen art. But instead, you returned them to me. Because you are honest."

It's true. She has no rejoinder to that assessment.

The prince continues, "I know you are close with the pilot. I know you care for him. You will do the right thing. You always do the right thing for those who trust you. You are loyal and dependable, which makes you perfect for him . . . and for this task."

Maybe so, but she's no fool. Astral won't be used. "Why should I do this?"

The prince looks her in the eye as he prods, "Don't you think he deserves to know the truth?"

Astral looks down in confusion, blinking fast as her mind races. If this information is true, then it will definitely interest Lord Vader. But if it's false? Well, then she may endanger herself and him. Feeling suspicious and torn, Astral looks up into the ruined face hovering over her and demands, "Why should I trust you?"

Fear has made her agitated, but the prince is calm as ever as he answers, "Our interests are aligned. We both want what's best for the pilot."

"And what is that?" she presses.

"I wish to liberate him."

"From what?"

"The correct question is 'from whom?' My dear, I think we both know who is holding him back. It's the same man who is holding the galaxy back. But were that impediment gone," the prince muses slyly, "well then, all things would be possible . . . Your pilot and this Rebel hero might make a formidable duo."

Astral says nothing. She won't speak treason aloud. But that might not even matter. For if Astral accepts the datafile and brings it to Lord Vader, will she have de facto implicated them both in a treasonous conspiracy with Prince Venamis?

The prince now spins through the rest of the scenario for her. "As Emperor, the pilot would have the power to pardon. To forgive the Rebel's youthful and misguided trespasses. To welcome him home and back into the fold, so to speak. And then war would be averted and a new era of peace and prosperity would begin. All will benefit in the end when that tyrant is removed. So you see, your injured pilot and I have mutual interests."

"How so?" she challenges. "What's in it for you?" She knows what Lord Vader might get out of this. But what does Prince Venamis stand to gain?

"His enemy is my enemy. And lately," her visitor confides, "I find that I miss Coruscant. I am long overdue for a proper homecoming. Exile is exceedingly dreary after a few decades."

Exile . . . Astral stares hard into the prince's blue, blue eyes as she considers his choice of word. This is the man who prized the portrait of Anakin Skywalker, she recalls. Just how much does he know? And what is his true interest in Lord Vader? She can't begin to guess, so she asks, "Who are you? Who are you really?" Because widower financiers don't go into exile. Deposed rulers go into exile.

He deflects the question. "I have gone by many names through the years. I have many aliases. But for now, you may continue to call me 'Prince.'"

"Who are you? What do you want?" she demands, this time more pointedly.

Again, he refuses to answer. "Tell the pilot that there is more information where that came from." He takes his leave. "Goodnight, Ms. Sidhu."

"W-Wait—"

"Yes?" The prince half-turns.

"How will he find you?"

"He won't find me. Tell him not to bother to look. I will find you instead."

"You want me to be a go-between?" she gulps. This isn't a one-time thing?

The prince nods. "Like I told you, it's too dangerous for me to approach him directly. I will not compromise him. It will get him killed. Plus, he trusts you. I know I can trust you too."

The way he says it makes it sound like a done deal. It's not. Astral balks. "I don't want any part of this. Take it back!" Again, she offers him the datafile in her open palm.

"Don't be afraid. I mean you no harm. I mean your pilot no harm either," the prince soothes. "This is the best offer the pilot will ever get," he adds.

Astral is unconvinced. She shakes her open palm vehemently at him again. "Take it back!"

But once more, he refuses. "Long have I waited for this chance. The time is ripe. So, if you will not approach him for me, then I will find someone else who will. But that has risk. Risk to him, not to me. So tell me now, Ms. Sidhu, will you force me to endanger the pilot or will you help me yourself?"

Oh, geez. When he puts it that way . . . Astral hesitates, feeling torn. This is a very dangerous position she has found herself in. She can't decide which option is worse: to help or not to help. If she agrees, is she being a gullible fool? If she refuses, will she be putting Lord Vader in worse danger?

"Well?" The prince must see her wavering, for he urges, "Help me to help him. He'll never do it alone. He'll live out his days miserable under that lousy tyrant's thumb."

Troubled and uncertain, Astral shifts her weight as she prevaricates. "I don't know . . ."

"He was born for greatness. Help him to achieve it all. It's not too late," the prince croons. His voice is low and insidious as he tells her under his breath, "He could still balance the Force . . . if you agree to help, of course."

"I don't know . . . " She struggles with indecision.

"Do not stand in the way of destiny. You know what to do. Take it to him. Only to him. Trust no one or you will get yourself and him killed."

"I don't know . . . " she frets again.

