An hour into the event program, Astral can't decide if she's glad she came or not. But she's here, standing amid the sizable crowd clutching her small white vigil candle with the paper collar to catch the wax drippings.

She and many others have gathered in Coruscant's largest park to mark the year anniversary of the destruction of Alderaan. The event is well underway. It began with a series of eulogies, including one by an Imperial general who vowed that the Rebel culprits responsible for the travesty will be brought to justice. His speech received only tepid, obligatory applause. For many among the mourners seem inclined to believe the Alliance version of events. The incidental chatter Astral overhears around her is decidedly pro-Rebellion.

That makes the memorial service an uncomfortable place for Astral to be. First and foremost, Rebel sympathizers are not good company to keep. Thankfully, none of the comments from the stage have been overtly political. But if that changes, Astral is leaving. She's not about to get rounded up in some mass arrest for a seditious rally. But this setting also reminds her that the Rebels she assisted Lord Vader to attack are the only people telling the truth of her planet's tragedy. Astral had good reason to deliver the prince's datafile, but she knows that suppressing the Rebellion is tantamount to quelling the truth. And that seems like a betrayal of the billions of innocents who were slaughtered on her homeworld.

As far as she can tell, the attendees are refugees like herself plus friends and family who lost loved ones. The collective outpouring of their pent-up emotion is considerable. Frankly, Astral finds it awkward. Standing next to sobbing strangers makes her uncomfortable. She's cried plenty of her own tears over Alderaan, but always in private. Looking around now, she deduces that she herself is much further along in the grief process than most. For a full year later, it's clear that many are unable or unwilling to move on with their lives. Many seem deeply aggrieved or wanly despondent. Some hold handmade signs proclaiming 'Never Forget' and 'Alderaan Forever,' while others wear t-shirts with the names and pictures of lost souls emblazoned across the front. Observing their uniformly tearstained faces, Astral realizes how fortunate she has been to land on her feet both emotionally and from a practical perspective.

Mostly, it is thanks to Lord Vader, she recognizes.

And that makes Astral wonder if mourning Alderaan so intensely is really the right choice. Because while she's sympathetic to others' plights, she is dubious of the benefits of building a whole new identity around being an Alderaan survivor. Astral is in no hurry to forget her old life, but she's savvy enough to know that she needs to build a new future. Wallowing in grief impedes that goal. Lord Vader's blunt advice was right that fateful day on the freighter—she needs to move on. But by the looks of it, many here at the memorial service will be incapable of doing that any time soon. The realization makes Astral sad for these strangers on a whole new level.

This is a moment when she realizes how important Darth Vader is to her life. For he is the walking, talking, wheezing embodiment of resilience. There is much wisdom in his tough love. He's right that overcoming obstacles makes you stronger. But that's not to say that coping with great loss is merely a matter of changing your attitude. Some hurts forever change you. Some wounds never fully heal. But still . . . you need to find a way to cope and to move forward. To accept the things you cannot change. To endure them with as much grace as you can. Darth Vader does that too.

Part of the man's majestic gravitas is who he was before he became who he is. Darth Vader is all about context. But far too few people know that, and so they take what they see at face value, deeming him ruthless and heartless when in truth, Lord Vader is far from that. Circumstances prohibit him from speaking his mind and giving the full set of reasons for his actions, both the overt and covert ones. But Astral knows those reasons. She longs for the day when he will rule the galaxy unfettered by his feckless, self-absorbed Master. For a day when there will be no more Death Stars and no more Alderaans. But until then, Lord Vader will search for his son while he pretends to hunt the Rebels. He will be the temperate, behind-the-scenes reformer while he pretends to be the Emperor's cruel enforcer. He will be some murky grey-ish version of a Light Side Jedi while he pretends to be the consummate Dark Lord of the Sith.

Lord Vader is also far from the stoic tough guy he pretends to be. Astral suspects that in private, his 'no crying, no pity, no whining' rule has been mostly observed in breach. But she admires his stalwart physical fortitude. The manly image is his coping mechanism, she knows. Emotionally? Well, that's a different story. There's far less stiff upper lip there. From their earliest days at the castle, it was clear that he is a slave to his emotions, inflicting his moods on everyone who surrounds him. Now back on the job, Darth Vader routinely acts out with his chokehold executions and biting snark. Afterwards, she suspects, he retires to his private medical pod a brooding, depressed wreck. The man stews in his own frustration quite a bit. He's conflicted to his core about his predicament.

