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Crime Lord of the Empire	By : Semangelof Category: Star Wars (All) > Het - Male/Female Views: 50098 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. Neither do I profit from these writings.

Chapter List
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Set against the dark void of the outerrim, where stars were scarce, sat a lone gas giant orbiting a yellow sun. The gas giant was enormous, measuring a tenth of the star it circled. And it had greedily kept a planet sized moon of its own. The moon was large enough to support atmosphere, warily circling its surrogate father. It teemed with life, to the envy of its barren sisters who circled the star, its inhabitants mostly consisting of sentient beings, with a few even managing stone-age technology. Recently, this moon itself had acquired a bastard child, though the cosmos knew not where it birthed it. The moon of the moon of the gas giant was entirely metallic. And for some reason known not to the stars, it too, was teeming with life.
For this was the Death Star. Gigantic in the minds of men, yet but a speck of dust to the vastness of space. An anomaly born of twisted minds who dreamed the emptiness was a territory to be owned. Despite the tens of thousands of years of galactic civilization, it mattered little to the eons of the galaxy. But, life, as it was wont, made a ripple through the Force. And the one who claimed galactic dominance looked on in satisfaction at the birth of his brain child.
The Emperor Palpatine stood on the observation deck of the Super Star Destroyer Eclipse. He had been standing there, watching it lovingly for over two hours, ever since they jumped out of hyperspace. It clearly dwarfed anything the Empire had ever built, as he noted the sister ship of his own flagship, the SSD Executor, slowly pace into view.
“My Master,” Palpatine knew the voice, all too well; its thick heavy mechanic amplifier and the rasping it unintentionally conveyed were of his doing. It belonged to the shell of a man, supported on machines to survive. One who had once singlehandedly slew hundreds of Jedi, now felt like nothing more than a diseased cyborg in the Force. Palpatine remembered the first time he had laid eyes on the boy. None of the Jedi Masters, though fearful of the so-called ‘Midichlorian count’ had truly understood the boy’s significance. That had been the true reason of their demise. The institutionalized monastic idiocy which categorized and compartmented the indescribable power of the Force as a number, had gone so far as to become embroiled in such bureaucratic affairs as politics. Palpatine bound them tight in politics and dispersed them across the galaxy. He took pride that he slew the key members himself. And his apprentice had slain the hundreds of knights that guarded the temple.
‘Midichlorian counts,’ Palpatine sneered. The Jedi had become blind, all by themselves. Unfortunately, thanks to his own efforts, he was now at a loss to find a replacement for this useless machine man.
“Rise, Lord Vader.” He commanded.
When he recovered Anakin Skywalker from the molten pits of Mustafar, he never knew that he had already lost all that made him that vigorous boy eager for life. Without his passion, his revenge, his dark past of slavery, all that remained was this malicious being. Palpatine scowled at Vader.
“Skywalker has been captured on the planet Tatooine.” Vader reported.
Palpatine was genuinely surprised. He knew Skywalker was on Tatooine, trying to free his friends from the local gangster. But he had thought Vader had been trying to hide it from him. His Hand had reported that Vader had deployed an independent agent, but she had failed to report in, and even through the Force she seemed hidden. Palpatine had determined that Vader’s agent had eliminated her.
“I know,” Palpatine replied. “It is of no consequence. The rebels are amassing near Sullust. Go see to it.”
“And the boy?” Vader seemed anxious.
As was ever his design, Palpatine decided to play the father against the son.
“He will be brought before me. And I will turn him to the dark side. Together, the father and the son will help me bring peace on prosperity to the Galaxy.”
“The Rebels are planning to attack this station. The Sullustan attack is but a feint.” Vader informed him.
“I know,” Palpatine spoke softly, turning away from Vader. Vader was anxious to be there with his son. But Palpatine knew he could handle one stripling Jedi. He would enjoy watching Vader squirm as he took out his anger on the Rebellion. “Do as I command, Lord Vader. The son of Skywalker will turned or be destroyed.”
Palpatine savored the anger emanating from the Dark Lord. He continued to watch the Death Star, even as he could see the Executor slowly pulling away with its fleet of ships.
It had been months since the Palpatine had let slip the location of the Death Star to the Rebellion, and he had been amused at the lack of their response. Despite the vast organization of the Rebels, they seemed to be stuttering in their execution of their assault. Now he had added himself as bait to crush his last enemies and wondered how long it would take for them to react. For all he knew the few Rebels that Vader had been pursuing had only been a small cohesive strike force consisting of middle tier decision makers and the Jedi, but now he believed that they were indeed the driving force in the heart of their allies.
Palpatine chuckled to himself. ‘What amusing roles men create for themselves.’

