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The Assignment

by Devi (mathura108@yahoo.de)

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Summary: Mara Jade receives her assignment to kill Luke Skywalker

Place in the timeline: Starting right after ESB, ending during RotJ. Differs from the official EU in some points.

Rating: a strong PG-13, I’d say

Disclaimer: G.L. owns Star Wars, I’m merely having fun with it. No money is made out of this. (As if anyone would want to pay me for the stuff I’m churning out!)

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Darth Vader waited on his knees until Palpatine addressed him. No-one would dare to speak to the Emperor unless first spoken to by him, not even Lord Vader himself. Especially not Lord Vader. The Emperor was the Master, he was the Apprentice; and a Sith Apprentice’s lot was absolute loyalty and submission. That was the price to pay for admission to a life that was filled with the promise of power and more power; a life built on the premise that the strong were always right; and should enjoy their right, unbridled by the moral restraints that bound those whom a true servant of the dark side would only see as unworthy, weak creatures.

"Welcome back, Lord Vader", the Emperor said. Vader noted that he hadn't said "you may rise" as he would usually do, so he remained on his knees. Better not to provoke his Master in any way, especially not in the light of what he knew the Emperor would ask him next. "Why is it that you haven't brought the young Skywalker?" "Forgive me, my Master. My son escaped." "Escaped?", the Emperor asked, his voice still low as usual (a person in his position did not need to shout), but bordering on an angry hiss, "How was that possible?" "This traitor Calrissian. He and Princess Organa helped my son to flee. Needless to say he will pay for it, my Master."

"So I take it that Leia Organa has escaped, too?" Now the Emperor was *really* angry. The young Princess was someone he had wanted captured for a long time. It was not only that she was one of the leaders of the Rebellion. There was also something about her as a person which enraged him.

Maybe it was her striking resemblance to Padmé Naberrie Skywalker, not only in her features, but in her brave spirit as well. Once the Queen of his homeworld Naboo, Padmé had been one of the many that Palpatine had used to ascend to political power, then discarded when no longer useful. She had not been easy to discard, however, possessing a great measure of intelligence and courage, which she had apparently passed on to her son Luke, who – despite his youth – was already more trouble than he was worth, as far as the Emperor's opinion was concerned.

Or maybe it was the fact that - judged by what he had sensed about her - she could well be Force sensitive, though not aware of it. The Emperor didn't want too many Force sensitives around; and definitely none that weren’t under his strict control.

"Yes, my Master. Please forgive me. It was due to a combination of circumstances which I couldn't foresee...", Vader said. His tone was controlled, but on the inside he was slightly fearful, just like the Emperor liked to keep him. "That sounds like you want to say that it was bad luck.", the Emperor hissed, "But there is no such thing as luck. There’s only the strong, and the weak. “Yes, Master.” Vader bowed his head, trying to look as humble as possible.

So Organa – and Skywalker – had escaped… *again*. No, the Emperor didn’t believe in luck; but his Apprentice’s inability to capture the two young Rebels, and to *keep* them captive, was far too persistent to still seem natural. “Now tell me,” Palpatine asked, his voice calm but with a threatening edge to it, “is it that they escaped - or that you *let* them escape?".

“I didn’t “let” anyone, Master.”, Vader replied, now definitely feeling uneasy, “I *fought* with my son. Here’s the proof.” He snapped open a small metal box that he had brought with him. Inside of it, bedded on crushed ice, there was a human hand. “Your son’s?”, the Emperor asked. “Yes.”, Vader replied handing the box to his Master. “And here’s another thing that belonged to him.” Vader handed the object – a lightsaber – to the Emperor, who immediately recognized it. “Ah, your old lightsaber. You finally got it back.”

