Arica sat straight up in her bunk on the Windrider. What had awakened her this time? She took a ragged breath as she recalled sensing her Master's presence. But he had ignored her pleas, punishing her with unwavering silence.

Closing her eyes, she hung her head in despair. Arica felt fear, an unaccustomed sensation for the Emperor's Hand, slither up her spine. She feared not only for her life if these rebels should find out who she really was, but for her sanity as well. It was agonizing to be away from her Master's touch. Arica needed to feel the firm caress of another Force-sensitive in her mind. She had become dependent upon the contacts with her Master, and to be without him, to be so utterly alone, was torturous.

Unwillingly, her thoughts turned to Skywalker and the strange bond the two of them possessed. Was this the way it happened between any two Force-strong people? Arica shook her head silently, instantly understanding how false that idea was. No, she had run across other Force-sensitives in doing her Master's bidding and she had never experienced this…whatever it was between her and the young farmboy from Tatooine.

The sense of anguish surrounding Arica grew more oppressive until she thought she would suffocate from it. Her chest felt tight, as though she could barely breathe and the soft interior lights of her ship's cabin blurred and began to fade.

"What is happening to me?" She almost didn't recognize her own voice. Surely that trembling tone had not come from her throat!

Skywalker! She gasped as a vision of him drowning in darkness pierced her consciousness. He's doing this somehow! Just like before. Hesitantly, Arica tried to reach out to Skywalker, to comfort him somehow in the throes of the nightmare he was having, if only to bring peace to her own mind.

The Jedi's agony was so extreme, that he never realized she was there. Arica fell sideways on her bunk and curled her knees up to her chest, a desperate cry coming from her lips. She was going to die! The misery pervaded her senses so thoroughly, she almost wanted to die.

Just when Arica thought she could handle no more, another presence flitted across her perception. It was vague and unfocused, certainly not as strong as Skywalker's, but definitely Force-sensitive. And he seemed to be responding to it. Arica gulped in a huge lungful of air as the torment began to lessen and she could breathe easily again.

Rolling over on her bunk, Arica flopped onto her back to stare at the ceiling of her ship. A shaky sigh shuddered through her weary body and she briefly closed her eyes. At least, she thought it was only briefly. Sleep must have somehow claimed her again, because a startling wave of warmth that flooded her senses caused Arica to snap her eyes open in surprise.

She was fairly certain that she had been asleep. Was she still asleep and dreaming? It was a pleasant dream, if that were so, and Arica didn't have many of those. The feeling of warmth skated over her body again, almost feeling like a lover's hand caressing her skin. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as a particularly strong sense of pleasure rippled across her belly and upwards over her chest. She could swear she felt heated lips making that trail.

A nagging impression of something wrong about what she was feeling finally penetrated the fog surrounding Arica's thoughts. What is this? she wondered in confusion just as a sensation of Skywalker's presence overwhelmed her once again. He wasn't alone. Arica could still sense the essence of the other Force-sensitive being entwined with the one that she recognized as Skywalker's. A blush crept over her face as she suddenly understood exactly what was happening.

"Kreth! Does the idiot have absolutely no concept of shielding?" she muttered angrily.

Attempting to block the farmboy and his lover proved fruitless. His emotions were so intense - even the good ones apparently - that she could not bar her awareness of them. Arica growled in frustration as she stalked a small circle in her cabin. Moving around seemed to help a little. Or so she thought until an intense wave of bliss nearly made her knees buckle.

Her tiny whimper echoed through the cabin as Arica brought her hands up to cover her flushed cheeks. I can't bear this! That's it. To hell with what my Master wants, I'm going to go kill that fool right now! The moment the thought entered her head, Arica turned and started for the hatch of her ship, intending to act upon it immediately.

The hangar of the Home One was silent, as the ship was in its sleep cycle. There was still a skeleton crew commanding it, of course, but most of the occupants were slumbering peacefully. Exactly where she would be if it weren't for an annoying pseudo-Jedi who couldn't control his emotions.

Skywalker was still in the medbay, so Arica started determinedly in that direction, not even pausing to get a weapon. No, she was going to strangle him with her bare hands. She had barely reached the hangar bay doors when she had to suffer through another powerful wave of feeling radiating through her body. Helplessly, Arica leaned her forehead against the wall, bracing herself with her hands as she let out a low moan.

