La Grande Odalisque

I felt the bomb hit before it touched the ground. I heard it screaming in the sky, chased by a long, fiery tail. Civil war had plagued Eriadu for years, although it hadn’t culminated in all-out physical warfare for quite a long time. Tensions were high, however, and soon someone on some side snapped, resulting in devastation to the entire planet. Phelar had been evacuated as soon as the fighting started, as it housed millions of people as well as an entire Imperial Academy. The ones who couldn’t afford to depart on spacecraft or planetary aircraft were at a severe disadvantage and were left with no choice but to run to the mountain range that surrounded the city. We were part of those people. I ran as fast as my six-year-old legs could carry me, a small canvas pack, holding the few worldly possessions I had, hit my back hard as I ran toward the hills…..

We were holed up in our little old apartment with peeling yellow wallpaper and pipes that never stopped leaking, no matter how often Dad tried and fixed them. There was a war, Mum said. We heard the bomb sirens often, but I heard a low, loud roar that got so loud that it shook the apartment block, making pieces fall from the ceiling. The air became ashy and dry. My throat hurt. I began to cough and so did my sister. Dad gave us strips of greasy cloth to put over our faces so we wouldn’t breath in the chalky stuff. The bomb sirens started wailing their hollow cry and Dad said it was time to go. I didn’t know where we were going, but I took Dad’s hand anyway and we hurried down the uneven stairs of our block after Mum and my sister, who she carried on her back. I wanted to ask Dad for one too, but he looked scared, so I didn’t. We ran and ran. Starships began to fly overhead really fast and I pointed to them. I couldn’t hear anything anymore, only the loud roar they made. They were like big metal rancors that growled when they got mad. I thought that was funny of them.

Dad began to run faster, more in the middle of the street. My hand hurt because he held it so hard. I didn’t say anything though. There were a lot of other people joining us on the patchy streets of the Nranja District. It was like a race! Then I noticed they were screaming. Some people were limping and had blood on them. Maybe pieces fell from their ceiling too. That was sad. More and more people came, and Dad stopped for a second to throw me on his back so I wouldn’t get lost. He let go of my hand. Suddenly, Dad was gone and I was alone, people running past me like a river in springtime. I looked everywhere. Where was Dad? “Dad!” I screamed, but my voice didn’t go very far. So I ran.

I ran and ran and ran. The rag Dad gave me was clenched in my hand, and the air became smoky and ashy again. I felt like my chest was on fire. Still I ran. I couldn’t see over the waists of all the grown-ups, so I went where everyone else was going. Soon I felt the ground fly out from under me and there was a great sound, like a cannon. I was flying for a second, just like the starships, but I fell. I hit something soft and then something hard and then I was rolling. The ground was shaking still, like you do when you get too cold and your teeth chatter. Suddenly I stopped. I opened my eyes. I could only hear ringing and it made my head hurt. There were scrapes on my palms and knees where the gravel had torn through my clothes. They didn’t hurt. There were a lot of people on the ground. Some were getting up, some weren’t. I got up. I ran with some people who were running. Now I could see where everyone was heading-- the mountains. The Ardenn Mountains were all over. Sometimes people went to live there. Dad said it was morgugies. I don’t know what those are, but they must be bad if people want to go live in the mountains than here.

I heard more cannon sounds and the ground kept shaking, but they were far away now. I looked back and saw black smoke and fire. They were fire cannons that came from the metal rancors! I wonder what made the metal rancors so angry. There was a lot of stuff on the ground so I had to jump so I didn’t step on anybody, because that wouldn’t be nice. Mum taught me to be nice to everyone, even if they were mean to me. I near the end of the big buildings of the city when I see my sister standing in the grass by the edge of the road. She’s crying. She’s covered in light grey dust like everybody else. She’s standing by someone. I walk and see that it’s Mum, curled up in the grass. I sit next to her and shake her. “Mum, Mum wake up,” I say. Mum moves a little, which is good. There is blood on her tummy. I don’t think that’s so good. “Come on Mum, let’s go! The fire rancors are coming!” I tell her. She gets up, but she is slow. Sissy stopped crying. Mum took both of our hands and started walking. The fire cannons were getting closer and we went as fast as we could.