Because for all his gruesome physical disabilities, Darth Vader's greater burden is his emotional anguish. The man's guilt over his family lies right beneath the surface. Layered onto that shame, Astral knows, is a pervasive sense of personal failure. So while Lord Vader's obsession with Padme may have waned a bit of late, Astral worries that his very much alive estranged son has taken her place on the pedestal. Darth Vader couldn't save his wife from his Master, so he is determined to save his child. The man has a hero complex that just won't quit. It's as much to make peace with the Force as it is to make amends with his dead wife. For Astral knows that Lord Vader wants his son to finish what he started with the Force—to be the Chosen One who will bring balance.

That's . . . well, it's a lot. Astral worries that Lord Vader is incredibly invested in the fairytale future he envisions for himself and his son. Darth Sidious will have something to say about it, she fears. So will the maybe-grandfather Darth Plagueis. And that's all presuming that Luke Skywalker will cooperate. Astral is skeptical. She doubts very much that the Rebel hero from Tatooine will react well to learning the identity of his long-lost father. Astral doesn't want to think about what will happen if that kid rejects Lord Vader. He will be crushed.

So whenever the Skywalkers finally meet, Astral is determined to be there. If only to pick up the pieces afterwards. Lord Vader would do it for her, she knows. Probably in his gruff 'deal with it' way, but he would be there all the same. Because Lord Vader is a man who doesn't walk away. He's not her ex or her father. He's a totally different sort of man. The sort of man she wishes she had met years ago.

Up onstage, the current speaker finishes. Next up is another prayer and a hymn. Then yet another choked up, sobbing eulogy. It's too much. Astral decides she has heard and seen enough. She blows out her candle and heads for the nearest trash receptacle. And that's when she almost literally runs into a familiar woman.

"Oh." Astral stops short and blinks in surprise. It's Lady Sidious. She's holding a votive candle too.

Astral must look shocked because the redhead femme fatale of a certain age grins. She's clearly enjoying Astral's discomfort. With one hand on her leather clad hip, Lady Sidious drawls, "Fancy meeting you here," as she too tosses her candle in the trash.

Yikes. Astral gulps and recovers fast. "I could say the same for you, er—" What does she call this woman?

"Cresta."

"Yes, of course. Cresta. Hello again. Nice to see you," Astral lies as she reaches out her hand in greeting to be polite. "I'm—"

"Astral. Astral from Alderaan."

"Yes. How did you know?"

The unofficial Empress of the galaxy shakes Astral's hand firmly like a businesswoman as she explains, "I made Sheev show me your file."

Astral blanches. "He has a file?"

Lady Sidious tosses her fiery mane and announces, "He does now. Ever since I screamed at him about you, he got interested." She looks a bit sheepish. "Sorry about that. I jumped to conclusions."

It's a sincere apology, but wary Astral nods coolly. "Yes, you did."

Lady Sidious merely shrugs. "It pays to be careful if you're me. Lots of women throw themselves at my husband," she claims. "Power becomes a man, and that makes my Sheev extra sexy," she announces with complete sincerity. To another, that sentiment might be laughable. But Astral understands. Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, she now fully appreciates. Lying awake nights lusting after her burn-scarred, quadriplegic Sith lover has taught Astral that. "Anyhow, Sheev dragged your security guy in and grilled him," the older woman finishes.

"My security guy? I don't have a security guy."

"Sure, you do. He's standing right over there." Lady Sidious gestures to her left. Then, she brags, "I have three. I hate them, but Sheev insists, especially in a setting like this."

Astral is displeased. "Who put a security guy on me?"

"Who else?" the other woman smirks. "Your tall, dark, and formerly handsome guy. You've had a daily tail since you moved here. Didn't you know?"

No, she didn't. Astral frowns. "He didn't tell me that."

Lady Sidious gives her a knowing look. "Probably because he didn't want you to worry. Or he thought you might object."

"I do object," Astral huffs.

Again, Lady Sidious shrugs. "It's a control thing. The Sith are possessive. Get used to it." She now casts an overtly appraising eye over Astral's casual Saturday afternoon clothes. They are a sharp contrast to her own purple and black leather ensemble that belongs in a fashion magazine editorial spread and not real life. Certainly not in daytime, at least. It's an eyeful. One thing is for sure, Lady Sidious' style is very distinctive. It's weirdly endearing, Astral thinks. This woman has a strong sense of self and she owns it.

Lady Sidious now pronounces, "I knew it was serious when he put surveillance on you."

"It's not serious," Astral immediately corrects. "It's not serious at all. We're mostly just friends."

That elicits an indelicate snort. "So you're telling me you're fuck buddies with Darth Vader?" Lady Sidious laughs.

"Whaa—No! It's not like that!" Astral objects again. She can feel her face flame bright red.

"How is it then?"

How does she respond to that nosy question? What are she and Darth Vader to one another? Astral settles on a neutral sounding phrase. "We enjoy each other's company."