“Please keep it, Master.” No, Lord Vader did not want the saber back, ever. It was too connected with memories of the fateful battle with Obi-Wan that had made him into what he was. Obi-Wan, the once-beloved teacher he had grown to hate; the man who had hidden his son from him – how could anyone do that, deny a father his child? – and had, by cunning deception, taught that son to hate him…

//He told me you killed him.// Luke’s voice as he shouted those words at him still reverberated in Vader’s head; and the accompanying image of his son, his face distorted by pain and fear and rage as the wind tore at him, was as present in the Dark Lord’s mind as if it had been etched in with a laser.

//That was so much like him!// Darth Vader’s rage against Obi-Wan Kenobi, that had never abated even after the Jedi Master’s death, but rather grown for lack of a target to let it out on, welled up once again; and just as always when he got angry, he felt his anger filling him with strength and delight like a sweet intoxicant. //It wasn’t enough for him that he had taken Padmé from me – got her to turn against her own husband. No, he even had to take the only child she had given me – *my* son, my heir – and forge him into a weapon to be used against the Empire. And send him to kill me, yes, to kill me with *my own* lightsaber that this man who had assumed the position of my teacher, who had expected me to trust and follow him, had picked up to keep it like a *trophy* while I was burned in the lava!”//

//But what else could be expected of a Jedi?//, Vader thought. He was satisfied, yes, satisfied that he had hunted and killed them all; and even more satisfied that he had killed Kenobi last, so that he had to watch all the other Jedi fall, one by one. All of them. Except for Yoda - but he was old and would soon die the natural way, if he wasn’t dead already. *And Luke.*

Palpatine weighed the lightsaber in his hand for a moment, then casually put it away. “No more failures. You’ll bring young Skywalker here, alive and unharmed. He won’t be of any use to us if you bring him in *pieces*.” – he took the cut off hand from the box with two fingers and held it up for emphasis – “Is that understood?” Vader nodded. “Yes, Master.” “You may leave, Lord Vader.” The Dark Lord bowed, deeply, and departed, leaving his Master alone with his thoughts.

The Emperor still kept the little box with Luke Skywalker’s hand on his lap, silently regarding the artefact that was so strange, so peculiar with its contrast between the beautiful shape of the slender fingers; and the ghastliness of the dead skin, and the scorched flesh with little drops of congealed blood at the end where Vader’s blade had severed it from the body. The hand looked fragile, almost tiny. //Yet this was the hand that destroyed the Death Star.//

Suddenly, a thought went through the Emperor’s brain like a flash of lightning: With his hand already cut off, without a weapon, Luke Skywalker should have been an easy kill. And yet he lived! The only reason that could exist for that was that Vader had *allowed* him to live. Allowed him to live even after he had refused to surrender to the dark side. //And he said that he would join us or die…//

An ice-cold storm of anger arose inside the Emperor’s dark heart. Vader, his foremost servant whom he had exalted above all else, his Apprentice whom he had taught the secrets of the Sith, *Vader himself* had broken a promise that he had given to him! And if his feelings for his son could make him betray his Master once, it could happen again…

How foolish he had been not to think about this possibility! The Emperor knew how strongly Anakin Skywalker, the man that Vader once was, had loved Padmé Amidala. Wasn’t it to be expected that his feelings for Padmé’s son would also be strong?

Yet he had thought that Vader had just the good of the Empire in mind when he had suggested that young Skywalker should be turned not killed, when in fact he had wanted to preserve the life of his son because he wanted *what*? To have an heir to the throne? The throne on which he would want to sit…

There could only be two Sith, always two. One Master and one Apprentice… The Emperor had taken young Anakin for his Apprentice, always knowing that it was like raising a young Nek battle dog – you had to teach it that you were the master while it was still little, so that when it was fully grown, it would never realize that it was stronger than you.

Yes, Palpatine has taken pleasure in his Apprentice’s strength, but that pleasure had always been tinged with fear, the giddy fear of someone who doubts whether what he has taken into his possession won’t grow over his head. For he knew how unique Vader was. The child of prophecy, born without a human father and invested with peerless Force potential. He had been proud about having claimed this miracle for himself; having made Anakin Skywalker, this living wonder, the most prized possession of the Jedi Order, into his obedient servant. But never had he been left by the thought that by doing so, he could have invited the very man who would overthrow him to his side.