The prince gives her a grave look as he reminds her, "You owe me a favor, remember? It's time to pay up, Ms. Sidhu."

Then before she can reply, the mysterious man vanishes into thin air. Literally, one second he's standing before her, and the next second he's gone. Stunned Astral doesn't know what to make of his abrupt disappearance. She looks around for him at first, pacing her small terrace. Then, she fears he was some sort of hallucination. That she is overtired and overwrought. But no, the datafile she's holding is very real. She did not imagine that bizarre discussion. Now terribly spooked, Astral fumbles for her comlink to call Vanee.

He answers after several rings. "H-Hello?"

"Vanee, it's Astral. Are you still up?"

"Astral, how are you—"

"Where is Lord Vader?" she interrupts, her voice panting from fear. "I must speak with Lord Vader. Now!"

There is a short pause. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes!" Something is very, very wrong and Astral isn't composed enough to hide it. In fact, her hands are shaking so hard that she fears she might drop the comlink. But for better or for worse, she's got the datafile now. She plans to take it to Lord Vader and let him decide what to do with it. And hopefully, he can give her some much needed advice on how to handle Prince Venamis.

"How can I help?" Vanee immediately offers.

"I need to speak with him. Only to him." Astral is close to tears. Her voice is choked.

"He's on his flagship. He's lightyears away. I will contact him and you can conference by hologram—"

"No!" she declines vehemently. "In person. Please, I need to speak to him in person."

"Tell me what's wrong and perhaps—"

"I can't! I'm sorry, Vanee, I wish I could tell you, but I can't," she whispers.

There is another pause. "I see."

"I have important information," she improvises, trying to say as little as possible. "It is only for Lord Vader's ears."

On the other end of the comlink, Astral hears Vanee sigh. "You're pregnant?"

What? At her age? "No! No! Vanee, why would you think that?"

"Ah . . . No reason," he instantly backs down. "Forget I said that. So, you have information for the Master?"

"Yes! When is he back on Coruscant?"

"He has no current plans to return."

"Can I meet him on Mustafar?"

"That's two days travel for you and for him."

"Then can you sneak me onto his ship?" she demands impatiently.

"Is that wise?" Vanee discourages her.

"Is it my only option to see him?"

"Yes."

"Then, I'm going," Astral decides.

"Very well," Vanee agrees. "I will summon a shuttle and I will escort you personally. The Executor crew is used to me. It will make it less noteworthy if I come along."

"Would you do that?" anxious Astral is grateful.

"Of course. How soon can get to the palace?"

"Thirty minutes?" she guesses.

"Good. We'll leave as soon as you arrive."

"T-Thank you," she stammers. She is very relieved. Trust it to Vanee to come through when she needs him. "Thank you."

"We will get it sorted out," the old manservant assures her before he hangs up.

It's encouragement that Astral needs to hear. She's feeling intimidated and uncertain. How did she get herself in this position? She's no one important. She's just a private citizen with a workaday job and small-time aspirations for a happy, comfortable, rewarding life. She's not looking to rule the galaxy or to influence politics. She can't use the Force. But somehow, she finds herself mixed up in the ongoing melodrama of the galactic civil war that is brewing. Because ever since she met Darth Vader, she has been drawn into the secret world of the Sith, with its pecking order and powerplays. First, she shot an assassin to death in her bedroom at the castle. Now, she's being stalked by an art collector who is clearly far more than he seems. Astral had taken Lord Vader's warnings about danger seriously. But now, as yet again they come to fruition, she is very, very scared.

Adrenaline has Astral moving fast and thankfully the traffic this time of night is light. That means she makes it to the palace in twenty minutes, not thirty. Astral dutifully submits to the standard security check which is much more efficient afterhours on a Friday. Luckily, Vanee has already given instructions for her to be escorted to the landing pad to meet him. Astral is marched there by three stormtroopers. She's cooling her heels waiting for Vanee, her mind on Prince Venamis, when a speeder pulls up. Lost in her thoughts, Astral doesn't see the occupant jump out and march over to investigate her. Astral is far too preoccupied.

So when she hears, "Who are you?" Astral jumps. That's twice in one night someone has snuck up on her unaware. Only this time, the words are spat out, cold and angry.

Astral turns to find a woman standing behind her, hands on her hips in the manner of a confrontation. "W-Whaat?" Astral stammers. Is the woman talking to her?

She is. "Who are you?" The angry woman is an eyeful in purple thigh high stiletto boots worn with a skintight black catsuit. She is tiny, with a lithe, ultra-petite figure that belongs to a much younger woman. For from her face, Astral guesses that she is at least a decade or so her senior. Still, she is undeniably attractive, with enviable bone structure that gives her an aristocratic, timeless beauty much at odds with the rest of her presentation.

