Author Note: My dear readers, I am SO sorry for taking a long, long break in finishing up this story! I got super duper distracted with other writing.

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The Whispers Network Studio

Imperial Center

2 weeks later

Cristen Chandler gazed mournfully into the mirror which reflected back, in stark detail, her currently loathsome look. Her hair was a thoroughly boring black. Her face was made up so that she was as pale as a ghost, but not a Force ghost because Force ghosts have color. Not that Cristen knew that.

Her clothing was, at least, quite fashionable, if extremely sedate. She was dressed in dark blue with a simple black shawl over it.

"You have ten minutes before your show begins," her preparation droid suddenly announced in what was meant to be a warm tone. Cristen sighed and nodded, even as she considered changing the droid's voice again. Every option seemed annoying in some way or another. The male voices were too commanding, the female voices were either strident or huffy or, in this case, reminded Cristen of an irritating neighbor when she grew up. The lady in question might have had good intentions, but she thought Cristen was too tall for her age and kept lecturing her in a syrupy voice. What was Cristen supposed to do, put a durasteel brick on her own head?

She took one last look at herself in the mirror and strode out the door and into the studio, where she stopped in bewildered horror. When she had been in the room some 45 minutes previously, the place had been its usual hum of activity and hot caf. Now all was silent save for the harsh breathing of the Emperor of the galaxy himself, Darth Vader, who was standing against one wall of the studio, his black armor a startling contrast to the white paint. Prince Luke Vader, also in unremitting black, stood next to his gigantic father. Next to the prince was Mara Jade, his current flame, dressed in a green dress. And in a small knot near the main window of the studio stood Princess Leia Organa in white, the dashing and roguish Han Solo wearing a tan shirt and pants with Corellian bloodstripes, and the princess's parents, Queen Breha and her consort, Bail Organa of Alderaan, both in sedate blue...

Cristen felt herself pale and she swayed. Perhaps if she was really lucky, she would fall over in a dead faint and be executed before she woke up.

"Host Chandler?" Luke Vader said, smiling winsomely and stepping forward. "Our apologies for hijacking your broadcast. Your guest for today, Ransome Quiltratz, graciously decided to step aside for us."

"Of course he did," Cristen's producer declared, his lekku twitching with excitement. "Cristen, you have one minute 'til broadcast. You'd better take your place!"

Cristen shot a betrayed look at her producer. Naturally he was thrilled that the Emperor and his son and his son's various romantic partners had shown up for a show – the ratings would be through the hydrosphere. And if she were to be strangled on live Holonet, so much the better! From a ratings perspective, that is.

Still, she was a professional, and she managed to make her way to her krayt leather dragon chair and sank down in it without falling out in a dead faint. On a day like this, she would count that a win.

"Good afternoon, Holobeings across the galaxy!" she exclaimed with a flash of white teeth, "we have very special guests today, Emperor Vader and his son and heir, Prince Luke, plus Princess Leia Organa, her parents, Queen Breha and her consort, Bail Organa..."

Already, things were falling apart. For some reason, her introductions seemed to antagonize the great Darth Vader, whose great hands were noticeably clenching. Cristen trailed away and wondered, clinically, when her throat would close up.

"Thank you, Host Chandler," Luke Vader finished cheerily, though the glare he threw towards his great sire seemed like a warning, somehow. "Hey, everyone, why don't we sit down!"

"I prefer to stand," the Emperor boomed frigidly.

"Fine," the prince replied. "None of these chairs look quite up to your weight anyway. Leia, why don't you sit down on that couch there with your parents and your man. Mara, have a seat next to me..."

Cristen, in spite of her terror, felt her reporter senses tingling. Han Solo had been seen frequently in the company of the young princess of Alderaan, but a little investigation had shown the man was a former scrumrat from Corellia; it seemed entirely impossible that Organa's fling could be serious, but based on Prince Luke's light words, perhaps the romance was ...

"So," Leia Organa said brightly, leaning forward on the couch to spear Cristen with her gaze, "you may remember that some months ago, one of your enterprising reporters recorded my dinner with Prince Luke at Dex's Diner?"