So maybe now was the time. Darth Vader had always seemed content with his position as Apprentice, as second in command; but maybe that had only been because he had waited for someone who could fill the position of *his* Apprentice. And who could have fitted that position better than Vader’s own son? His son and Padmé’s son. If he had his father’s Force strength and her spirit…

Yes, young Skywalker was strong – anyone who could fight with Darth Vader and not be slashed to ribbons within the first few seconds had to be. Wouldn’t it be natural for his father to want him for his Apprentice? Which, of course, would mean that Vader would become the Master. *And there could only be two Sith…*

Casting a thoughtful glance across his empty throne room, Emperor Palpatine made a decision.

*****

It was around dusk when Mara Jade received the telepathic call of her master. As always, she responded quickly. Pulling over a coat, she left the simple chamber that had been assigned to her in a remote corner of the Imperial Palace’s basement, and walked towards the Emperor’s room. Not his throne room, but a smaller, private chamber.

The two Royal Guards that watched the door let her in with a silent nod of their helmet-encased heads; and she approached her master. Kneeling at his feet, she touched her forehead to the floor in reverence, then asked: “How may I serve you, my Emperor?”. Palpatine gestured towards the young woman. “You may rise.” Mara got up on her feet, but kept her eyes on the floor.

The Emperor handed a piece of fabric to her. A small piece of fabric, which, at closer inspection, turned out to be a dancing girl’s costume. “Put it on.”, he commanded her. Mara knew that when the Emperor uttered a command, it normally meant “right now”, but still she hesitated for a moment. “What’s the matter?”, Palpatine impatiently asked, “Are you ashamed before your Emperor?” “No, Master.”, Mara answered in a small voice, then quickly slipped out of her coat, then her other clothes, leaving only her knickers on. She pulled over the dancing costume, then realized that it was so small that her knickers showed underneath; so she peeled herself out of the costume to remove that last piece of clothing, revealing a small bush of red-gold pubic hair. Then she slipped into the costume again. The touch of the fabric on her delicate nipples which had become hard in the room’s cold air (the Emperor liked cold, just as he liked darkness) hurt a little.

She stood straight before her Emperor, though with downcast eyes, waiting for further instructions. Emperor Palpatine let his eyes slide over his “Hand’s” graceful frame. In the front, the costume was a small array of dark green fabric embroidered with golden sequins, which covered Mara’s private parts and just the necessary amount of her youthful breasts, leaving an excellent view of everything else. In the back, it was held only by strings, revealing the round of Mara’s firm, perfectly shaped buttocks, as well as the cleft in the middle of her back which spoke of her strength. Her legs were also bare. Those legs were long for someone her height; slim, but muscular; the legs of a runner; a graceful, wild animal; the legs of a hunter.

“Put that on, also.” The Emperor tossed her some gold bangles, which Mara slipped over her firm and muscular, but gracefully slim arms; and a gold chain with tiny bells dangling from it, which she clipped around her hips. “Good. Now let me see…” Using the Force, the Emperor opened Mara’s braid, releasing her hair to fall over her shoulders in a cascade of red-gold fire. “Very good.” The Emperor beheld her for a moment, then said: “Now I want to see you dance.”. “What kind of dance, Master?” “A sensual dance.”

The Emperor pushed a small button on the arm rest of his chair and music started to play from the loudspeakers that where set into the rooms walls. Enticing, fluid music. As Mara started to dance, her movements were unusually stiff at first, inhibited by her inner uneasiness as she wondered about why the Emperor had demanded this performance. The few Imperials that even knew Mara’s face thought her to be a dancing girl and a courtesan; but in reality, the Emperor had never demanded such “favors” of her. She knew that, even with his body being as old and decrepit as it was, Palpatine hadn’t fully lost interest in the pleasures of the flesh; but he also had enough concubines to choose from. Mara’s usefulness to him lay in a different department. Though he didn’t show it, he treasured her for this usefulness; and having been trained as his “Hand” from when she was a little girl, Mara Jade was maybe the closest thing to a daughter that the Emperor would ever have.

