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2 ABY, aboard the Executor
By now it is an open secret on the Executor that Dr. Carina Blair is frequently summoned to Darth Vader's quarters. And that lately, she hasn't just stayed for a few hours and departed. Now, she does not leave until morning.
Recent water cooler gossip is that Darth Vader and the doctor were seen leaving his quarters together and only parted ways at the lift when she took one stop to medbay and he continued on toward the bridge.
No one is stupid enough to ask in public what is going on between the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces and his personal physician.
Well, almost no one.
During the first week Dr. Blair had spent a significant amount of private time in Vader's quarters, the rumour mill had exploded. One junior officer in particular, who had yet to develop a healthy respect for Darth Vader's authority, approached Carina in the mess hall and dared to ask to her face what was going on.
That officer was promptly reassigned to an Imperial garbage scow in the Outer Rim. The second person who asked got Force-choked, the third got airlocked.
After that, people smartened up and did not have those conversations in public. But they wondered.
Darth Vader detests nepotism, so Carina's job is unchanged. She has the same duties, works with the same teams, and has the same pay.
However, some people notice that Dr. Blair has been moved to a different shift, to better align when Darth Vader is available to see her.
Darth Vader was not in love. Anakin Skywalker had succumbed to that weakness once. Vader, never again.
He is not in love but Carina is comfortable.
She is loyal, intelligent, beautiful, and soft.
Most importantly, she looks at his bare face without wincing, and touches his disfigured body willingly. She is eager for him. And Vader thinks he will never understand.
His woman is a physician. She's not interested in power, status, or wealth; which is all a ruined shell of a man like him can offer her. But Carina doesn't care for any of that. She genuinely seems to enjoy his company and his bed.
Sometimes when he thinks about it too hard, his brain hurts and twenty years of dark side-fueled suspicion rears its head, and he wonders; what does she really want from me? It must be something.
Old habits are hard to break. There have been a few tense moments when he felt his hand rise and begin to clench minutely, only to realize at the last second he's about to harm the one shining, beautiful thing he has left in his torturous existence.
When that happens, he sends her away and doesn't summon her back for several days. Not until he gets himself under control.
He lost Padmé and their child to his own anger. He cannot lose Carina too.
Medic-5002 gives Carina a look. “So how are things going?”
Carina doesn't glance up from the wound she is suturing. “Things are good. You?”
“Don't give me that. How are things going with tall, dark, and terrifying?”
Carina's hands pause for a moment and she bites back a smile. “Things are going fine. But you really shouldn't call him that.”
5002 leans in. “Come on girl, spill. What do you call him in private?”
Carina looks up. “What do you think I call him?”
“I don't know, Darth Daddy?”
Carina blushes furiously. “No! Just drop it.”
5002 smirks. “You have a hickey, doctor.”
TWO WEEKS LATER
Darth Vader returns to the Executor after an irritating, extended stay on Coruscant. Ever since he commissioned the new suit and stopped taking the drugs that the Emperor had said he needed, it has become easier to see his master’s manipulations for what they are. His mind is clearer, and although the dark side still swells within him, it doesn’t blind him anymore. Vader is eager to leave his master's manipulations behind him, to forget Palpatine's cruel games and lose himself between Carina's soft thighs.
The Emperor posits himself as all-seeing and all-knowing, but Vader has begun to question the truth of that. His master hasn’t noticed that Vader changed his suit, and suffers much less from it. And Vader intends to keep it that way.
He marches off his shuttle at an almost indecent pace. As he strides to his quarters, he reaches out with his senses. He can feel her, she's aboard. He relaxes ever so slightly.
Not that Vader expected her to be gone, of course. She wouldn't leave her post on his ship without his permission. He just…doesn't like being away from his things. A few more corridors, and he will send for her.
He glances at the chrono as he enters his suite. She's off work by this hour, so he won't be waiting long.
He sends her an abrupt comm. “I have returned. Come to me immediately.”
Then proceeds to strip his armour off and showers, eagerly. She should be waiting by the time he dries off.
Except when he exits the fresher, his comm is dark. Carina has not acknowledged him, and she's not here.
His yellow eyes narrow.
He contacts the bridge and demands, “Where is Dr. Blair?”
The startled comms officer stammers a reply. “I'll check right away, my lord! One moment… Dr. Blair is currently in medbay 3, my lord,” the man says nervously.
Vader stills. His respirator cycles ominously.
“Why is the doctor in medbay at this hour?”
