Disclaimer: See prologue.

Thank you to those who read and/or reviewed; I appreciate it a lot.

Kizuna: Vader's? Don't you think Mara's a little young for him? No, she's Luke's daughter.


Part I

Six years ago...

Had he been on a planet, it would have been night. However, he was not; he was, in fact, in space. The Rebel Alliance never slept – it would not have been the most practical thing to do with half the Imperial Navy on their tail, so the enlisted beings worked in shifts. Commander Luke Skywalker, also known as Rogue Leader, pathetic excuse of a Jedi stifled s yawn as he made his way to his quarters. He had just returned from a dull, monotonous escort mission – it was amazing how such an easy task could exhaust just about anyone. Then again, doing anything for ten hours straight had that sort of effect.

He blinked, torn from his musings as he was crashed into by a grey blur topped with a fiery ball of red hair, finding himself sprawled on the floor. Dazed, he scrambled to his feet, then offered his hand to the woman still collapsed on the deck. Grudgingly, she took it, favoring him with a dirty look, as if he had been the one to run her over.

"You alright?" He asked. The redhead arched an eyebrow, frowning.

"Yeah. Fine," Her reply was a tone of flat sarcasm. "Next time, you watch where you're going."

"Right," he muttered as she haughtily strode off. Never mind the fact that she had bumped into him and, at least according to her lack of insignia, he outranked her. Under normal circumstances, he would have smirked at the thought of pulling rank on someone – more often than not, he still felt like an idiot farmboy with the sand of Tatooine still caked on his boots. However, he rarely laughed anymore. The past few months had erased that part of him.

Mara scowled as she walked away, or rather appearedto walk away - as soon as she turned a corner, she stopped. Great. One of those condescending, oh-so-gentlemanly types. She knew it was silly of her to be picky about her victims – they were victims; there was no use trying to cover it with frills – but some subjects she found absolutely repulsive. Such was the case of that Skywalker. Mara was quite adept at reading personalities, and he seemed to be one of those pseudo-sweet types who could stab you in the back when you least expect it. Or at least that was what she had deduced from what she had read in his file.

She had done her homework, that was certain, and the crimes listed were enough to make her flinch. That was saying something, because there were very few things that could trigger such a reaction from Mara. She knew she would have to be very careful when dealing with the subject – he was a tough one; very resourceful at that. So she would make it quick and efficient and await further orders.

Mara had been sent by his Highness to pose as Rebel scum and kill Skywalker. That was what she assumed she was to do. She had not received precise orders to assassinate him, but had merely been instructed to release a specific creature, one of Palpatine's own ghastly creations – Oh yes, she was aware of the Emperor's dark agenda – into the Jedi's quarters. She fingered the vial in her breast pocket. Inside was a spindly armored arachnid that cast off an odd violet-gray glow. Just keeping it close to her body sent shivers down her spine.

Mara glanced around the corner. The coast was clear; it was now safe for her to follow him. Relatively. Even if he did spot her, it was not very likely that he would recognize her as a threat. And that would be his downfall. He would probably not become aware of the fact until the very last moment…Mara almost felt for him. Almost. Not enough to keep her from her duty.

Minutes – hours? – passed as Mara waited for him to fall asleep, her patience slowly waning. Although her Force skills were feeble – Palpatine claimed it – she could still sense whether he was conscious. Finally…You'd think he's insomniac. For all she knew, it was more than likely that he was. Who could blame him? What sane being would not have sleepless nights with the slaughter of countless others weighing down on them? She knew the feeling well.

Quickly, silently and effectively hotwiring the lock, Mara slipped into the room without a single noise – stealth learned through many hours of training.The room was dark and dingy, with bare, cracked walls and a rusted metal floor. Not surprising; the Rebel ship was an older model – perhaps from a time before the rise of the Empire. But it did not look like it had been lived in. it did not feel like it had been lived in.

She would have dismissed it as unused if it weren't for the young man sprawled on the cot…her target. He was shirtless but still had his fatigues on, boots and socks thrown on the floor. His hair clung to his face in damp strands. He slept fitfully, eyes moving beneath their lids.

He looked a lot younger in his sleep, possibly younger than her. He seemed boyishly innocent. Mara had read in his file that he was twenty-one, the same age as her. Mara knew that he was no longer a boy and was far from innocent. One thing she had to admit was that he was quite attractive. More like downright gorgeous…

Mara shook herself awake. Where had that come from? It did not matter. He was a mass murderer and she had been sent there to destroy him. You hypocrite. Not that much of an angel yourself, are you, Jade? She sighed, trying to pay no heed to the nasty whisper of a thought at the back of her mind. Jade gingerly withdrew the vial from her pocket. She felt a sudden, strong urge to let go of it as the thing inside wriggled.

Why was she being so squeamish? Usually she was not at all bothered by insects. Something about this one felt sinister. It's your imagination. Get it over with. Mara crept closer to Skywalker and delicately uncapped the vial. The creature skittered out, onto his sheets. It was only a matter of time before it would bite. It felt wrong. She did not care. Time to die, Jedi.

It crawled onto his neck. Then it disappeared somewhere under the cot. Blood trickled from the puncture wound where tiny fangs had sunk deep into the flesh. She threw one last glance at her doomed victim and turned to leave, but something froze her to the floor. She failed to tear her eyes away from his sleeping form. All she wanted was to drink in the sight; never leave his side…Wake up. She did not know whom the frantic mental words were directed at. Her gaze was fixed on the (dead) man before her.

His handsome features would haunt her long after his death. Why did it matter? He was just another name to add to her expanding list. Just another face to stare back at her in her in her dreams. Just another voice to accuse her in her sleep. Just another soul to disturb her conscience…Forget him. He is nothing to you. Mara did not care. He was a bloodthirsty killer. Just like you.

Why were her hands trembling? Why did she feel so cold and dead inside? Why did her throat tighten? Why was looking at him suddenly unbearable? Yet she still stared…Unconsciously she had edged closer. Are you mad? That thing is still under there! She ignored her own mental warning. Irrational yet overwhelming desire crept into her mind. And she gave in. She bent down, kissing him on the lips.

Flustered, she withdrew and backed away. What had possessed her to kiss the dirty little frack's corpse? Stupid. Squeezing her eyes shut, Mara turned and disappeared from sight. Orders were orders. She had the rest of the mission, whatever it was, to carry out. She did not care.


Comments? Criticism? Death threats?