But maybe now this relationship would change. Mara had always known in the back of her mind that this could happen one day; and that when it would happen, she would do as she had always done: fulfill the Emperor’s will, and she would survive it as she had always survived, one day at a time. For she was the Emperor’s Hand. Just as Palpatine’s physical hands obeyed his will without effort, without him even having to think about it, so did she. That was her existence, the only existence she knew.

And as the music became more insistent, Mara’s movements became more fluid, more secure. After all, she had always liked to dance – it was something that, at the best moments, she could lose herself in and be nothing but a swirling, sweating body delighting in its own youthful grace. She needed those few precious moments of forgetfulness.

With her own sharp attentiveness, Mara also noticed quickly that the Emperor’s glance, though firmly resting on her, was not actually leering; it showed an interest that seemed to be directed more towards the artistic quality of the dance than to the dancer. Thus reassured, Mara let go and completely gave herself over to the music. Her hips swayed fluidly, making the gold bells tinkle; while her arms resembled graceful snakes moving through the air; and her bare feet with the rosy, budlike toes weaved intricate patterns on the floor.

Then as the music’s pace gradually speeded up, Mara’s movements became wilder, bolder. She tossed her legs higher and higher into the air, until her feet would extend over her head. In a mock tease, she turned her back to the Emperor, wriggling her butt in a movement that, for all its suggestiveness, was stunningly graceful rather than obscene. Then she bend over backwards until her fiery red mane brushed the floor. Still in that position, she placed her hand onto the floor and leapt up into a handstand, then spread her legs to the sides. With a salto jump, she came back on her feet; swirling and shaking, the golden bells on her hips ringing in wild crescendo.

Mara ended her dance by gracefully falling onto her knees at the Emperor’s feet. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on her chest and forehead. “Very good.”, the Emperor said, “Now you may ask yourself why I asked you for this little performance.” Indeed, Mara had wondered about that. She listened attentively. “I wanted to be sure of your dancing skills because you will need them for your next assignment. I want you to pay a visit to Jabba the Hutt. Jabba is fond of attractive dancers – especially Twi’lek and humans – so posing as a dancing girl is the easiest way for you to get yourself a place in his palace from which you can make all necessary observations.”

“So I am supposed to keep an eye on Jabba’s criminal activities, my Emperor?” “You may do that while you’re there. But it is not the purpose of your assignment. The real purpose is very simple: Be there when the man that this belonged to comes along. Then kill the rest of him.” With this words, the Emperor took Luke Skywalker’s hand from the metal box and handed it to Mara. She took it with just a tiny, almost invisible shudder – severed limbs were not a thing that the Emperor’s Hand hadn’t seen before – and held it in her own hand.

Mara could see that, judged by the hand’s appearance, its previous owner had been a handsome young human male. She could also make out that he had been a strong personality, probably Force sensitive – the person’s powerful presence lingered on the hand even now – but that was about all she could sense. Everything else was obscured by an all-overwhelming sensation of pain that stemmed from the moment in which the hand had been severed from the body it had belonged to.