"Answer me! Who are you?" the unknown woman demands yet again.

Astral blinks and swallows. "I'm Astral Sidhu."

"Never heard of you. Why are you here?"

"She comes to see Vanee," one of the security stormtroopers speaks up.

The woman raises a skeptical eyebrow. "At this hour? On the weekend?"

Again, the trooper answers. "She comes at night and leaves in the morning. Sometimes, she's just here for a few hours."

"To see Vanee?"

"Yes." This time Astral answers for herself. "I'm here to see Vanee, Lord Vader's steward."

The woman does not immediately respond. Instead, her eyes study Astral, taking in the expensive and elegant matching cloak and dress. The minimal jewelry and designer purse without a logo. The straight posture and composed stance. Astral had dressed for an important day this morning, so her appearance is particularly formal and ladylike. But the woman's attention somehow fixes on Astral's hair, of all things. "You have red hair," she observes sourly.

Astral thinks of herself as a strawberry blonde, more copper than red. She speaks up. "It only looks red in this light."

"The fuck, it does! That's red hair! Real red hair!" observes the strange woman whose own fiery locks are clearly not natural. She crosses her arms and gives Astral a pained look. "I guess I should be happy that you're forty-five, and not twenty-five. But you're still too young for him."

Actually, she's forty-four, Astral bristles silently. Trying to retain her dignity in the face of this rude stranger, and very mindful of the datafile in her cloak pocket that purportedly contains a deadly secret, Astral stiffens and replies in a calm, frosty voice, "Excuse me, but do I know you?"

"No. You don't," the older woman replies, going on the offensive again. She speaks with a quintessentially Mid Rim accent that is all long o's and broad a's. "But let's get one thing straight: he's mine!" The words come out as a hiss. "You may be the flavor of the week, but he's mine and always will be! Every few years, one of you comes and goes, but I'm still here."

Astral is lost in this warning speech. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

"I'm Underworld, so don't fuck with me!" the angry woman screeches back. She's in Astral's space now, staring up into her face, her posture threatening.

Astral takes a big step back. This is unprovoked conflict, and really, she is not in the mood for this right now.

Her retreat is none too soon because the woman now yanks a wicked looking vibroblade from her boot and flicks it on with practiced ease. She brandishes the buzzing weapon openly. Yikes! Astral blinks at how fast this situation has escalated. She takes another big step back.

Amazingly, none of the stormtroopers surrounding them has made a move. They all stand around like bystanders watching this deranged woman who has pulled a deadly weapon. This is the landing pad at the Imperial palace—an ultra-secure area—and yet the risk this woman poses is apparently acceptable. What is the matter with these guys? Why don't they do something?

"Don't fuck with me, bitch, because I will make you pay!" the woman howls, stamping her little foot for emphasis.

Astral turns to the troopers for help. "What's going on—"

It's just as Vanee sweeps in. He's moving very fast, at a near run. "Astral!" he bellows as he very intentionally inserts himself between her and the crazy woman with the vibroblade.

"Vanee—watch out, she's got a knife!" Astral yelps.

Vanee ignores her warning. Instead, he bows deeply before the troublemaker like he's being presented to the Empress. "My Lady."

Lady? Lady? This woman is no lady in Astral's estimation.

"Always a pleasure, my Lady," Vanee trills lightly as if this is a social meeting and no one's holding a weapon.

The aggressive woman is not impressed. "Cut the crap, Vanee," she snaps. "Come clean. Who is she here to see?"

Vanee smiles back as he responds, "Me. Ms. Sidhu is here to see me. We are good friends."

"I said cut the crap!" the woman growls. And now, she's got the buzzing knife in Vanee's face.

Incredibly, the stormtroopers still do nothing, peeved Astral notices.

"Alright, then," Vanee amends quickly, "Astral is here to see me so that I can conduct her to Lord Vader."

"Vader's not here, so drop the act! Tell me the truth!" The crazy lady is still waving the knife, but she looks far less angry now than she looks hurt, Astral assesses. There are tears glittering in her eyes, she sees. Astral is still very lost in what's going on, but it's clear that Vanee feels the need to placate the aggressive woman.

"It's true, my Lady," Vanee comes clean. "I'm taking Astral to meet Lord Vader."

"Liar! Do you think I was born yesterday? He didn't think I was coming by tonight, so he thought he could get you to procure him—"

"No one is procuring anyone!" Astral huffs. She's offended by the very notion. Really, what does this woman take her for?

Vanee shoots Astral a quelling 'shut up and let me handle this' look as he again argues softly to the provoking stranger, "My Lady, you have misunderstood. Truly, you have."