The trip up the mountains was long. Along the way a nice man and woman helped Mum, They put patches with bacta on them on her tummy and she felt better. They helped us up the big mountain. There were more and more cannon sounds. I saw big ‘splosions coming from the buildings and they crumbled like kwahane towers. The starships were letting go of the fire cannons that made the explosions. I got sad. Why are they doing this?

We were hiding in a cave when the proton bomb hit Phelar. It was quiet when it happened. Sissy and I were playing with little mud dolls Mum made in a little pit covered by a big rock. The opening faced the back of the big cave, towards the fire so we could see. Suddenly everything got thrown to the back of the cave, people too. We screamed but I couldn’t hear it. Wind was blowing hard on us from each side as we watched as everything flew past us.

Then came the fire. Where there was air there was now hot fire, flooding after everything that had flown to the back of the cave. Sissy and I covered our heads and kneeled on the ground like Mum told us to when there was bad stuff. My back felt really really hot and when i looked, I saw my shirt was orange with fire. I rolled my back in the mud. Suddenly it all stopped. The air was still. I felt like I could catch it in my hands. I ran to the back of the cave, but the only thing that was there was rocks. And dust. Lots of dust. It was all over. Weird white dust. Something really bad just happened, and when I ran to the edge of the cave to look at Phelar, I knew that my life would never be the same.

_____________________________________________

Of course ya can’t use your own name, silly girl. Is fer yer own safety, ‘f course. We wouldn’t want ya gettin’ hurt or gettin’ snatched up by some no-good gov’ment ‘ficial.”
It had been worth a shot. Shanyrra saw right through the agency director’s lies as she leaned back in the filthy black chair. Anything she did would be to protect their arses from the government. Eriadu was ridden with illicit practices such as drug, spice, and human trafficking, which was something that came with city-planets. Being one of the most active trade centers in the Outer Rim, it was the perfect hive for those types of things. Plus, her name wasn’t that uncommon. Maybe on Eriadu, but not elsewhere. Shan contained a sneer, creating a straight face so solid she could have won the Bespin Sabacc Championship.

“What about Phi’ra? Issa hot name.” He winked, potentially seductively, or maybe not, Shan couldn’t tell. She saw no need to argue, but her spite for both her current situation and the sleazy man sitting in front of her spurred her on. “Decadent? Really?” She translated from Taarja, a common trading language on Eriadu. “Who do you think I am, someone with no self-respect?”

It was a stripper name. Shan wasn’t going to be a stripper; she applied to be a call girl, a step up in the world of sexual services. The young woman considered her new job as a little more respectable than that of a common stripper. Perhaps it wasn’t, she considered. Perhaps it was a façade, fabricated by her mind to make her feel better about her situation. Agency after Agency she’d been in, all awful. She barely got out of the last one with dignity and any money at all.
The man, whose name was Traboosh or Tribaebit or something equally ridiculous, was a little taken aback, but soon settled back to his usual creepy demeanor. “Well, what about Olola?” His toothless grin widened even still, to Shan’s revulsion.

Not letting her internal disgust show at the connotation of the name, the woman let him win. “Phi’ra is fine.”

“I knew you’d see reason! Good girl. Now, jus’ sign here…”
With a swish of an ink pencil on yellowing paper, Shanyrra signed her life away for the rest of time.

________________________________________

“Kriff!” Shan yelled at the top of her lungs. “I knew he was a lazy prat before I even talked to him.” Shan had been en route to a client on the neighboring planet of Vendaxa, only to be met with military force. The control center she got in contact with refused to believe her story and let the hounds loose. Currently she was missing part of her starboard wing, 82% of her front and 54% of her rear shields, and her life support systems were in danger of failing. The Agency was particularly stingy and, if possible, wanted the girls to fly themselves to their clients if they were able. Shan was a good pilot, but she was not prepared for a dogfight. The Agency had gotten ahold of a decrepit, heavily-graffitied Aethersprite fighter, used in the Clone Wars, for her to use for her travels. Usually the wealthier clients sent transportation of their own, but there was the occasional miser who didn’t want to waste the hypermatter on a simple call girl. That was this guy. The Aethersprite could only be used for system travel, as the Agency was still looking for a hyperspace ring. Not hard, of course, but she was told it was coming. At this point, whatever anger she had over the hyperspace ring was moot; she just needed to get out of the situation that currently ensnared her.