“May I ask who this man is?”, Mara asked. The Emperor replied: “His name is Skywalker.” “You mean Luke Skywalker of the Rebel Alliance?” “Yes. Do you want to see some recent holographs of him?” “Yes, my Master. Please show me.” The Emperor pushed another button, activating a hidden projector. Mara looked at the images of young Skywalker – the best that Imperial intelligence had collected. //He’s handsome. And he looks – gentle. Hard to imagine that someone like that has killed so many.//

Mara hadn’t spoken it aloud, but the Emperor had heard her thoughts as clearly as always. “Jade! Do I have to repeat the rules? *No intimate contact with a target* unless absolutely necessary. And in this case, it shouldn’t be. He comes, you kill him. That’s all.” “Of course, my Master.” “Don’t underestimate him, my Hand. He is – on the way to becoming a *Jedi*. So be careful, and don’t forget to bring your lightsaber.” “Yes, my Emperor.” Mara was puzzled. A *Jedi Knight*? But weren’t they extinct? And if there was indeed a Jedi left, why didn’t the Emperor send Darth Vader, his foremost Jedi hunter, to deal with him?

“Make sure that no-one knows about your assignment. *Not even Lord Vader*.”, the Emperor said. “Yes, Master. Of course.” So that was the answer. This assignment was something that the Emperor didn’t trust Darth Vader with. Mara still didn’t fully understand why, but that didn’t matter. She never questioned her Emperor. If he considered dealing with this Jedi Rebel to be a task so important that he wanted to entrust it only to his “Hand”, then that was the way it was; and she would take care of that task. Simple.

“Now leave, my Hand, and don’t fail me.” Mara again touched her forehead to the floor and, after quickly pulling over her coat and picking up the rest of her clothes, slid outside; silently, as she always moved. The Emperor smiled. How good to have a servant as devoted as Mara Jade. She was bit too lively for his taste, perhaps, as her dance had shown; but even that didn’t matter in someone so loyal. It had been a good idea – perhaps his best – to take her so young. A pity he couldn’t take on Anakin Skywalker when he was that young; but no Sith Lord had ever been trained before he had reached adulthood. That was the tradition. Maybe – the Emperor’s thoughts strayed – maybe that was the real reason why Luke Skywalker had lived undetected for so long, even though he was raised on his father’s home planet. Raised by Vader’s step brother, no less! Maybe Vader had *known* of his son’s existence all along, and had only waited, waited for him to become old enough to be trained as a Sith. If so, Vader had been a traitor for years. The Emperor’s yellow eyes sparkled with anger in the semi-darkness of his room. Well, be that as it may, he was taking care of the situation now.

He wouldn’t withdraw the order he had given to Lord Vader, nor would he tell Mara about it. It always paid to have a contingency plan. If fate would have it that Vader would catch the young Skywalker *first*, alive, then he, the Master, would take care of turning him to the dark side himself, and he wouldn’t fail.

Maybe he could even use Vader’s young son to *replace* Darth Vader. Yes, what a good idea! Vader’s loyalty was not what it used to be; and neither was his physical strength, due to his injuries and due to the dark side consuming him from the inside out, the same way it did with the Emperor himself. Luke Skywalker, however, was strong in body *and* in spirit; but being so young and inexperienced, he would be malleable also, much easier to control than his father. With the right training, he could be just what the Emperor wished for – someone immensely strong in the dark side, but utterly submissive to his Master.

And if it would be Mara who succeeded, that would be all right also. Vader wouldn’t have any more children – his injuries prevented that. With his only hope for founding a dynasty of his own crushed, and with a bit of “persuasion” from his Master, he would be perfectly loyal again. The Emperor felt content. Everything would happen as he had planned, just as it always was.

*****

Bib Fortuna watched as the charming “Arica” danced in unison with Oola. The two female’s movements matched nicely; but even though she didn’t wear a chain like her counterpart, “Arica” was always just a fraction slower than Oola, her movements just a tiny bit less lithe and effortless, and she always tossed her legs an inch or two less high. Leaning over to Jabba, the majordomo commented: “She’s quite good – for a human. But there’s no way she could keep up with a Twi’lek.”

As she overheard this remark, Mara secretly smiled to herself for a split second. She could have easily kept up even with someone as talented as Oola, but she deliberately refrained from displaying the full extend of her skills. She hadn’t come to impress as a dancer; but to observe until it was time to strike; and a good observer didn’t make herself seen. Too much attention for her person was the last thing she wanted.