It had been just two days since Kiels had reported the capture of Luke Skywalker directly to Moff Jerjerrod, who had returned from a recent undisclosed assignment and promoted as the oversector governor. Kiels had spent a fortune placing the right bribes just to get in contact with the Moff. Planetary commanders were so low on the hierarchy that he had to bribe and entertain ten different officers along the chain of command to get a private holo meeting with the Moff. He had sold out his entire spice horde, along with Vin and the Naboo girl. He kept Ysayne, his newest and least sullied, and Camie, who had failed to make a sale.
The meeting had been brief, and began with Moff Jerjerrod annoyed at the interruption.
“There are proper channels through which you can reach me, Commander.” Jerjerrod was barely an year older than Kiels, but he had come from a wealthy family in the Core World, and was rumored to be favored by both Vader and the Emperor, a rare and potent combination if there ever was one. “I am only taking this call, at the insistence of my Aide. But if this turns out as some petty bid for familiarity, I will have you court martialed.”
“My Lord Moff,” Kiels replied, cold sweat running down his spine. “it is a great honor to speak to you in person-“
Kiels saw Jerjerrod’s hand reach forward to terminate the connection. Kiels almost pissed in his pants.
“My Lord, the Enemy of the State, Luke Skywalker has been detained on Tatooine!” he blurted out.
Jerjerrod froze.
Kiels let out a sigh of relief. “He was captured during a rescue mission he launched against the pirate Han Solo, known accomplice and insurgent-“
Jerjerrod cut him off. “Who have you reported this to?”
Kiels was surprised that Jerjerrod had accepted his report at such little information.
“None, my Lord. I have taken much personal pain to brief this directly to your ears only, my Lord.” Kiels stammered.
“Every officer makes sacrifices, Commander.” Jerjerrod snapped at Kiels for emphasizing ‘personal’. He could imagine well what a low ranking officer must have spent to reach him. Nevertheless Jerjerrod ever disliked the unpriveliged trying to make up for their unworthy rank by tainting the imperium with dishonorable transactions. Jerjerrod knew the type, scum from the outerrim who barely qualified for the academy, always deterred in promotion but blaming it on discrimination.
Jerjerrod scrolled through Kiels’ files for any irregularities. But the man was cleaner than most, and he could see that Kiels had made effort in the absence of a planetary governor fairly well.
“Wait for my orders. Prepare your men. Discretion is important.” Jerjerrod said simply. “Talk to no one about this. And keep him detained on the planet. No doubt you probably didn’t capture him yourself, and from your words I can see that he’s not even in your custody at the moment.”
Jerjerrod cut the transmission before Kiels could offer any further excuse.
That had been two days ago. And he had collected most of the legion he could muster from across the planet. He had ran through drills and examined what heavy weaponry they had. It amounted to a pitiful few: One all terrain armored transport, two support scout transports and a fleet of speederbikes. The speederbikes were the crux of their armored infantry, as the AT-AT and AT-STs could barely make it out on the dunes without bursting apart. He kept Grinfort on the command AT-AT. Grinfort, who had been days recovering from the binge with his first and only slave, Miriam, was slow to respond. To Kiels’ annoyance, Grinfort had gone out and married the bitch, setting up a small commercial store for her in Mos Espa.
“I think it’s good that a man should marry his woman, sir.” Deacon said, as the two of them headed to inspect the speederbikes.
“I’m beginning to share the troops’ aversion to your preaching, Deacon.” Scowled Kiels. As much as Kiels was constantly amazed at Deacon’s ability as the only special forces operative in his ranks, Deacon was a rural chap from half way across the galaxy, and thus he probably won’t be tagging along when Kiels got promoted.
“The troops already sold the other girls to the brothels and shared the profits.”
“That’s wise. They can’t maintain slaves without wealth.”
“Just saying, sir.”
“Look, Deak.” Kiels noticed Deacon winced at abbreviating his name. “The Imperium is to vast to keep everyone out of slavery. In places like this, we just have to cope with it.”
“Back home on, we settlers were far and wide apart. But we did our own work, no droids, no subhumans, no slave. It just feels right for a man to do his own work.”
“Well, keep that to yourself, kid.”
They reached the fleet of speederbikes. The bikes were a mix of the old standard 74-Z and the newer BARC speeders. All of them were older than Deacon, and just a shy bit younger than Kiels. Kiels could see the repainting job on the BARC speeders, as they once bore the colors of the Grand Republic Army, during the clone wars.
“Are you seriously thinking of taking these on against Jabba’s swoop gang, sir?”
“No, you are.” Kiels shrugged as he headed inside his HQ, leaving the boy agape.
An aide rushed forward with a look of utter fear in his eyes.
“What?” Kiels barked, annoyed.
“Secure transmission, sir. Coded frequency, encrypted key codes, sir. It’s the Moff.”