Green lasers whizzed past the cockpit and Shan was no longer surprised by their sudden appearance. Her teeth gritted, she made a few clumsy maneuvers to evade the onslaught, to little avail. Sweat was beginning to run into her eyes, along with her makeup. Damned stuff. The sting made her wipe her eyes gracelessly with her velveteen sleeve, knowing she probably looked as attractive as a H’nemthe after a few too many drinks at that point.

“Cease fire! Please, cease fire!” Shan screamed into the comm. “Command center, this is the Acacius, I come in peace. I have a meeting with Governor Gervor. Please call off your security!”

“Clearance codes needed, Acacius. Over.”

Shan lost any patience she may have had. Slamming the comm button with her fist, she screamed, “I CAN’T SEND YOU MY CLEARANCE CODES IF I’M DEAD!”

There was silence across the comms, but not in her cabin. Shan had regained most use of the controls, but her vision flashed red and a siren blared, signalling the loss of her life support. This could have gone worse, as there was suddenly a lack of green piercing the speckled darkness of the galaxy and her ship, although heavily damaged, was stable. Shan exhaled a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding and, with haste, shrugged on her tattered travel jacket and secured the emergency oxygen mask around her face. The cold, unforgiving space surrounding her cabin had already started to creep in through the smoldering holes in the hull of the struggling Aethersprite.

Her dash comm light flashed back on. A quiet, “I said to shoot ACROSS her nose, not UP it!” was followed with a louder “you are free to proceed.” The coordinates were sent and the three TIE Interceptors-- Imperial craft-- as Shan was now able to identify--that had previously been trying to execute her were now on her wings and behind her, escorting her to the verdant surface below.

Shan activated her personal comlink and patched herself to her contact. “You better have a good explanation as to why I almost died in the space above your planet, Governor.”

There was static and a response. “Fiery words for a call girl.”

Shan scowled. “Courtesan, Governor. Word doesn’t get around about me for no reason. I’m the best, and I don’t appreciate getting pushed around.”

A chuckle came across the line. “I will meet you at platform 5. Is there anything you require upon landing?”

“Yes,” Shan growled through clenched teeth, not exactly looking forward to this particular job and this particular client. How she could arouse her client, much less herself, was a complete and utter mystery. Slumping in her chair, shivering, she pressed the comm button once more. “A new ship would be nice.” Fighting against the ship, whose damage made its movements unpredictable, Shan maneuvered the craft as steadily as she could towards the coordinates that flashed bright blue on her dash. This man better give me a good time for all I’ve been through. But, with my luck, it’ll be a shitshow. If only I had a semblance of a normal life…

“If I’m to pleasure you at all this night, Governor, you had better make it up to me.” The angry woman ran her hands caringly over the ship’s damaged port wing, trying not to let exactly how enraged she was show through her dolled-up face. Exposed wires and warped metal spanned the colorful surface, still smoking and threatened to harm anyone who dared extend an unprotected limb. This will be an expensive fix, but nothing this job won’t pay for, Shan murmured to herself. It was Shaak crap, the stuff she had to put up with, claiming “insurance” and “legality” when all they wanted was money that Shan worked hard to get with no benefits to her person. Oh, the joys of leasing a sub-par vehicle in a galaxy full of danger.

The governor of Oktei, Gervor, who happened to be of Imperial rank, had approached her from behind with two stormtroopers trailing, armed to the teeth. Shan made a mental note to never visit a planet she hadn’t researched beforehand, otherwise she would have gently suggested to her Agent to have someone like Bryana or Kikkli to take this job. Those two couldn’t tell the two sides of a political argument if they individually slapped them in the face. Shan was a little more sensitive to politics, trying her best to keep up with the current policies and happenings in the Imperial Senate in case she was serving a client who was educated in such matters, which she had encountered before. With Imperials, though, it was best to shut up and not mention anything political unless it was praiseworthy towards the Empire. Shan found it better to know than to not; if something happened with her client, she would have a backup story and an alibi with no effort. Or, alternatively, she could easily converse with her politically-savvy clients, which earned her regulars. The Agency would reward a girl if she got two or more regulars in a standard month. Shan had five, and was therefore given the classier, coveted title of “courtesan”.