“She ah, my lord, she's caught the infection,” the man says carefully.
“Explain,” Vader demands.
“There's been an outbreak on the ship, my lord! For several rotations, half our medics are afflicted.”
Vader crushes the comm in his durasteel fist, anger flooding his system. Anger is familiar, his only friend, but right now his anger is poisoned with something he hasn’t felt in a long time; fear for another. He refuses to think about why that is and forces the feelings back down. He redresses with mechanical precision and storms to the medbay.
Vader observes Carina through a bio-hazard partition.
She is unconscious. Her skin is grey and damp with sweat. Ugly lesions are visible, her beautiful face is swollen. A droid changes her IV.
His fists clench, but he forces himself to remain still, in control.
He questions the chief medic with icy detachment. “What is wrong with Dr. Blair? What is her prognosis?”
Dr. Zan replies, “It's Loedorvian plague, my lord. Brain rot plague. She became infected two rotations ago. Her prognosis is…hard to say.”
Vader's eyes narrow. “How did this virus get aboard my ship, doctor?”
Dr. Zan straightens her shoulders. “Through the detention level, my lord. There was a recent prisoner transfer from Neimoidia. An asymptomatic carrier was frozen in carbonite. Standard safety scans didn't pick it up. Once the prisoner thawed, the virus entered the ventilation system. From there it spread.
The virus has killed several medics. Carina is up to date on all required vaccinations, but this is a strain of Type C we haven't seen before.”
Vader's voice becomes dangerously quiet. “What measures have you taken to eradicate it from the Executor?
Dr. Zan pulled up reports on her datapad. “We initiated a full medical lockdown once the breakout was confirmed. Standard ventilation scrubbers and air recycling treatment. Patients are kept in isolation and only droids may enter.
We are re-vaccinating all crew, prioritizing by date of last vaccination. We have vaccinated…fourty-five percent of the crew. We are on target to finish vaccinations within five rotations.”
“Unacceptable,” Vader hisses. “You have three rotations, or I will replace you with someone who can.”
Dr. Zan grits her teeth. “It is an aggressive pathogen, my lord! I need more medics and droids. Twenty-two of my medics died on the first day!”
Vader's fist clenches tighter and the servos grind. “You will receive replacements. I want a droid permanently assigned to Dr. Blair, with updates every hour. If she dies…”
Dr. Zan shrinks back. “It is not that simple, Lord Vader! The virus attacks the brain and the nervous system, we are attempting anti-virals but it mutates quickly!”
“Then you will adapt faster,” Vader says. “You will exhaust every option. You will save her life. If her condition worsens, I will find adequate methods to motivate you.”
Dr. Zan shivers. “And…if we fail?”
“The first time you fail me, doctor, will be the last time you fail me.”
“Understood, my lord,” she says stiffly.
“Leave us,” Vader says.
As the door closes behind Dr. Zan, Vader activates the comm into the sick room.
“You will fight this, Carina,” he orders sternly. “You cannot leave me.”
There is no reply. Just the faint beep of the heart monitor.
He permits himself a moment of weakness to watch her, and simply be in her presence again. Then he turns on his heel and stalks to the bridge.
The quiet murmurs on the bridge cease immediately as Darth Vader strides through the blast doors.
Captain Piett straightens his shoulders. “Welcome back, my lord.”
Vader marches to the head of the bridge. “Status report, Captain.”
Piett checks the figures on his datapad. “The virus entered the ship's ventilation system seventy-seven hours ago, Lord Vader. The latest figures from medbay, delivered…forty-five minutes ago, confirm three hundred and fifty-eight fatalities.”
“Yet you did not apprise me of the situation when the outbreak began,” Vader snaps, images of Carina's sick, swollen face flash before him. “Explain yourself, Captain.”
Piett pales. “My lord! We sent you multiple comms. The last two, I sent personally.”
Vader's eyes narrow. “Pull up the outgoing comms log,” he orders.
Officer Bannon scrambles to obey, and three days of messages from the bridge appear on the screen.
Vader sees several messages from the bridge to his personal comm frequency, and the last two bear Piett's code.
Yet the messages never arrived.
“Have the array checked immediately,” he snaps. “And send for replacement medics.”
Vader's new comm unit is delivered. There are a handful of messages from his flag officers, and one update from medbay. Carina's condition is unchanged.
His displeasure can be felt in the room. Officers working in the bridge pit feel the hair on the back of their necks rise. Darth Vader is furious and no one wants to be the one to draw his ire.