Lady Sidious arches one penciled eyebrow. "Is that what they're calling it these days? He gives you a seven million credit apartment in an exclusive Pre-Clone Wars era co-op building complete with a doorman and a private landing pad on the terrace because you"—she now gestures with air-quotes—"enjoy each other's company?"

"Er . . . yes," Astral sticks to her story.

"I see." Lady Sidious leans in now to ask under her breath, "So if that's what you get for being good company, I wonder what will you get if you suck that charred dick of his?"

Astral blinks and gapes at this offensive crudity. For a moment, she's speechless. Then, it's on the tip of her tongue to respond with a blistering putdown to this ribald and aging mean girl in stilettos and leather pants. But Astral thinks better of it. She's still very wary of the Emperor's threat. The is Lady Sidious who can whisper who knows what into her tyrant husband's ear. And besides, Astral refuses to lower herself to this tacky woman's level.

So, she gives a frosty farewell, "Good day, Cresta," as she prepares to march off with maximum dignity. Time to end this conversation before it gets worse. If that's even possible.

"Oh, stop," the older woman complains loudly after her. "Don't be like that," she cajoles with one hand on her hip.

Astral hesitates midstride. Because can you walk away while the Empress is talking to you? This woman's position—while unofficial—gives her all the leverage.

Again, the other woman tosses that shiny, improbably red hair. "You are just as prissy as you look, aren't you? Ani has a type, I see," she observes.

Curiosity gets the better of Astral now. "Why are you here?" Lady Sidious is the wife of the man who built the Death Star. This is hardly her scene. "Why would you come to this memorial?"

"I like Alderaan. I used to live there."

"Really?" Astral is not convinced. "When?"

"When I danced in the Royal Ballet."

Oh. "Er . . . really?" Whoops. That came out wrong. It's just that Astral would have pegged Lady Sidious as a completely different kind of dancer.

"Yes. Really." The other woman lifts her chin with pride. "I was a principal with the company for over a decade."

Oh. But now, looking past the sexy clothes, garish hair, and purple fingernails, Astral can kind of, sort of believe it. Because beneath the tacky glitz, the Emperor's wife is ultra-petite but long limbed. It's not hard to imagine her with a ballerina's grace and elegance. Until she opens her mouth, that is. But Lady Sidious' face is truly classically beautiful. In her younger days, she must have turned many heads. A lot of heads, Astral decides. With a face like an angel and a mouth like a spacer, she must have been a strange mix of grit and high culture.

Astral now volunteers, "My mother played in the symphony back on Alderaan. She played for the ballet some seasons too."

"Did she? When? What years?"

They compare dates and Lady Sidious happily concludes, "We overlapped some. Your mother must have been in the orchestra pit for some of my performances." The secret Empress reminisces, "Sheev never missed an opening night if I was dancing. He'd rearrange Senate votes and meetings to get there even if he couldn't stay past the curtain." She smiles wistfully as she recalls the bygone days of the late Republic. "I loved Alderaan. Those years were everything I wanted them to be. But Sheev was here in the Senate, so when my ballet career was over, I came back to Coruscant. In those years, he was still the Apprentice."

All this sentiment is nice, but it doesn't really impress Astral. She can't help but feel slightly offended that this woman—of all people-is present at the memorial. It feels almost disrespectful. "Maybe you shouldn't be here," she suggests quietly.

Lady Sidious is undeterred. "Why not? I didn't build that thing. And I certainly didn't tell him to use it on Alderaan. He should have blown up one of those shithole planets in the Rim. But if it had to be a Core world, why wasn't it Chandrila?" she vents. "I mean, why not blow up Mon Mothma's homeworld?" Lady Sidious tosses her hair again. It seems to be a habit. "Alderaan was such a nice place," she sighs.

A nice place. It's such an underwhelming understatement for the magnitude of the pain outpouring around them. Again, Astral is offended. "How about not blowing up any planets?" she responds sharply. Astral wonders whether Lady Sidious knows there is a second Death Star in the works. Would she even care? Or would she swing her red hair and brush it off like she seems to do so much else?

"Sure, I'm good with that." The older woman now changes the topic back to Darth Vader. "So, how did you meet Ani? Your security guy didn't know."

Astral is vague. "By accident."

"You get arrested or something? Or crash land on Mustafar?"

"No." Astral comes clean. Lying to this woman doesn't seem like an option. "A ship I was on picked up his disabled TIE fighter that was damaged in the Death Star explosion."

"You rescued him?" Lady Sidious looks amused.

"In a way, I guess."