“You live up to your description, Phi’ra,” the governor mentioned, sounding a bit surprised at her lack of acknowledgement. “Feisty, beautiful--”

“And devilish, I’m aware, Governor.” Shan turned to to face the Imperial, putting on the most seductive expression she could muster while allowing her loose hair to graze across her sharp features. If you had in your mind that you were the best, and you acted like it for long enough, you became the best. It was a necessary lie you had to tell yourself to get by sometimes. Shan had transformed herself from a on a trash planet to one of the most sought-after courtesans in the Outer Rim. This allowed her to have some semblance of control over her life and, she hoped, her future. Might as well make the most of a bad situation. Plus, the pay wasn’t something she could complain about. If she was lucky, some men she serviced would pay her in jewels or new clothes. The Agency wouldn’t dare take something like that away from her for fear of offending the client who gifted them to her.

“You’ll see that I exceed all expectations.” Shan had long since shed her old coat in favor of showing her green velveteen dress in the modern Coruscant style, except much shorter and more provocative with long bell sleeves and intricate embroidery around her waist. The outfit was her standard fare: conservative enough to wear out in public and those who weren’t clients, but it hugged her curves in such a way that made men drool. Shan found this to be the easiest approach to her daily life. Her makeup was also of a traditional approach, accenting her striking features. It took Shan only a minute to refresh herself upon landing, which was nice. Awful client or not, she was not about to make a high-paying customer wait for her to mask herself when she had nothing to hide. It didn’t matter anyway, since if the officer was really that bad, she wouldn’t hesitate to deny him her services until Mustafar froze over. Just one perk of graduating from call girl to courtesan. “Treat me like a lady and I’ll treat you like a man, Governor. I never cease to please,” Shan continued, presenting herself with an inviting curtsy. Submissiveness always turned a government official on, she had found over the years. It was the power that gave them an insatiable hunger for the carnal. She instinctively felt the governor’s lustful gaze sweep her from head to toe and back again. Shan placed her hands on her hips and moved them in a practiced fashion.

Men loved sensual movements. Shan loved seeing men drool like idiots.

Everything she did was a ruse, of course. Shan had no feelings for the man standing in front of her, nor would she ever. All the movements she made were calculated and cold. She was an expert of falsity. All of the emotions she exerted while in the presence of a client were lies, only meant to bring more pleasure to them. She never felt a thing. It was easier to act this way. She had stopped caring about anything years ago, in fact, even before she signed her body over to the Agency, which claimed it would be doing her a favor by giving her a way to support her sister. This part was true, but there was no describing the horrors and the pain Shan endured that first year as a call girl. After that, there was nothing. There was duty to her sister, Aldeia, and a forced loyalty to the Agency. Nothing else mattered, or would even matter, to her. Shan was dead inside and there was no reviving her. All of the hope she had for the future was gone. The blunt reminder of her past self, young and pure and naive, turning to the only option she had left in order to create a bright future for her sister, made her heart hurt. Young Shan knew nothing of the agony she was about to experience. She didn’t know about the training, she didn’t know about the pain, she didn’t know about the terrible things she was forced to to by the worst of people. She was blind to the reality of sleepless nights, nightmares, and tears. The woman wished she could scream at her younger self to run, run far away and never go back. But now, it was too late. Too late for her dying soul.

Images of Aldeia, happy images, floated through her mind as she followed the governor through a series of halls and doors leading to his quarters. Shan took no notice. She saw her beloved little sister, playing in shimmering purple-blue puddles after a rare rainstorm before the war, coming home from her first day at school when Shan had finally saved enough credits from her new job in Eriadu City to send her there, braiding her own hair while watching a program on the HoloNet when she should have been sleeping, pure excitement radiating from her when she received the highest scholarship award to a secondary school on Coruscant, hugging Shan tightly just before boarding an old Curich-class shuttle en route to her new home. She hadn’t heard from her beloved little sister in awhile, but thinking about the wonderful life she had told her about gave Shan a shard of joy. A small smile alighted on her mouth as the governor began to kiss her neck, although it wasn’t from pleasure.

_______________________________________

“Lord Vader? Lord Vader, can you hear me?”