Lieutenant Keen, an intel analyst, swallows nervously as he finishes decoding an encrypted comm. His eyes widen at what he sees. He clears his throat softly, and the officer at the neighbouring terminal shoots him a frantic glare.
Keen turns to face Darth Vader. “My lord, we've just decoded a critical message from the rebels,” he begins with a wince.
Vader's black helmet turns. “Speak,” he thunders.
“The Rebellion is aware of the outbreak on the ship, my lord.”
Everyone freezes. That points to there being a mole aboard Darth Vader's flagship.
Keen clears his throat. “The…message says; that they are planning an attack against the Executor, my lord. Their fighters were instructed to scramble. We intercepted this message from the Anoat sector. Assuming they know our coordinates, they'll drop out of hyperspace within…thirty minutes.”
Vader's fist clenches. “Captain, put the ship on high alert and get the crews to their fighters. Run a full transmission audit. Find out who alerted them,” he snarls.
Piett nods. “Right away, my lord. Do you wish to hold position here?”
Vader is silent for a long moment. “We hold here,” he decides. “This is a diversion. They cannot defeat my ship with their inferior firepower.”
His cape stirs as he turns sharply. “Prime the deflector shields and the turbolasers. The moment the rebels drop out of light speed, annihilate them.”
Piett salutes and gives the orders.
“Where is Death Squadron?” Vader demands.
One of the technicians pulls up the fleet map. Vader studies it, and then reviews the sector where the rebels are attacking from. His gloved finger points aggressively at a large gas giant. “That is the system, the Rebels are there.”
The lead tactics analyst studies the map. “My lord…our intelligence indicates that while there is a rebel presence on Bespin, it’s not a sizable force.”
Vader’s voice brooks no argument. “If the Rebellion has enough of a force to attack my ship from the Anoat sector, then Bespin is where they are hiding. Deploy the Avenger and the Devastator to Bespin,” he orders. “They are to establish a full blockade. I want that base found.”
Captain Piett relays the orders, and joins the dark lord at the map, studying it.
“The rebels are not usually this bold, my lord. What are they trying to distract us from?”
Vader's respirator continues its steady cycling. “Rebel arrogance is matched only by their insolence, Captain. They have grown bolder since the destruction of the Death Star, they seek to prove we are vulnerable.”
Piett waits silently for his lord to continue.
Vader's eyes narrow behind his mask. “Hope makes them careless. Whatever they seek to learn from this farce will not be worth the cost in rebel lives.”
The energy on the bridge is tense and nervous, excited with the thrill of an upcoming battle. The bridge crew work like a well-oiled machine, carrying out Vader’s orders. Once all the fighter pilots are prepped to launch, there is nothing else to do except wait.
Captain Piett straightens his sleeves as he double-checks that the shields and turbolasers are primed. Everything is ready to go. They just need the rebels to drop out of hyperspace.
And then…one small carrier is detected, ten klicks away from Lady Ex. Which is…not unusual, since the airspace around Vader’s vessel is protected and no Imperial ship would dare drop out lightspeed on top of her.
A radar tech checks the readings. “Lord Vader, it’s a Gozanti-class cruiser. It looks like one of ours.”
It’s an Imperial ship, and yet…Vader’s back stiffens as a warning rings in the Force.
“Do they have a code clearance?” he asks.
“Yes, sir,” the tech answers. “It’s a recent code.”
Yet the sharp feeling in the Force doesn’t abate.
“There are rebels on that ship,” Vader says. “Let them approach. Send three squadrons to hangar fifteen-B, weapons set to stun. I want to know what they’re trying to accomplish.”
The orders are relayed and the crew watch nervously as the cruiser approaches the Executor.
It draws closer, and begins its descent into the auxiliary hangar.
Security cam footage shows the ship docking, then the hatch opens…and five people dressed as Imperial officers walk down the ramp.
As the stormtroopers surround them, they raise their hands. One of them, the senior officer, protests. “This must be a mistake,” she begins.
Commander-8882 holds his blaster ready. “No mistake, rebel scum,” he snaps. “Lord Vader wants a word.”
At the mention of Vader's name, the disguised rebels look fearful. They are put in binders and escorted to the interrogation cells.
Watching from the bridge, Vader rests his hands on his belt in satisfaction. The warning from the Force has dimmed, but is still present. Although an attack on his flagship is imminent so it’s hard to parse warnings from the Force at times.
And at that moment, the rebels drop out of hyperspace and begin their attack run against the Executor.