"Hey, that you, Arica? You okay?" a slightly slurred voice spoke from somewhere behind her.

She jerked around in shock, appalled to realize she had let someone sneak up on her. Arica's irritation only increased when she saw who it was.

Solo. It would have to be Solo. That's just great!

Han was certainly not drunk. He was feeling pretty good about the credits he had just won in a sabacc game with Lando, Wedge and a few of the other Rogues. Han's bitter anger at Calrissian had lessened a little, but he still wasn't quite ready to call the Baron 'friend' again yet. However, Han had forgiven Lando enough to take his money quite happily.

Part of the reason he was feeling good was that the headaches had vanished for the most part. Hell, even the nightmares about being frozen in carbonite were getting better. A wiser man might have attributed that to the drinking every night so he wouldn't dream, but he was definitely not drunk.

The thought that he might be wrong about his state of soberness occurred to him as he squinted his eyes at the sight in front of him. Maybe I am drunk. Because surely that was not Arica Alie leaning against the hangar wall wearing nothing but a sleeveless top and a tiny pair of shorts and…she was moaning? If this was a drunken dream, Han most assuredly liked it better than the ones about the carbonite.

At the moment, Han could not recall why he and Mara had been wary of the petite brunette. Thoughts of Arica being dangerous were the farthest thing from his mind as he unashamedly inspected this view of her. A frown crossed his face at the sudden realization that she might be ill.

Great, Solo, here you are checking out her cute little rear and she's probably about to puke all over the place. Mara's constant scolding on his cavalier attitude towards women must have had more effect than he thought as a vague feeling of guilt stirred in his head. He supposed he should check to make sure that Arica was all right.

"Hey, that you, Arica? You okay?"

The speed with which she whipped around made Han's head swim and he hadn't even been the one moving.

"Solo," she said through very tightly clenched teeth.

Han was absolutely starting to rethink the idea that he might be a little drunk. Arica's customary scowl was on her face, but he noted that there seemed to be a bit of panic in her eyes. That didn't fit with the impression he'd formed of her. He leaned in closer to her - or it might have been that he swayed on his feet, he wasn't quite sure - and looked her in the eye. Apparently startled, she lurched backwards until she was leaning on the hangar wall again. But at least this time I get to check out the front view, he thought with a smirk. Then he remembered that she might be about to be sick.

"Are you gonna puke?"

"Go away, Solo!" she fairly growled at him.

"I'm just askin'. Cause if you're gonna puke, I don't think I wanna see it. I'm not feelin' too good myself, y'know."

"You're drunk, you worthless smuggler."

"I am not!" he said, highly offended that she would think so. Much, he added to himself.

She let out a sarcastic laugh and sneered at him. "You can barely stand."

"I'm standin' better than you are right now," he shot back. "So, are you gonna puke or not?"

"Watch your mouth or you might find my fist in it," Arica threatened.

"Ooh, I'm really scared now," Han drawled as he held his hands up and waggled his fingers at her mockingly. He really wasn't sure why he was taunting her so, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. There was something about her that begged him to either slap her or kiss her. Actually, he wasn't sure which one would get the more violent reaction.

"Why, you low-down, stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking…" she sputtered to a stop as though she couldn't think of a name vile enough to call him. "Nerf-herder!"

"Who's scruffy-lookin'?" He put on his best mock-offended face. "Is that the best you got, Princess?"

"I'll show you the best I got, smuggler!"

With that, she balled up her fist and jerked her arm back, launching herself away from the wall at the same time. Han stumbled back a pace, but before her fist could make contact with his face, Arica's gaze went unfocused and she moaned again.

Instead of dealing with a potential black eye, Han found himself catching her and keeping her from falling to the floor. He looked down at the top of her head in bewilderment. Arica was gripping his shirt in both hands, rubbing her face in his chest, odd little sounds that could have been whimpers or moans coming from her throat.

Han was very confused. Perhaps she had been drinking? All his normal instincts and insights into women seemed to have vanished and he found himself at a loss as to what to do with her. Maybe she really did have some weird illness.

"Uh, Arica?" he mumbled, not even sure exactly what he was going to ask her.

At the sound of his voice, she jerked her head backwards and Han automatically caught it with one hand, half-worried that she might have broken her neck otherwise. Han was suddenly acutely aware of just how closely he was holding her, his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, pressing her tightly against his body.