"I like that," the Empress approves. "Turn the storybook romance stuff on its head. Mr. Powerful Dark Lord needed help. But well," she reconsiders, "I guess Ani needs a lot of help. He's a wreck. My Sheev might look like a prune but at least he's all there. Everything works even if it doesn't look pretty anymore." She fixes a close look on Astral and probes again, "So . . . this thing with Vader isn't serious, eh?"

Astral nods vigorously. "We're just friends."

"The Sith don't have friends. They have enemies and allies. Which one are you?" It's a pointed question.

"If you put it like that, I guess I'm an ally," Astral plays along.

The older woman nods. "At least you knew from the outset what you were getting into. I didn't. I knew Sheev was trying to drum up cash and support for a run for the open junior Senate seat on Naboo. But I thought he was legit." She shakes her head and adds, "Never knew he was a Sith until much later. By then, it was too late. I loved that handsome bastard and, well, a lot had happened." Lady Sidious looks reflective again. "That was so long ago . . . We were kids. Stupid, foolish, idealistic kids out to make it big and change the galaxy." She frowns. "That was long before the Death Star."

"That weapon is an abomination," Astral condemns under her breath. Maybe it's speaking out of turn, but she feels compelled to speak the truth to this woman. Someone needs to say it.

Lady Sidious doesn't disagree with her sentiment. She just explains, "It was Sheev's Master's idea originally."

"Really?" Darth Plagueis conceived of the Death Star?

"Yes. Why?"

Astral thinks fast. "I guess I had no idea it was in the works for so long."

Lady Sidious appears satisfied with that answer. She shifts topics back to Darth Vader. "Look, we don't know each other, but I've got some good advice for you. Astral, if you aren't serious about the kid—"

"The kid?"

"Ani. Lord Vader. Guess I still think of him as the Jedi kid all these years later."

"Right."

"Anyhow, if you aren't serious about Lord Vader, then you need to get out now. Before it's too late."

"T-too late?" Astral swallows hard at this warning. Is another death threat forthcoming?

Lady Sidious is blunt. "If you don't get out right away, you're pretty much stuck. You don't get to dump a Sith. And they don't dump you. Usually, they kill you. Like Ani killed his Senator girl."

Astral bristles to Lord Vader's defense. "He didn't kill her."

The other women shoots her an 'oh, please' look. "That's not what Sheev says. I never met her myself. I just saw her on the holonet. She was one of those elected child queens they dress up like a doll and parade around making speeches while the grownups in the back rooms make all the decisions. It's a creepy custom, but Naboo still has it. I think it started out as some feelgood girl power gesture eons ago."

Astral nods along, wondering where this is going.

"Vader was a Jedi back when I met him. He came to Sheev wanting advice on his girlfriend. Wondering if he could keep it a secret. So Sheev told him about us and told him to go for it. To marry his girl and screw the fucking Jedi Code. To keep it on the down low and do what he wanted. So he did."

"Oh."

"Even then, Sheev knew Ani would be his Apprentice. He had foreseen it," Lady Sidious brags.

"Oh."

"He foresees lots of things. But he didn't foresee you," the older woman muses thoughtfully. She fixes Astral with a probing look that makes her want to squirm. "So . . . you're an art teacher?"

"Art dealer."

"Sounds fancy."

"Most of the works the auction house deals in are museum quality," Astral confirms.

"So only the good shit?" the older woman jokes.

"Er . . . yes," Astral answers diplomatically.

"I don't sell art. I sell booze and entertainment at my bars and clubs. Did he tell you?"

Astral averts her eyes as she admits, "Vanee may have alluded to some things."

"Whatever you heard, it's probably true," roguish Lady Sidious smirks proudly. "It's good to have a job," she counsels, "to have something for yourself. I don't compete with Sheev, of course. No one can. But that doesn't mean I can't achieve success in my own area." She levels Astral a frank look now. "Don't get lost in their world. It will only drag you down."

"Oh." Astral blinks at this advice from a woman in her line of work. That she seems completely sincere in her words makes the warning a little chilling. Because how exactly do you get dragged down into something worse than Underworld vice? Vanee says this woman is the queen bee of sleazy Lower Level brothels and spice dens.

The free advice keeps flowing now. "You don't want to know what they do. Death Stars, wars, assassinations, clones . . . It's best to look away. Leave the power and the politics to them. Stay in your lane with the art." Again, Lady Sidious is candid . . . and a little sheepish. "It's good to live with some denial. There's less conflict that way."

Astral speaks up now. "I know who he is."

"You think you know who he is," the Empress counters with a tone that speaks of a longtime insider's wisdom. She speaks softly under her breath but her words are very clear. "The Sith turn on everyone who trusts them sooner or later. Even you, mark my words. Betrayal is their way. Vader's like all the rest, trust me. Ani is a hot mess and always has been. Twenty years in that suit hasn't improved things, I suspect." She leans close and reiterates her earlier words: "Get out now. Before you end up dead like the wife he claimed to love who he choked to death."