The woman considers a moment. Then she tosses her improbably long, improbably red hair in a gesture of annoyance. "We'll see about that." Still waving the knife, she threatens, "If I catch her here again, she will regret it. You too, Vanee. I will make you regret it if you are procuring him redheads."

"My Lady—" Vanee is conciliatory again.

"Don't test me!" her response is shrill and imperious. "Tell Milo it's the same for him!"

"Very well, my Lady." Vanee bows even lower this time before he grabs Astral's hand firmly and hustles her away towards an idling shuttle waiting on the far side of the landing pad.

"What just happened?" Astral demands as she struggles to keep up.

"Keep going. Don't look back. Let her think she won."

"Who was that woman?" Astral demands under her breath.

"Lady Sidious."

"Lady Sid—whaat?" Astral nearly chokes. "Wait-he has a wife? The Emperor actually has a wife?"

"Yes. A wife of many years who is kept behind the scenes for all the reasons you just saw."

"Wow . . . Who knew?" Curious Astral can't help it. Her head reflexively turns back to peep at the older woman who watches them leave. From the expression on her face, suspicious Lady Sidious is fuming.

"Don't look back!" Vanee growls as he tightens his grip and yanks her along.

"Sorry," Astral gulps. "I just never knew—"

"Not many do. Lord Plagueis did all he could to get rid of her, but Lord Sidious refused to give her up. It was a long simmering conflict between them. One of many."

"So, she's the Empress?" Astral whispers in slight horror.

"Unofficially." Vanee does not mince words in his own scathing assessment. "She's dreadful. Lord Plagueis was right that she is wholly unsuitable to be the first lady of the galaxy. Lord Sidious knows it too, or he would have revealed her long ago. That woman is notorious in the Underworld."

"Oh," Astral reacts. "Yes, I could see how she's not the usual politician's wife." Astral can't imagine the bold woman she just met standing appropriately attired to smile blandly at the camera bots at public events. Nor can she envision her every so often casting her Emperor husband an adoring look of reverence. Lady Sidious strikes Astral as more likely to swear at Lord Sidious than to admire him demurely. Astral cannot contain her lurid curiosity now. "Is she always so violent?"

"Actually, no. But she's very protective of her husband. In her own way, she's just as paranoid as Lord Sidious."

"Oh."

"She owns most of the brothels on Coruscant and she's in deep with organized crime. She'd be in jail if she weren't Lord Sidious' lady. If you've ever wondered why the Empire doesn't bother to clean up the Underworld, she's why. She makes millions of credits off all that vice and spice. Lord Plagueis considered her to be an embarrassment."

"Oh."

"Keep walking." They are almost at the shuttle. "Let's get on board. You can strap yourself in while I talk to the pilot."

"Where are we going?" Astral asks as they quickly climb the ramp.

"He's not far. It's only a two or three hour flight. The Master is the Kuat system picking up his new starfighter. His old one was destroyed by the Death Star blast so he ordered a new one."

"He does that himself?" Astral is surprised.

The manservant nods. "The Master takes his spacecraft very seriously. They are highly customized to his exact specifications. Lord Vader delegates many things, but not his own personal TIE fighter."

"I see."

They are inside the shuttle now. Vanee conducts her to a seat. Then he eyes her meaningfully. He looks troubled. "You're sure that this information merits an in-person meeting?"

Astral nods. "Absolutely."

"This had better be worth it," Vanee speaks plainly. "I just outed you to Lady Sidious and now you'll be arriving to the Executor. Astral, if you weren't a potential target before, you will be now." He warns, "It is a very dangerous thing to be known as Lord Vader's lady."

It's on the tip of her tongue to deny that she is Lord Vader's lady. But who is she kidding? Astral just silently nods.

"The danger is not just from the Rebels," Vanee tells her flatly. "The Master has many enemies."

Yes, she's beginning to realize that. The danger is from whoever Prince Venamis actually is, and from the Emperor's behind-the-scenes wife who just pulled a knife on her, and from the Rebel terrorists and everyone else who has a political or personal grudge against Lord Vader. Whether Astral has a personal involvement in the conflict or not, she knows she could easily be swept up in the crossfire. Because these are the sort of people who have no scruples about hurting bystanders, she suspects.

"Are you sure you don't wish for me to deliver the message alone?" Vanee offers. "It might lessen the risks to you."

Astral fingers the datafile stowed safely in her cloak pocket. It purports to contain secrets about the Rebel pilot who could help Darth Vader overthrow the Emperor and bring balance to the Force. Secrets that could mean no more Death Stars and no more wars. Secrets that could bring justice for Alderaan. "It's worth it," she declares staunchly. And Lord Vader is worth it, too, she decides. Besides, she doubts very much that it would do any good to back out now.