TIE fighters scream from the hangar, and the battle begins.
Vader watches with cold satisfaction as Imperial forces decimate the rebel X-wings.
The skirmish is over quickly, and his flagship does not sustain any damage. The quality of the rebel pilots was lower than expected, and he realizes that the diversion the rebels created by bombing his ship wasn’t to pull his gaze away from their activity elsewhere in the galaxy. No, the X-wings were meant to distract him from the small group that snuck aboard his flagship. Those five rebels in Imperial disguises are the real threat. What are they after?
His comm receives another update from medbay. There is no change to Carina's condition.
The Force thrums with a warning as he sees Carina's name, and then thinks of the rebel infiltration team.
Yes, the Force nudges him.
Vader's eyes narrow in rage. The rebel's plot has something to do with his woman, and for that, they will die. But not before he rips the truth from their minds.
“Captain, you have command,” he growls.
Vader stalks to the lifts, heading for the detention level. Carina Blair belongs to him. A threat to her is a direct challenge to his authority. The rebels will answer for this insult.
The Rebellion does not get to attack his flagship and try to enact a plot against his woman. They do not get to try to take her from him. No one does.
Vader steps into the interrogation cell. An IT-O droid follows, floating in after him.
The woman, dressed as the lead Imperial officer, shrinks back.
“You will tell me your plot, or your death will be slow,” he announces without preamble.
The droid injects the rebel with bavo six, a hallucinogen that lowers pain thresholds and stimulates the area of the brain responsible for co-operation.
“Lord Vader, this is a mistake!” she pleads.
Her lie is smooth but he feels the whisper of deceit in the Force. She is well-trained in subterfuge but the Force always knows.
Vader thinks of Carina, sick and vulnerable in the medbay, and his anger burns.
He instructs the droid to administer another chemical and it injects her with OV-600, a powerful truth serum that acts physically upon the victim. When the serum detects the biological symptoms of lying, it causes the victim to break out in a painful rash.
“You will explain your attempt to infiltrate my ship,” Vader demands.
The woman sticks to her lie. “My lord, I am not a rebel! I'm an officer from Coruscant sent to—”
The woman screams as the excruciating rash develops on her skin.
Vader watches in grim satisfaction. “Continue lying and the pain will consume you. Your deception accelerates the spread."
"I'm not lying!" she gasps, twisting in agony as the rash blooms further.
Vader grunts in irritation and waits for the hallucinogen to take effect. It doesn't take long before he can sense her confusion as her mind becomes muddled.
Vader speaks calmly, his anger tightly leashed. He will guide her to confessing.
“We must hurry and carry out the plan so we can return to Bespin,” he prompts her.
The woman's pupils dilate. “R…right,” she mumbles. “We only have one shot to pull this off.”
“Exactly,” Vader coaches her. “Let us go over the plan one more time. There can be no mistakes.”
“Yes,” she agrees slowly. “We're going to kidnap Vader's personal physician. She'll be in medbay. A quick stun and grab. We have five minutes to get her back to the ship before our fighters arrive for the diversion. Vader will be distracted.”
“Yes,” Vader agrees, his fist clenching. “He will not see it coming. We will grab the doctor and take her to our base, because…”
“Because Command wants her alive. Our spies say she's important to Vader. She's close to him.”
“How close?” Vader's jaw clenches.
“Rumour has it they're lovers,” the woman snorts. “Which is ridiculous! As if anyone would kriff that machine.”
“Right, ridiculous,” Vader's jaw grinds. “And when Command is done with her? Do we ransom her back?”
The woman shakes her head. “No. Once we get everything we can from her, she'll be executed.”
Vader's teeth grind. “We are going to execute a medic? Isn't that…unusual?”
The rebel shakes her head again. “She's Vader’s personal doctor. Taking her from him might weaken him until he finds a replacement.”
“Makes sense,” Vader grinds out.
“Besides,” the woman grins. “If she's stupid enough to be his girlfriend, she deserves to die.”
Vader's fist clenches abruptly, and there is a sickening crunch as the rebel's neck snaps.
His comm receives another update from medbay. No change in Carina. His dead heart clenches in an echo of what he once knew as fear of loss, but that cannot be because he would only fear if he cared and Darth Vader does not care about anyone. Not anymore, not ever again.
He strides to the next cell, and does not waste time with chemicals and questioning.