"You have such beautiful eyes," she whispered. Instantly, she looked mortified to have said such a thing.

Han's smooth tongue must have deserted him along with everything else, or maybe it was the drinks. Yes, he could blame it on being just slightly drunk. Either way, his reply left a lot to be desired in terms of eloquence.

"Huh?"

Arica bit her lip as she seemed to be debating something in her own mind. Fascinated, he watched the play of emotions across her face. He had the feeling that not many people saw Arica Alie this vulnerable.

"I want to kiss you, Han," she said abruptly.

"Hey, you and a lot of women, sweetheart," he said with a cocky grin. There, nice to know that his wits hadn't completely abandoned him. And maybe he was beginning to sober up a bit, because Han remembered that there was something about her that was supposed to make him wary of her. "But that's-"

The small hands clutching his shirt unexpectedly yanked him down as she raised her face and met his mouth unerringly with her own. All thoughts of wariness - and soberness for that matter - instantly flew right out of his head. Han was certainly no novice when it came to the opposite sex, but kissing Arica ignited a fire inside him that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

Her arms snaked around his neck and she molded herself to him so completely that if felt as though they were one being. Han had no idea how long that kiss lasted, but when she finally pulled away, they were both gasping for air. Their faces were still only centimeters apart and her gaze was locked onto his. The electricity of the moment sparked between them and Han was unsure whether he was going to be charged or burned by it.

"Where's your ship, Solo?" she asked, her voice soft, yet intent.

The voice of reality tried to speak up in the back of Han's mind. While he was struck by how right this felt, that voice told him there was something so wrong about it at the same time.

"I don't think-"

Her lips cut him off again and he had to admire the fact that she'd found a method of persuasion that he very definitely liked. This kiss was gentler and when it ended - or maybe it just paused, because she kept her mouth close enough to his that they were almost still touching - she spoke in a voice husky with desire.

"That's the problem, Solo. You're thinking too much. Now's not the time for thinking."

"Ah, hell," Han muttered and pulled her warm body even tighter against his own as he kissed her again. Standing straight up, he lifted her off her feet, their bodies still plastered together, their mouths never breaking contact. As smooth as silk, her legs wrapped around his waist, and she locked her ankles behind his back. Han allowed all thoughts of refusing her to seep away as he carried her back to the Falcon, his steps sure-footed.

The men of the red-robed Royal Guard were well-used to hearing outbursts of temper from their Emperor, especially since this rebellion had stepped up its pace and actually begun to win a few victories here and there. Still, the last time Palpatine had been this enraged was right after the first Death Star had been destroyed. The Royal Guard were renowned for their ability to remain cold and impassive in the face of anything that might threaten their Emperor, but one or two of them were sorely tempted to flinch at the explosions of anger coming from the Imperial throne room.

Emperor Palpatine eventually tired of taking his anger out on the inanimate objects in his immediate vicinity. Luckily for his advisors, none of them were present at the moment or the focus of his rage might have strayed from non-living items to very-much-breathing ones.

He cursed the day he had ever heard the name Anakin Skywalker. Yes, the boy had been the Chosen One and the only one who could have helped Palpatine carry out his plans of domination, but the man had become a serious thorn in his side. Thinking back on it, he should have found another way to turn the boy besides using the beautiful young Senator Amidala of Naboo to fuel the young man's rage.

If not for her, he wouldn't have to be dealing with yet another Skywalker who was interrupting his plans. He almost wished he had let Amidala live so he could kill her at this moment, when his rage was so hot that it burned him up from the inside. Only the boy's potential in the Force appeased Palpatine's anger. The son of Skywalker was strong in the Force, at least as much so as his father, and he was practically untrained. The Emperor nearly salivated at the thought of what he could do with the boy's raw power.

A frown crossed his face as his thoughts turned to the last Skywalker, the one who didn't even know she was a Skywalker. Never before had she failed him so miserably. Such a simple task - bring the boy to him, alive and unharmed - and she had become inexplicably incompetent.

Oh, yes, he had heard the mewling little pleas to be recognized when he'd attempted to pull the boy into his web, but he had ignored them, punishing Leia for her lack of skill and worth. Even so, Palpatine had decided to leave her there and give her the opportunity to salvage the botched mission. He had foreseen the girl bringing her brother before him and it would happen. Of that, he was certain.