Silence.

“Lord Vader, you must wake up.”

There were sounds, the mechanical voice of a protocol droid becoming clearer, as was someone’s haggard breathing. Slowly, Vader was made aware of the darkness and the draft seeping through the threads of the cold carpet that felt rather distant beneath him. In the next moment, he felt the Force wrap around him like a swirling blanket, twisting and churning in an organized yet unpredictable manner. Vader immersed himself in the pure energy about him eagerly before reaching out into the physical world. He sensed no life immediately in front of him, confirming his protocol droid theory, but was bombarded by the sheer amount of life on the ship and somewhere much more vast when he wasn’t paying attention to just how far he was feeling. Too far… Wincing at the almost audible roar of the Force, he mentally retreated as quickly as possible. Vader vaguely remembered commanding Admiral Ozzel to keep in Kashyyyk’s orbit until orders arrived. That explained the sheer amount of life he felt.

“Please open your eyes, Lord Vader. You are needed at the bridge, although at this point I suppose getting you to a medical examiner would be the best co--”

Vader opened his eyes quickly enough to see the irritating silver protocol droid crumpled to the carpet beside him. That’s the third one this standard month, he mused. Ozzel won’t be thrilled. The Sith reconsidered. Damn him, who cares what he thinks. I’m the most powerful being in the galaxy; what is a useless protocol droid to me? He began to think about his own protocol droid, one he had built in his past life, when he suddenly felt a lot of pain. Directing his eyes downward, the Sith noticed the blood that had soaked his shirt had dried and made the fabric copper-colored and stiff. Up until now, he hadn’t felt anything, but after seeing the sheer amount of blood, the pain hit him. Hard. Vader groaned loudly, astounded at the amount of pain. Did I really mess myself up this bad?

Apparently he had, as when he peeled the fabric off his torso, earning him more agony, the lesions that covered much of his chest began bleeding again. Kriffing hells. “I need a bacta tank immediately.” This first use of his voice caused him to have a coughing fit, making it necessary to find his night mask, which had fallen off when he had moved his head. He forced his lungs to fill with the wet, warm air. His Master discouraged the use of bacta, instead wishing Vader would heal naturally so he would grow stronger, but this number of injuries at this severity would take days to heal, and Vader did not have days. He didn’t even have hours. He had things to do, an Empire to defend, and a galaxy to conquer. And, if the protocol droid was right, which they usually tended to be, he was needed on the bridge. Convenient timing.

Not having the ability to don his full suit in his condition, Vader had no choice but to wear a normal-looking shirt and pants, standard issue for an Imperial officer, which was being soaked again by blood. A heavy black cloak concealed his features. This would not be an abnormal sight for the medics, who had seen him enter as such before. He made sure any that saw his face would not see the light of a star ever again.

As swiftly as possible, he swept towards the med bay, his flesh arm clenched to his bleeding stomach. By some miracle, not a soul bothered him, although he may or may not have Force-shoved a couple of stormtroopers out of his trajectory in order to not be confronted. He did not care. Nobody had seen his face, save for his Master, and lived after Mustafar, and he wasn’t going to let some petty injuries ruin that. His dark presence radiated off of him like a black cloud, suffocating the surrounding area. He was sure every being on this ship could feel his incredible Force presence, which ensured that he would not be questioned by even the greenest or stupidest officers about his identity. Darth Vader may be identified by his mask, but it certainly did not define him.

“I require a bacta tank immediately.” Vader was short and to the point with the nurses and doctor that were milling about in the medical bay. Having not needed medical attention on the Devastator before, the bleeding man was forced to wait for the most confident of the stunned and fearful medical staff to respond. None did. Pitiful. He would speak to their superiors about their competence.

“Sometime today would be nice,” he sneered to his petrified audience, trying not to cough on the arid oxygen. Finally, a young female nurse with dark brown hair bowed slightly towards him. “Right this way, Lord Vader,” and lead him hurriedly towards where his relief resided. Maybe I’ll keep her. She can do something right, at least.

“I no longer require your services,” Vader said curtly to the nurse once in the room containing the bacta tank. She did not move.

“But sir, the sedative…”

“Silence. I will get it myself if I need it.”