He raises a gloved hand, in a gesture his own crew have come to fear deeply, and uses the dark side to tear the rebel's mind apart, clawing out confirmation of what he just learned with savage brutality. When he finds what he's looking for, that rebel is also executed without ceremony.
Vader burns through the minds of the remaining rebels, who all know enough to support what their leader confessed; the Rebellion had attempted to kidnap his woman, and planned to kill her.
His respirator cycles steadily as he stands in the aftermath of his work. He will…go to her. It is foolish sentimentality, but today he has confirmed the presence of rebel spies aboard his ship and he must see for himself that she is alright. She's his and nobody gets to take what belongs to him. So he just needs to see her.
His durasteel boots clank down the hallway as he storms to medbay.
The bio-hazard partition still separates them.
The medical droid tends to Carina as she sleeps. The swelling on her face has decreased. As Vader observes her, his comm receives another hourly update, confirming what he can see; minor improvement.
“Status report,” he demands.
The droid explains Carina's vitals, and that there has been small but positive change. The anti-virals are starting to work.
Vader stands watch for hours, a black sentinel, still as a statue.
An alert from the monitor beeps. Vader's helmet turns sharply.
“Report!” he snaps to the droid.
“The patient is waking,” the droid replies.
If Vader could hold his breath, he would, but he can't, so he continues to breathe at his steady, regulated pace as he watches.
Blue eyes blink open slowly, unfocused and dull.
Vader's hands twitch. He activates the speaker. “Can you hear me, Carina?”
She cocks her head, and listens to his respirator. “My lord?” she croaks.
“I am here,” he replies.
“What…happened to me?”
“There's a ship-wide outbreak of brain rot plague,” he replies.
“That…tracks,” she mutters, and asks the droid for water. “How long have I been sick?”
“Two and a half rotations.”
“How bad is the outbreak?”
“The fatalities are inconsequential, Carina. You must rest,” he orders.
“Yes, my lord,” she sighs.
After a moment, her eyes brighten. “I'm past the infectious period. It only lasts fourty-eight hours.”
Vader wrenches the sealed door open with a flick of his hand and strides to her bedside.
“Carina,” his voice is thick.
A gloved hand reaches to touch her. His durasteel hand takes hers gently. Her delicate fingers curl around his.
“You're here,” she murmurs.
A FEW DAYS LATER
Vader has Carina in his bed. He's been labouring between her thighs for quite some time, chasing his release. She's wet and eager, and moaning for him. Her body is bruised from his, as durasteel hands grip her hard, and the ports on his chest are sharp, digging into her with every thrust.
The bed smells of sex and sweat, and the subtle perfume she wears.
In the beginning, he did not realize how a woman with her problem could want so much, when she is never satisfied. He will never tell her this, but part of him likes her endless hunger, because she always wants more. She'll take it deeper, harder; so desperate for the elusive feeling she craves but cannot experience.
She never says no. When Vader wants her body, which is often, she always welcomes him. He can kriff her for hours, until her poor cunt is flushed and swollen, but she never asks him to stop. She can be trembling in his arms but still pleads for more.
He's so close. He can feel it, he just needs a little more.
She cries his name wantonly, her legs wrapped around him, as she begs for more.
Vader's hips slap against her frantically. It had been almost a month since their last night together, and after the twenty-year drought, he can't take going without it anymore, not after he's had it again. He won't admit it but he needs her. She makes him feel human again.
His cock presses into her deeply and she whimpers.
She feels like warm, wet silk, and when he’s buried inside her, sometimes he thinks he will never get enough of her.
“Lord Vader, please,” she begs, “give it to me. Cum inside me!”
When it's over, his weight presses her into the bed for a moment. Then he rolls onto his back, not withdrawing, and holding her firmly. Carina sprawls on top of his chest in the way he secretly relishes, her breasts pressing against the ports on his body and her hands reaching for him. She is soft and human and makes him feel desired.
The Force echoes with the familiar frustration he has grown to sense from her as she fails to climax. He runs a durasteel hand down her spine to sooth her. He’s learned that she likes to be held afterward, until the ache between her thighs fades. She has a paralyzing fear of being rejected by a lover, and likes it when he keeps her close, so he does. He likes it too, but he’ll never tell her that.
“It was good,” his voice is a quiet rasp.
They both know he says it to assure her. She won’t ask for it, just like he won’t ask her to assure him that she finds him attractive, but he knows she needs to hear it.
“It was,” she agrees softly. “I've missed you,” she kisses him slowly.
“I…” he can't say it.