Thinking of the son of Skywalker again and his failed attempt to snare the boy's vulnerable mind, Palpatine recalled the presence of the unknown Force-user. To think that one of the rebels - who had seriously begun to annoy him with their very existence - was a Force-sensitive! Did his traitorous Apprentice know of this one as well? The Emperor was well aware of Vader's 'offer' to his son at Bespin. He pondered whether this was another of Vader's plans to usurp his Master's throne. No matter, he thought. It will not work. The boy will be mine. He will turn, he will kill his father, and he will take his place at my side!

Obviously, this unknown person was important to the boy somehow. Once he had the child under his control, Palpatine could send young Skywalker after whomever it was. Then he could either use the other as he saw fit, or eliminate them.

Relaxing back into his throne, Palpatine allowed himself a satisfied laugh. Lord Vader thought he could get the better of his Master? The fool had no idea whom he was dealing with!

Moff Jerjerrod swallowed nervously and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. "The Death Star will be operational as planned, my Lord."

"The Emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation," Darth Vader intoned as he swept his gaze over the troops assembled in the hangar of the Death Star.

"I fear he asks the impossible. I need more men," Jerjerrod said with a hint of desperate urgency in his voice.

"Perhaps you can ask that of the Emperor when he arrives," Vader said as he turned his gaze back to the anxious man in front of him.

"The Emperor is coming here?" Jerjerrod gulped and Vader would have known what the man was thinking if he'd been Force-blind. The Dark Lord is bad enough, but the Emperor himself?

Vader could practically taste the man's panic. "Yes, and you had better be correct about your estimation of the Death Star's readiness, Commander. The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am."

Without giving the Imperial officer a chance to reply, Vader spun and strode purposefully towards his chambers. The moment his attention was not occupied with the business of being a high-ranking officer in the Empire, his mind turned immediately to his son. He had not dared attempt reaching out to Luke after that too-brief touch earlier. Palpatine was undoubtedly already suspicious of his Apprentice's motives.

Just because he couldn't take the risk of contacting Luke didn't mean the boy wasn't foremost in his thoughts. Vader found that he had a difficult time thinking of anything else and part of him was appalled at this weakness. A different part of him found himself wondering the most inane things. What had his son been like when he was growing up? Had he been a serious child or had he been a little imp?

The first Death Star trench had shown him without a doubt that Luke was an accomplished pilot. Deep down inside, there was an incredible sense of pride at his son's obvious talent, even if it had cost his Master his pet project.

Still, he wondered who had taught his son to fly and some treacherous part of him wished that it could have been himself. As he reached his chambers, Vader paused outside the door as a vision - or was it a dream? - flooded his mind.

A tall, handsome, healthy man sat in the cockpit of a ship. On his lap sat a blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy, about five standard years old. The man was trying to point out the instruments on the console, but the boy kept making him laugh by making funny faces.

"Luke, you had better take this seriously or you'll never learn to fly," the man scolded with a smile.

"Oh, Daddy, I'm gonna be just like you. I'll be a great pilot!"

The boy turned around in his father's lap and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Anakin responded by putting his mouth on Luke's cheek and blowing loudly, making a sound the boy's mother would find slightly offensive.

"Zerbert!" Anakin shouted as Luke giggled and squealed and tried to squirm away.

The vision/dream faded and Vader found he was leaning forward, bracing himself with one hand against the door of his chambers. If the armor had allowed him to gasp for breath, he would have been doing so. As it was, the hated regulator continued to whoosh in and out as it had always done.

"No, that is just a ridiculous fantasy. I am Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. Anakin Skywalker is dead!" Abruptly realizing that he was still standing in the corridor, in full view if anyone should happen by, he swiftly opened the door and lurched inside his chamber.

Damn the boy! Luke was making him feel things, think things that he hadn't in years. With a sense of quiet desperation, Vader focused on the anger at the child who so reminded him of who and what he used to be. Yes, Luke - no, he would not even allow himself that - the son of Skywalker was a weakness that he must purge from his thoughts. The boy was a tool and nothing more. Vader would not allow him to be anything more.

He had sworn that the boy would join them or die. Ruthlessly, he let that thought resonate in his head as he clenched his fists. If the son of Skywalker could not be of use to him in his plan to depose his Master, then he would destroy the youngling.

As if from a distance, he could hear the echo of Anakin Skywalker's laughter and the sound mocked him.