"Are you trying to scare me off?" Astral asks bluntly.

"Is it working?"

"Not really."

"So, it is serious," Lady Sidious concludes. She looks a bit frustrated. "What is with women and bad boys? You're no green girl-you're too old to be making these mistakes. Do you figure you've got nothing to lose since Alderaan's gone? Is that it? You gotta death wish, art girl?" The unofficial Empress throws up her hands now. "You know, you remind me of someone. She got mixed up with a Sith and he dragged her down. She took a long fall from grace out of the Jedi Order into the Underworld on the run where I met her. Do you want to know how her story ends? Do you? It wasn't happily ever after. She's dead and her Sith Lord husband who could supposedly cheat death couldn't do a damn thing to stop it!"

Astral has nothing to say to this diatribe about people she doesn't even know. All she knows is that Darth Vader isn't the man Lady Sidious believes him to be. For all his missteps and mistakes, he's far better than Lord Sidious who she suspects is this woman's point of reference.

"So, it is serious," the older woman concludes again from Astral's prolonged, stone faced silence.

"I don't know. It could be," Astral equivocates, wanting to give nothing away.

"That's a yes. Well, fuck," Lady Sidious sighs, "don't say I didn't warn you. I hope you know what you're doing."

Astral nods and lets slip, "Me too."

"Okay, I get it," Lady Sidious backs down. "But come to me if you need help. Every now and then I can get Sheev to do what I say. But," her eyes slant to Astral with more warning, "I'm careful what I ask for."

That's an offer Astral will not be accepting. She will be keeping her distance from Lady Sidious. She doesn't trust this woman. But she nonetheless agrees, "Understood."

"Good."

Their tense conversation is interrupted when thankfully the Empress' comlink goes off. Looking annoyed, she checks it looking intent to decline the call. But seeing who it is, she accepts.

"Hey, baby," she practically purrs into the device, "you won't believe where I am and who I just met here . . ."

Are they finished? Astral decides yes. She has a pretty good guess for who's on the other end of the comcall based on the abrupt mix of fawning and tart words she overhears. It's definitely time to leave. As Lady Sidious keeps chattering, Astral takes the opportunity to slink away as fast as she can.

She heads for the nearest public transport stop. As she hops on the next vehicle heading for the Upper Level, Astral can't help but notice a lone man get on the same transport at the rear entrance. He exits her same stop too. How has she never noticed him before? Probably because on very crowded Coruscant, strangers are everywhere all the time. People are routinely walking the same places and doing the same things she does and it's purely coincidence. Except, of course, when it's not. Astral realizes that she has been oblivious to her own surveillance.

Is the man here to protect her on Lord Vader's behalf? Or does he work for Lord Sidious now? Is the Emperor keeping watch on her or Darth Vader? When Astral next sees her Dark Lord, they will definitely have a discussion about this, Astral decides.

Later that evening as she's dressing to meet an auction house client who is in town for the weekend for dinner, Astral mulls over the chance meeting with the Empress in the park. And wait—was that a chance meeting? She can't be sure. But in the interim hours, Astral has grown indignant at Lady Sidious' meddling. Was her warning a ploy to encourage her to split from Lord Vader? Were her sentiments truly well intentioned? Astral decides that it doesn't matter. Neither Lord nor Lady Sidious is going to keep her and Darth Vader apart.

Because if the experience of losing Alderaan has taught her anything, it's that no one is promised tomorrow. Without license to be reckless, you should live for today. And that means affirmatively seeking out happiness. Those mourners she saw earlier aren't ready yet for happiness. But Astral is. Her happiness wears a mask, a respirator, and four artificial limbs. It's not how she would have pictured prince charming and it's far from an ideal relationship. But as dangerous and difficult as being with Lord Vader is, he's worth it.

Moreover, Astral is keenly aware that none of the tears and speeches at today's memorial will have any lasting impact to prevent another Alderaan. But Lord Vader could. He and his Rebel son might be able to overthrow Lord Sidious with the prince's help. And then, the truth of Alderaan could be revealed to the galaxy as its new leader commits not to repeat his predecessor's excesses. Those goals—a better, more just galaxy and the overthrow of the Emperor—are worth taking risks for, Astral decides.