She strokes his scarred shoulders tenderly. “Tell me I can be selfish, that I can keep you. Tell me you don't have to leave again.”
He grunts noncommittally. “Perhaps.”
She presses her face to the crook of his neck and inhales.
“I've missed your scent.”
Vader stills. “I smell like the medbay,” he says bitterly.
She breathes in again. “No. You smell like a man; and durasteel and leather and bacta. I…like the smell of bacta,” she confesses.
There is a long, awkward silence.
“Why?” he asks eventually.
“It reminds me of home, the sea where I grew up.”
“On Scarif.”
She nods. “I haven't been home since the rebel attack, not since…”
Since the Death Star fired, remains unsaid.
I don’t blame you, also remains unsaid.
His metal hands hold her hips, rubbing in a soothing motion.
"It cannot be changed,” he says awkwardly, his first attempt at comforting another in decades.
“I know,” she murmurs.
Her hand rises to cup his jaw. He turns his head to kiss her fingers.
“I should catch the plague more often,” she teases. “It makes you more affectionate, my lord.”
“You will not,” he says harshly.
“No, I won't,” she says. “It was only a joke.”
“You are bold, woman, to jest with me. You test my patience.”
She presses forward to kiss him again.
“I think you like my jokes.”
At Vader's stubborn silence, she sighs. “Well, at least you like my cunt.”
Scarred lips twist in a hint of a smile.
“Insolent, to speak to me so,” he chides.
“My apologies, Lord Vader,” she murmurs, kissing him again.
He lets her, and then pulls her off and settles her against his side, cool durasteel arms around her. He squeezes her breasts and toys with her nipples idly.
“Rest, Carina. You are still recovering.”
Without thinking, he presses his lips to the back of her head in a gesture of casual intimacy.
She doesn't say anything, she knows better. But she can't hide the pleasure his small action brings. Something suspiciously close to joy ripples in the Force, rising like bubbles in champagne.
She sighs softly and closes her eyes, feeling safe and secure in the most dangerous pair of arms in the galaxy.
LATER
General Veers marches briskly to Darth Vader's quarters. He has important news about troop deployment to discuss with the dark lord.
Two stormtroopers are posted outside the doors, veterans of the 501st Legion and members of Vader’s Fist. They stand at parade rest.
The general moves to ring the comm and a trooper blocks him.
CT-6015 speaks firmly. “Apologies, General, but Lord Vader is busy. He doesn't want to be disturbed.”
The general frowns. “I need to discuss troop movement, it’s important.”
The stormtrooper shakes his head. “Unless you have a message from the Emperor, or news of the rebel pilot, the lord was very clear. He does not wish to be disturbed,” he repeats.
Veers stands in the hall, frustrated. One stormtrooper is speaking to him, and his partner remains silent, yet radiates an infuriating smugness.
“Did he say when he’ll be available?” Veers asks.
“Negative, sir,” CT-6015 replies calmly.
The second trooper twitches in silent amusement. A quiet burst of static escapes his vocoder as he bites back a laugh.
“Is something funny, trooper?” Veers asks.
“No, sir,” comes the strained voice.
As Veers is about to issue a reprimand, a soft, feminine cry is heard from Darth Vader’s chambers, gasping Vader’s name. Indistinct murmurs, then a cry of “please” and “more”. And then, even worse, a low, masculine voice. Vader.
Oh stars. Darth Vader is being intimate with a woman and Veers is eavesdropping in the hall like a green cadet.
Veers freezes, all the colour draining from his face. “Is that…Lord Vader has company?” he squeaks.
“Yes, sir,” CT-6015 confirms. “And he does not wish to be disturbed while his guest is over.”
“His guest,” General Veers repeats faintly, then lowers his voice. “That’s the woman the rumours are about, isn’t it?”
CT-6015 shakes his head in denial. “I wouldn’t know, sir," he says loyally.
“Can you at least give an estimate of how long he’ll be busy?”
“Sorry, sir. It’s hard to say. Maybe a few hours. Maybe ‘til morning. The lord is busy.”
The soft, feminine voice grows louder. The man’s voice is a low growl, not the booming voice that Veers is accustomed to. Which means…Darth Vader has removed his helmet and he’s probably naked.
Oh stars.
Veers shifts uncomfortably. “Yes I see that!” he snaps, embarrassed.
He straightens his collar. “I’ll just…leave the message for him on the bridge,” he says awkwardly.
“Very good, sir.” CT-6015 keeps his voice neutral, as his partner shakes with silent laughter.