Epilogue to the Force Games:

"It's been a long time," says Vaynich.

And it certainly has.

"They say you're going to live forever."

"Forever is such a long word," I say.

It's been fifteen years since that day at the Tribute Academy. But I barely look like I'm twenty. The force helps for that kind of thing. The force helps with everything. Palpatine had a lot of skeleton in his closet, all kinds of little projects. Artefacts. Rituals. Clones. I inherited them all. The poor man lived nearly two-hundred years. So who could say? Maybe I would live forever.

Vaynich's hair is full of grey. He's lost a little weight though, so that's something. I've kept myself lean and strong too. I sprawl across my throne, a huge black chair, my knee up over the armrest. My stately throne-room surrounds us. High ceiling, lots of black, lots of red. The gown I wear is black on the outside, red on the inside. My lightsaber, the weapon I'd taken from the Emperor himself, hangs at my belt.

I haven't killed anyone since Coy. I haven't fucked anyone since Osca. No violence, no sex, and I tend to stay out of drugs save for the occasional indulgence here and there. I drink a lot of wine though. Creature comforts.

"Knowing you, you're not overly interested in reminiscing. What have you called me here for, my empress," Vaynich asks quietly.

Empress. I never get used to hearing that. Kara Evenstern, the Chosen One, the Victor, the Child of Fire, but now mostly just the Empress of the Galactic Alliance. I called it an Alliance, at least. It made people more comfortable.

I wave a finger lazily. The datapad rises from my lap and drifts into Vaynich's hands. "You show as much restraint as ever," he says.

I'm not a Jedi, not really, I've decided. I'm certainly no Sith. I'm a self-taught force-user. The only force-user left in the Galaxy, as far as my spy network can tell me, and I'm certainly not planning on training another sensitive to take my place, or even to help around the house. It's too much power, too much temptation, too much potential. I can take it. I can handle it. But I'm going to make sure I'm the only one.

I still have Thea's holocron; still turn it on when I fancy an annoying argument. It sits in my vaults many miles below my palace on Coruscant. I built the palace myself, just the way I wanted it. That is to say I planned the whole place out. I didn't do the menial labor; the palace was made to order by the galaxy's finest manufacturers.

"What do you want me to do with this?" Vaynich asks.

"I want you to read it."

"You want me to what?"

"It's a story," I say. "My story. I want you to look. Isn't that what people do when they make stories? Make other people look at them?"

"You made this for me?"

"Oh no, I made it for me. I just want you to…see what you think. Decide if anything doesn't make sense. See if there's any grammar that disagrees with you."

"Very well," says Vaynich, and adjourns to a nearby couch. My throne room is filled with couches, people are so much more reasonable when they're comfortable. "Prologue to the Force Games," he begins.

"Silently, please."

"Right, sorry." I watch Vaynich's face. He reads. He reads for quite a while. Vaynich spends most of his time reading, my sources say. I'd offered him a job, a position. Vaynich turned it down. He fancied retirement. I could let him do that.

I'd been good to my allies. The few of them that were still alive. Zanna helped run my military. We saw each other often. My cabinet was made mostly from old Rebel leaders. The one's I could trust. I'd needed bodies. The old regime was almost entirely in prison.

I hadn't seen Primith in years. Too busy. She lived on Naboo now, working as some big-shot doctor. She was married to a man I'd never met, but that didn't stop him from putting a baby in her belly. She'd sent me a passionate message just the other day to tell me the news. It was a little jarring to notice that she looked older than me now. Primith had been very emotional, thanking me that her baby wasn't in danger, that it would never be reaped. She said I was saving a whole new generation just as I'd saved her all those years ago.

Sacrificing myself every single day.

"Well," says Vaynich, setting the datapad down. "It's certainly your voice. I'll say that much."

"And?" I ask. "Anything else."

"The ending's a bit abrupt," he says. "It might be good to show a little more of the aftermath."

"I've been meaning to put in some kind of afterward," I say.

"You should put me in it," he suggests. "I was barely in the last third at all, and I'm a very important man."

"If you say so," I nod.

"You must send me a copy when it's published," he brings me the datapad.

"Oh, I can't do that," I say. "It won't be published till long after I'm dead."

"I thought you were going to live forever."

"Then you'll be the last one to read it."

"I can live with that," he says, as he turns to go. We know each other well enough. He can tell when I'm done with him.

"There are plenty of victors in the galaxy," Vaynich tells me. "But you really were the winner."

"That's the role I play," I tell him.

I play the part, I keep the peace, I rule the place. As for me, as for what I am deep down, deep inside, I don't know anymore. I don't think I ever did. Galen would look at me and say that I'd made it. Maybe I have. The galaxy isn't such a bad prize. I keep the balance. I move the pieces to keep the board from tipping. Being Empress is all one big game.

But there are much worse games to play.

THE END