Now fully primped, Astral presents herself at a swank restaurant with a celebrity chef and a three week wait for reservations. She's here to meet a collector from the Mid Rim. He's the scion of a wealthy family whose industrialist entrepreneur patriarch made billions a few generations back. The family foundation invests in artwork that it likes to loan to preeminent institutions between sales. They buy and sell a lot of art with a speculator's eye for what will be the next big thing. Their longtime art advisor is retiring and the family has begun looking for a replacement. That's where Astral comes in. She's hoping that this dinner will lay the groundwork for a real job interview.

She's met her dinner companion twice before at auctions. He's a whitehaired human man in his fifties. Handsome, debonair, and polished like his pedigree, wealth, and social position would suggest. He's also charismatic. He and Astral have a good rapport and that keeps the conversation flowing.

They are partway through dinner when a commotion on the other side of the restaurant sends murmurs through the crowd of patrons. Astral, like everyone else, looks up. What she sees silences her and everyone else on the premises. There are six stormtroopers pushing their way past the flustered maitre d' with guns raised. They stride purposely into the seating area looking for someone.

"Oh my," Astral reacts as she sets down her wineglass.

"Looks like someone's getting arrested," her dinner companion says under his breath. "This is not where I'd expect to find a Rebel," he adds.

The troopers keep inspecting tables, making their way through the dimly lit bistro while two troopers stand guard at the exit. They are looking at the women, Astral realizes, as she watches more than one lady rear back in shock and surprise as a blaster is shoved into her face. This is an expensive place full of well-heeled Upper Level types. These ladies are not accustomed to being treated with suspicion. And, well, they're likely far too much a part of the Imperial Establishment to be Rebels.

And now, a sneaking suspicion dawns. They're not—they couldn't be—they won't—

"You!" A blaster is now shoved in Astral's face. "You there. Get up. Yep," the trooper decides as he compares her against a picture, "That's her. That's the hair. Dinner's over, Lady. You're coming with us."

"Excuse me?" Astral gulps, staring down the barrel of the gun. "There must be some mistake."

Her wide-eyed art collector dinner date looks horrified. "Astral—are you a Rebel?" he whispers hoarsely as he shrinks back.

"No!" If anything, she's an Imperial informant. In fact, she just betrayed the location of a bona fide Rebel outpost.

"Astral Sidhu?" the trooper with the gun in her face demands.

"Yes," she answers stiffly.

"You're coming with us. He wants you brought in. Come quietly and we'll skip the cuffs. But don't try anything. We don't set to stun."

"There must be a mistake," she sputters again. Every eye on the room is watching her now. It's humiliating. "I'm not a Rebel," she protests weakly.

"No one said you were. But we have orders to take you in." There's a white armored man at each of her elbows now. They begin to hustle her out.

"Who's your commanding officer? I demand to speak to him," Astral improvises. But she's worried that this is the hand of the Emperor at work. That he is making good on his threat. Lord Vader has somehow displeased his Master and this is the consequence. Or maybe her conversation earlier today with Lady Sidious has yielded this result. Either way, this does not bode well.

The lead trooper turns to call back at her dinner companion. "Stay away from her if you don't want trouble. Consider yourself lucky."

"What is going on?" Astral grinds out. But no one provides an explanation.

Next comes a silent, worrisome ride in a trooper transport. Astral stares out the window, swallowing her fears and blinking back tears. Where are they taking her? This isn't the way to the palace. In fact, it's the opposite direction. If she didn't know better, she'd think they were taking her home.

They are taking her home. The transport comes to a stop, hovering right adjacent to her apartment terrace. A ramp deploys and she is marched down and presented to none other than Lord Vader.

"You!" she hisses. Astral is equal parts ready to faint from relief and livid with outrage.

Ignoring her, Lord Vader commands, "Leave us," to his men. "I will summon you when needed."

The troopers aren't even gone when she accuses, "Only you could be so bold—"

"Don't act so surprised." Lord Vader crosses his arms as the night breeze lifts his cape to billow behind him. He's at his most commanding in that pose. It's very effective. "Did you think you could see other men and I wouldn't notice?"

See other men? Wait-what? Astral squints up at him. She's confused.

"Well? I await your explanation."

Her explanation? He's the one who should be explaining. Astral is indignant at her treatment. She hotly demands, "What are you doing spying on me?"

"I am protecting you."

"By assigning some guy to follow me? Were you even going to tell me?"

"Not unless you asked."

She fumes at this answer. "What else haven't you told me?"

"You know more of my secrets than anyone alive," he reminds her. "Now explain. What are you doing out—"

"That wasn't a date!" And wait—is he jealous? He is. And that's ridiculous. "That was a business dinner," she informs him.

"That's not what it looked like."

"That wasn't a date!"

"I come back here to see you and I find you're out—"

"That wasn't a date!" she screeches a third time. Astral scowls up at that inscrutable mask, wishing she could see his face. It's hard to talk to someone when you can't see their expressions to read what they are thinking. But Astral knows her own mind, and tonight she uncharacteristically lets loose. Her words are rapid and heated.