Nevertheless, she had to display a good amount of talent to make Jabba want to keep her around – the Hutt crime lord was more than over-fed with any kind of sleazy pleasure imaginable. It was a delicate balance that she had to maintain; but for her, it was but a minor challenge.

Days passed. Mara stayed around, Mara danced, Mara watched. She wondered just when her target would come along; but the Emperor had said that he would come to exactly this place, and she had never doubted the Emperor. So she waited. Patience was the hallmark of a good assassin; and her second hallmark was not to drop her keen alertness during all that patient waiting; during all those days that, despite the colorful loudness of Jabba’s palace, were almost dull in the ever-sameness of the cheap pleasures that the Hutt and his entourage consumed.

Though not nominally a slave, “Arica” wasn’t treated much better than one, as were all employees of Jabba. The Hutt kept them in line with threats, and kept them pleased with drugs. Mara sneakily avoided ingesting the drugs she was given, and when she couldn’t avoid it, she used the Force to negate the effects. She stayed alert. She watched. She listened.

She heard the talks about the untimely demise of Prince Xizor, destroyed by Darth Vader just when had closely hunted the young Skywalker. Wild rumors were flung around – didn’t it look like Vader had *protected* the young Rebel? Had they formed a secret alliance? //If that was the truth//, Mara thought, //it would explain why the Emperor doesn’t trust Lord Vader in regards with Skywalker.// But even though the idea of Vader being a traitor wasn’t that unthinkable to her, she doubted it. //Probably, he just wanted Xizor’s death even more than Skywalker’s.// After all, the Falleen had been Vader’s most hated rival for a long time. The only thing that mattered to Mara, however, was that Prince Xizor had failed at killing the man that was her assigned target. It seemed like she would have to do the job herself.

And she looked forward to doing the job; succeeding where even Darth Vader, traitor or not, had failed repeatedly. As much as she tried to keep a cool head (for a cool head was the thing an assassin needed most), inside she felt a giddy excitement about this chance to prove her worth to the Emperor by outdoing his cherished right-hand man.

For although she never admitted it even to herself, Darth Vader was the person she wanted to outdo the most. What she felt for Vader was not admiration and respect, even though she externally displayed these feelings towards him like every good Imperial. Neither was it the fear that he instilled in so many. No, the feeling she connected with the Dark Lord was a nagging pain in her heart; the despair and helpless anger of seeing someone have what she ever longed for, and could never have.

Why? Why *he*? Why was *he* allowed to be so closely, so uniquely connected to the Emperor? For Mara, the Emperor’s will was the be-all and end-all of her existence. The Emperor was her *life*, and she had never had a life apart from that; never a life of her own. Vader, she knew, had once known a life without the Emperor. And yet it was he, he who was maybe even a traitor; not her who existed only as a living extension of the Emperor, as his *Hand*; who was called “my friend” by her Lord and Master. And even more – “my Apprentice”.

Mara didn’t know much about the Sith – theirs was a secret discipline after all – but she knew that her Emperor was a Sith Master, and that a Sith Master would only take only one Apprentice. This honor had been bestowed on Darth Vader; and for as long as Vader lived, Palpatine would never have another Apprentice. It would always be Vader, and Vader alone, who would enjoy this unique bond with the Emperor; this relationship of shared hatred that, perhaps, ran even deeper than love ever could. Only to him would the Emperor teach the deepest secrets of the dark side that were at the heart of his power.

Mara remembered how once, she had secretly taken an ornate clasp that was a Sith Lord’s amulet and badge of rank from among Vader’s belongings. Standing in front of a mirror, she had draped one of her cloaks around her shoulders and fastened it with the clasp. Feeling the dark side energy that exuded from the amulet, half frightened and half excited, she had wondered what it would be like if *she* was a Sith. *Darth* Mara.