The woman bowed again, more formally this time. “Yes, my Lord. It’s in the far right cabinet, near the top,” she paused. “If you need it, of course.” With that, she hurriedly made her exit, the pneumatic door closing quickly behind her. Vader reached out into the Force and crushed the annunciator with the closing of his fist. Nothing would get in without him allowing it.

As quickly as he could, Vader threw off his cloak and made short work of the rest of his clothing, struggling again with the drying blood on his shirt, right down to his underthings, opting to leave something on in the instance of an emergency. Leaving his clothing in an uncharacteristically messy heap, Vader scuffled over to the set of black cabinets that the nurse had helpfully referred to and sifted through the contents, knocking a few bottles of unknown liquids to the durasteel floor, the glass shattering upon impact. The Sith attempted to avoid the shards and the bright colors of different sedatives and medications mingling together over gunmetal grey, but in his haste, he pierced his flesh heel with at least three pieces of glass. Vader barked a curse in frustration and, after removing the now-bloody fragments, he stuck a needle in a bottle that was hopefully the sedative. Whatever it did, it was probably better than the pain he was experiencing now. Flashbacks to his battle on Mustafar flooded his mind and he longed for his suit. Needles had been placed inside his suit to administer a numbing agent to his body in order to aleve some of his pain, but no longer. Now he had to feel all of it in full force. Leaning against the countertop that was littered with components for a medical droid, Vader stuck the needle into his forearm with more force than was necessary, but he didn’t care. He just needed to be in and out without raising too much suspicion.

The used needle was tossed carelessly to the side and Vader walked gingerly towards the tank, trying to avoid stepping on the open wound on his foot. All of a sudden the sedative hit him and he fell forward on his face. His body screamed at him and he screamed in turn through gritted teeth. Everything looked fuzzy and moved much slower than normal, much slower than he would have liked. Now I see why this usually takes two people, Vader thought grimly as he left himself off the frigid floor, his flesh forearm sporting a crimson ribbon that was nearing his wrist at an alarming rate. This is truly a mess. I am a mess. By sheer will and use of the Force, Vader made his way up the ladder attached to the tank and strapped on the air mask, not too unlike his own night mask. Gracelessly he plunged into the green-tinged gelatinous substance and let the colors dancing on the edge of his vision take over.

Vader floated, barely aware of the suffocating substance he was completely submerged in. Instead of an empty room, he saw ghosts flitting across his field of vision. Ghosts of people he used to know and used to care about. He felt nothing now, however, as he watched some of the ghosts interact with each other: talking, laughing, crying. He saw Senator Bail Organa, Master Plo Koon, Queen Jamilla. It could have been seconds, hours, or years that he was watching them, he couldn't tell. All the emotions he had once felt had been eliminated with his acceptance of the Dark Side of the Force in every ounce of his being. The Dark Side didn’t allow for emotions; they were feeble and made one weak, and if Vader was anything, he wasn’t weak.

Slowly the figures faded and new ones took their place; the new ones being the people he cared for most in his previous life. He felt something in his chest that he hadn't felt for a long time. It was a tightness, a longing. He watched as Obi-Wan was talking to a distraught-looking Padmé, his face full of concern. Qui-Gon Jinn and his mother, his beautiful mother, were speaking softly, heads bowed slightly towards each other. Vader couldn't hear her, but he saw his wife break down crying. None of the figures had interacted with him up until this point, but Padmé, eyes laden with tears, made eye contact with him and mouthed a question.

“Why?”

That was the clearest thing Vader witnessed under the sedation, and maybe ever. Everything began to get fuzzy and colors began to blur. He screamed, at least he thought he did; he could no longer hear his own voice. He stretched both his arms out, but his hands hit the transparisteel with unreal slowness and he grabbed at it. Padmé walked toward him, the brown of her hair, the blue of her dress, and the red of her lips began to swirl indiscriminately, causing her figure to become muddied and confusing. No. Not her. The colors, how he loved the colors! They faded, too quickly, into the dark grey of the physical room. In a frenzy, he grabbed wherever he could, somehow thinking he could save the colors if only he could grab ahold of them. The brilliance that composed his beautiful wife were the last to dissipate, leaving just before her hand touched the transparisteel opposite him.

“Padmé!”

Everything went black.