"That was essentially a job interview, I'll have you know! If I can get a position as a curator of a private collection, then I will have more flexibility on my work hours. That means I can see you more." She has to be the one to compromise her schedule. Lord Vader can't, she knows. "Tonight was for us! Because I want more time with you!" Astral gives him a dirty look she hopes fully registers as she adds, "At least I thought I did. Now, I'm not so sure."

"You don't need a job—"

"I want a job! I like to work. That collector tonight was my best lead for a new position. The auction house would love it too because I would bring them new transactions, so no bridges would be burnt. But you had to send your goons and ruin it—"

"I'll get you the job," Lord Vader grumbles. And is he sheepish? He should be. But who can tell with that hard, angular blank stare? She might as well be talking to a wall. "I'll get you the job," he stubbornly repeats as she fumes.

"How? You have ruined my credibility and embarrassed me in public! I got marched off by stormtroopers. Like some terrorist! Like a common criminal! That collector is a big art investor," she snaps. "He's probably sending my boss a message now complaining that I got arrested at dinner. Wondering what sort of business we are running—maybe even questioning if we are dealing in fakes or stolen works-"

"I can fix this. He'll hire you. I will make him hire you."

"I don't want that," Astral protests, turning away in frustration. Here she had been ready to make a big change in her life to make room for more time with Lord Vader. And this is how he acts?

"Astral, I can fix this."

"Don't bother," she sniffs. "I don't want to get hired because I'm Darth Vader's mistress and someone puts a gun to the guy's head."

"Oh, so you're my mistress now?"

Lord Vader sounds sort of amused, but she's not. It's not a title she has aspired to. She gestures to the terrace they're standing on. "This is your apartment, isn't it?"

"It's your apartment."

"That you bought for me." She sighs heavily. "I live in your apartment . . . I drive your speeder . . . I have a bank account full of your credits. How did I end up in this position?" she laments, "mistress to the man who runs the galaxy . . . "

"Want to upgrade to wife?" he angles.

"Seriously?" He's raising this issue now? This man has very ill-timed proposals. Astral puts her hands on her hips and glares up into those red eyes.

He doesn't back down. In fact, he doubles down. "It's an open offer. Just say yes."

"Oh, don't start," she waves him off, irritated by him raising the issue of marriage at a time like this. "You don't trust me. After all I have risked for you—"

"Astral—"

"I sat in a jail cell for you! How do you think that makes me feel? I'll tell you," she whirls and snarls. "Like a fool!"

She bursts into tears now as she sees both her career and her relationship suddenly slipping away. She's breaking the 'no crying' rule but she can't help it. Because it looks like Lady Sidious might get her wish and she and Lord Vader will split up. And that isn't what Astral wants.

"You don't trust me," she laments between sniffs.

"I'm afraid to lose you," he counters.

"So you spy on me—"

"I just want to protect you. There are real dangers—"

"I know! I was there when your Master threatened to kill me, remember? But this isn't protection. This is control! This is you seeing me with another man afterhours and jumping to conclusions. Because you don't trust me!" She adds, "Oh, and he is married, by the way. Just so you know—"

"This is what happens when you live long distance and you never see each other," Lord Vader blames it on their circumstances, not himself.

"I was trying to change that," she reminds him as she wipes at her eyes. "I don't like this either, you know."

Finally, he accepts the blame. Predictably, his apology is stilted and awkward. This man isn't used to accounting for his actions. "Tonight, I wanted to see you. I didn't want to wait. When you weren't here, I got worried. Then I got impatient."

"I'm not your trooper you can order around! How was I supposed to know you were in town? I don't even have a comlink to use to contact you."

"You know that's to protect us both."

"Well, don't expect me to just sit around waiting for you to show up. I have a life to lead."

"I needed to see you."

"And you couldn't wait two hours?"

"No," he persists stubbornly. "I miss you." He says this as if it excuses anything and everything.

Astral shoots him a resentful look and gripes, "I guess maybe I should be glad that you sent your troopers and you didn't just show up yourself to choke me."

It's an offhand comment, but a low blow. The instant the words leave her lips, Astral regrets them. For a long moment, there is only the sound of Lord Vader's mechanical breathing. She holds her breath as he stays silent.

Her eyes now find the floor. She went too far. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No. You shouldn't have," he growls. He's stung and it shows. She crossed a line with those reckless, bitter words. Now, he's angry too.