"Yes," Cristen said cautiously.

"And then you threw it up on the galaxy's most famous gossip show and broadcast our relationship to the ends of the Outer Rim?"

"Yes," Cristen agreed dismally. She was going to die.

"So that was kind of annoying," Luke chimed in, "for a variety of reasons. But we really need to set the record straight. Leia and I are not, and never have been, romantically involved. We are actually biological twins and the Emperor is thus Leia's genetic father."

"But not the people who raised me," Leia declared firmly, her eyes on her looming, armored sire. "Bail and Breha are my true parents..."

The Sith Lord stepped forward, his body rigid with outrage. "No, I am your father."

The princess leaped up at these words and strode over to the Emperor, lifting one imperious finger to poke the cyborg in the blinking chest plate. "You are my biological sire, and I acknowledge and even find pleasure the legacy of the Skywalkers. But the Organas..."

"Stole you from me..."

"Kept me safe from Palpatine!"

"Erm, Father, Leia, I think perhaps you need to calm down a bit," Luke Vader said firmly, looking a little frantic. The youth gestured with both hands towards his sister and sire and they openly relaxed.

"What?!" Cristen finally sputtered, her brain having taken a full minute to catch up with this extraordinary scene.

"It is really quite simple," the prince of the Empire said with his winsome smile. "Our mother tragically died shortly after giving birth to me and Leia, and our father was badly injured at about the same time. In fact, most people thought he was dead. So some relatives took me in, and the Organas took in Leia, to keep us both safe from Palpatine, who would have been more than a little freaked out with baby Skywalkers crawling around. We are strong in the Force, you see."

"Ok," Cristen continued, struggling to keep up.

"But now Palpatine is dead, and we're just one little happy family, except that of course it is complicated because I was raised by my aunt and uncle and Leia was raised by the Organas, so yeah, it is complex. But Leia and I are really happy that we are together again after being separated for years."

"That is wonderful," his hostess quavered.

"It is indeed," Vader intoned suddenly, "for all that, as my son says, there are challenges associated with the princess's role as both heiress to Alderaan and one of the joint heirs of the Empire itself."

"That can all be worked out at a future date," Leia announced firmly, her Force sense suddenly broadcasting a merry miasma of mischief. "In the meantime, I have an exciting surprise for my brother and father. With the assistance of Mara Jade, my brother's fiancée, I have arranged for an interpretive dance composed of performers from our family's planets of origin: namely, Naboo, where our mother was born and reigned as queen, Tatooine, where my father and brother hated sand, and Alderaan."

Cristen's eyes shifted from the princess to the prince, and caught the widened eyes of horror, followed by an indignant glare at the woman at his side.

"Interpretive dance?" Vader boomed incredulously, so loudly that everyone jumped a little.

"Yes," the princess answered haughtily. "If there is one thing that has quite escaped the attention of both you and my twin brother, it is an appropriate respect for the arts. Thus, I have taken upon myself to introduce some degree of artistic refinement into the Imperial court. Mara?"

Prince Vader's stunned expression shifted to one of awed delight as the red headed woman made her way onto the adjacent stage, just as several doors opened a host of dancers, both male and female, filed in, dressed in myriad colors presumably indicative of their planets or origin.

Within a minute, music began and the dancers began jumping and twirling and swaying to the music. Cristen, herself an amateur dancer of dubious skill, allowed herself a full minute to enjoy the spectacle before her reporter's instincts pulled her gaze toward the royal family.

Leia Organa (Vader?) was arm in arm with Solo, her face was serene.

Luke Vader's eyes were fixed on the lithe form of Mara Jade, who was, Cristen realized with a throb of envy, a very accomplished dancer indeed.

The Emperor...

The Emperor stood tall and ominous and looming, and while his face was of course hidden by the black helmet, his rigid posture screamed irritation.

Cristen smiled and looked back at Prince Vader. Assuming she survived the night, the upcoming weeks and months were going to be very newsworthy indeed.