She remembered – only vaguely, for she had pushed it back deep into her subconscious – how she had felt deep inside that no, she didn’t want that kind of darkness. But that closeness, that precious closeness to her Emperor, oh how much did she want that! She had never come further with her thoughts, for at that moment, Lord Vader had walked in unexpectedly and had immediately seen what she was doing. He had Force-choked her until she had lost consciousness; and then he had reported the incident to the Emperor, who had given her additional punishment; and then had told her that he would see to it that Vader would leave her alone, as long as she would leave Vader – and his things – alone.

Mara had understood the lesson. Vader served the Emperor in one position, she served him in another; and she was expected to be content with the position she had. And content she was, being a good servant. But that feeling, that nagging feeling inside her heart never vanished. So how pleasing to get a chance to one-up it on Vader, to prove that she was *better* than him! And if Skywalker was indeed Vader’s secret ally, she could even do him some damage he wouldn’t quickly forget.

Mara hadn’t counted the days that she had thus passed in alert anticipation when she was shaken into even greater, more urgent alertness by a short holomessage: “Greetings, Exalted One…” //He’s coming! Asking for an audience with Jabba, ha! How can he be so stupid to *announce* his coming? But he’s not stupid. I can see it. He looks so confident; so calm and composed. A Jedi, the Emperor said. Stay calm, Mara. He’s your target, that’s all he is. You do away with him. You go home.//

She didn’t have to wait long for the arrival of her target. Mara held her breath as the young Jedi strode in confidently. //He’s handsome indeed. Just as I’d expected from the holos. Better even. What the heck. He’s my target. No intimate contact with a target. Far too sassy. Not what you’d expect of a Jedi. But there’s some depth to him also. Some special strength. Such blue eyes! Don’t even think about it. He’s my target. I’ll kill him, I’ll go home.//

As Luke fell through the trap door into the Rancor pit, Mara could barely suppress a cry of triumph. //There, I won’t have to do the job myself after all!// Together with the others, she strained to get a good view of what happened next. The sight of Luke fighting for his life should have instilled nothing but satisfaction in her. Instead, she felt a variety of conflicting feelings arise. Satisfaction at her target’s imminent death, yes; but also a tinge of admiration for the young Jedi who wouldn’t give up; and even a tiny spark of compassion as she saw the fear in Luke’s beautiful eyes. //Such big blue eyes! – Who cares now? He’s my target, and he’ll be dead in a second.//

But Luke didn’t die. Within the wave of dissatisfaction arose inside Mara, there was still that little ripple of admiration, even stronger than before. //He’s smart, and quick. Not as easy a job as I thought. I’ll have to stick around, make sure that next time he really dies.//

She couldn’t do it. With the nasty pleasure that the immoral and powerful derive from denying something to their subordinates on a whim, Jabba refused to allow “Arica” to come along to the Great Pit of Carkoon, where Skywalker’s execution was supposed to take place.

*****

Some time later…

It came all of a sudden. Through the bond that had always connected her to the Emperor, Mara received a blurry vision of her Emperor, and Skywalker, and Vader, and streams of blue lightning. Then the vision was blown out of her mind by a terrible death cry. Mara didn’t know what had happened; but she knew instantly, with terrible, shattering certainty, that it was her Emperor who had died; and that he had died because Skywalker lived, **because she had failed.**

Shaking her like a tornado, Mara felt a tremendous surge of agony coming through the Force, pain of death and pain of betrayal, and anger more terrible than she had ever felt. Clenching her hands into fists, Mara turned her face towards the sky and screamed, screamed like she had never screamed before. And between all the rage and terror, she heard her master’s last command ring through her head like a giant bell: “YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!”.

As Mara collapsed on the ground, her face covered with streams of tears, she whispered between her sobs: “I will, my Emperor. I promise I will.”

THE END (…of this fic, but fortunately not the last word in regards with Mara’s and Luke’s relationship…)

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