Astral is shamefaced. "I know you would never do that," she whispers. She's wringing her hands, miserable about how things have devolved tonight between them. This distrust and bickering are so stressful and unnecessary. But still . . . they are doing it anyway. "I know you're not that man," she chokes out, turning away as she raises a hand to wipe anew at her eyes.

Astral takes two paces before she feels his gloved hands on her shoulders. It arrests her instantly. His next words take the remaining heat out of her anger. "I knew you weren't cheating on me," Lord Vader admits. "I was disappointed you were busy and I wanted to see you. Then, when I saw the pictures at the restaurant, I was . . . envious." It's an honest, if awkward, truth.

Astral turns now to walk into his arms. Laying her head against his armor, she laments the issue that she too has chafed at. It's the reason she went to dinner tonight. "We have so little time . . ."

"I have worried you would find some man like that guy tonight. A rich guy who could give you a glittering life of luxury and leisure. All the art museums and symphony concerts together you could ever want. Astral, I can't give you that."

She speaks into his chest as his cape rustles around them both. "I don't care," she disavows a conventional relationship.

"In time, you might." His insecurities show now. Lord Vader might pretty much rule the galaxy singlehandedly, but he frets he cannot compete with an ordinary man. As extraordinary as he is, he still worries he does not measure up. It makes it hard for Astral to envision him as the arrogant Jedi he claims he once was.

"I will never be whole and breathe on my own. I'll never take you out for a night on the town. We'll never be normal, Astral." The way he says this reminds them both of the costs of his position and his allegiance. For to be Sith means to belong to history . . . and to his Master's whims. For all his immense power in the Empire and in the Force, Darth Vader has surprisingly little control of his own life. He's a public figure whose private life is very limited. They both know that will never change. "I can give you many things, but I can't give you normal," he sighs.

Does he think that matters? She nestles closer, grateful that they have reached accord. It feels so good to be back in his arms. While Astral doesn't shy away from confrontation, she never seeks out conflict. "We'll always have the egg," she smiles as she exhales.

"I'm serious. I will only bring you danger and enemies."

She lifts her head. "Your boss has already threatened to kill me, remember?" You can't really top that for danger. Hands down, Emperor Palpatine wins. "It can't get any worse than that."

"It might," he warns. Now, he starts harping on a commitment again. "Let's make it official. Let's get married. You have all the downsides of being with me. Let me give you the upsides too."

"What are those exactly?" she murmurs.

"I've got a castle in the Rim with bare walls that you can decorate."

"I am not a decorator," she grumbles. "Art is not interior design."

He doesn't dispute the point. Instead, he argues, "People might think twice about harming my wife. Not so much for a mistress."

"It won't matter to your Master," she reminds him softly. Lord Sidious apparently had no qualms about killing the first Lady Vader.

And that sad truth prompts Darth Vader to reveal news that puts his actions tonight in perspective. "Astral, he knows. Sheev knows about Luke."

"What?" She pulls back and raises a worried hand to her lips. "Oh, Gods . . . "

"He's known all along. Groat betrayed me. Sheev has known that I've been looking for Luke for months."

"He—oh, n-no . . . "

"Groat's dead."

Yes, she would expect no less. And now, Astral fully understands Lord Vader's overbearing show of force at the restaurant. His frustration with her unexpected absence. His need to dominate and to control. He's feeling weak and vulnerable. Worried for his son. Insecure for what will happen now that his replacement is known to his Master. Impatient to talk to her because Astral is the only person who knows the full truth.

"What do we do?" she asks, anxiety choking her voice. She fully appreciates what this very unfortunate development means.

He thrusts her back now and reverts to his heavy-handed tactics. "There's no 'we.' This has gotten too dangerous. You're out of this, Astral. Leave it to me." He wags a gloved finger before her nose.

"We're in this together, my Lord," she retorts. And now, they are back to bickering again.

"It's too dangerous."

"I want to help you. I'll take the risk."

"Stay out of it. You'll get yourself killed."

Ignoring this, she thinks aloud. "Maybe you shouldn't approach Luke directly when you find him," she muses. "Maybe you need an emissary. But not from the Empire. Maybe take the politics out of it and make it an overture from the family . . . like from a wife."

"Not a chance. But does that mean you accept? Are we getting married?" he wants to know.

Astral squirms. "It was just an idea—you know, to make it more like a welcome home and less like a battlefield parley-"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Both their heads now whip in unison to the side towards the sound of the newcomer's voice. It's the direction of the central terrace where now stands Darth Plagueis the Wise. Or rather, his very convincing Force projection.

Before Astral can blink, Lord Vader has reached a long arm out to whip her behind him. Then his lightsaber leaps into his hand to ignite. It's a crack, a hiss, and a flash of ruby red that hums loudly.

"Astral, get inside," Lord Vader commands.