There were no more raiding parties, nor more hunt. Mara Jade climbed over the final peak to survey the dune sea. She had tried Luke’s mushroom diet was called it quits after a few more meals. It brought too much memory of the Jedi. Instead she hunted Bantha on the terrain. One Bantha was enough, but there was rarely a stray Bantha without the herd. So she had trailed the herd for days until she finally caught a stray who fell succumbed to heat and age.
The dead Bantha had helped her back to her old self, muscular and taut. And for the next few days, slowly progressed towards Jabba’s palace. She had lost her connection with her former Master. Either Luke’s healing, his love, or his words had dissolved that potent life long connection. At first she had felt empty and aimless. But as the days wore on, she recalled again and again their brief time in the cave together. She had never felt so fresh or alive in her life.
Far away, she could see Jabba’s palace. The memory of her brief time there trickled through her thoughts, surfacing the dread visage of her old grim self. Having decided to forsake her old master and embrace Skywalker’s vision of the Force, she was now completely alone. No imperial army at her beck and call, no criminal allies.
She estimated it would be by nightfall to reach the palace. She draped her robes, made from Skywalker’s cloak, closely about her, feeling the Force flow through her, trusting her body to it entirely, and leaped down.

The black orb that contained the Dark Lord of the Sith hummed like a pregnant egg threatening to hatch. The two men waiting patiently outside the shell shared a fear that was unlikely found among the common rank of the imperial military, and their status. But both men knew better than to take ease before the presence of a man who could kill you with a thought.
Maximilian Veers, General of the Armies of the fleet, was slightly more at ease than his old friend, who never seemed to overcome some deep ridden fear of the Dark Lord. Efficient and cool, elsewhere, the Admiral ever became a trembling heap when he was before his commander.
Piett shook noticeably as the hatch opened and the Dark Lord swiveled to allow them audience.
“My Lord,” Piett cleared his throat. “The fleet is ready to deploy at Sullust. Comm Scans indicate a moderate heavily armed size of Six Battle groups. Intelligence reports the core of the fleet consists of the Mon Calamari and Corellians, as well as Alderaani and various unidentified subhuman fleets.”
Silence.
Piett hated the Dark Lord’s silence as much as his burst of unorthodox commands, which soon issued.
“Hold the Fleet, Admiral.” Vader commanded. “We will not be deploying at Sullust.”
“My Lord-“ Piett began, but a sharp grip held him. General Veers held his friend’s wrist with a cautionary grip.
“We shall ready our troops for landing, My Lord.” Veers interjected.
The Dark Lord did not deign to reply, swiveling his throne back and half closed his shell.
Piett let out a deep breath he had been holding unconsciously, as the two men exited the chamber.
“Deploy? What the hell are you talking about Max?”
“Obviously we aren’t going to Sullust.” Veers steered his friend toward the bridge.

The static was worse than usual in the dingy apartment Lando had rented for himself. Despite the calm weather, Tatooine boasted of the worst network if you wished to avoid using Hutt satellites for relay. Despite the poor reception, everyone of note was anxiously situated on the other side of the screen.
“I’m telling you that you have to send some reinforcements. There is about to be a major operation involving Luke’s transfer.”
Mon Mothma, de facto Leader of the Rebellion, as usual, deferred the difficult task of relaying bad news to Crix Madine, her Intel and Clandestine specialist.
Madine’s trim beard alone infuriated Lando, who usually kept himself prim and proper even in the worst situations, but had recently fallen into a shaggy unkempt bearded state.
“The Imperial Fleet has not taken our bait at Sullust, General Calrissian.”
“The more reason to lend a hand here!” Lando almost shouted, quelling himself lest someone overheard.
“Our intel reports that a large portion of the fleet has broken off, leaving the Emperor nearly defenseless at Endor.”
Ackbar, inpatient of Madine’s dawdling, elaborated. “We are gathering forces for a major offensive, General. It would be wise of you to delay this operation and join us at the Rendezvous point.”
Lando couldn’t, of course. The Falcon, which he had been running as the leader of Flight group Gold, had been impounded at Mos Eisley.
“One squad is all I ask, Admiral.”
“Our core Alpha team is concentrating on infiltrating the forest moon, General.” Madine said impatiently. “We cannot spare resources, at this time.”
“It is a concentrated effort, Baron Calrissian.” Mon Mothma, finally spoke. “All ships and men are focused on dethroning the Emperor once and for all. I am sorry, but Commander Skywalker and the Princess must fend for themselves, for the time being. We promise all our effort in rescuing our friends once this operation if over.”
The termination of transmission was not due to natural causes, as Lando briefly noted the Alliance banner of the Phoenix flash before the screen died. He will have to buy some men.

Jabba’s personal conference room was smaller than what anyone would suspect. It was designed so, to only accommodate the most essential members of his court. The Hutt was unusually uneasy, even going so far as to allow his pet to wander off to the corner. Leia was dressed in an unusually less skimpy manner, being allowed a veil and a pair of silk pantaloons to go with her golden chest plate. Mellina had been careful and studious this morning on her attire, adorning her with the best jewelry in her closet. Leia noticed that the Major Domo and the Quarren Spy Master were both present as the Gamorrean Ortugg sealed the entrance and stood guard himself.
The other side of the room was empty, but for a large holo projector which hummed for warm up.
“I hate it when the boy takes his time,” growled the Hutt.
“Master, shall I ping them to respond?” Bib cautiously suggested, earning a back handed slap.
“Don’t pester him!”
The holoprojector flickered to life, and after a cursory static, a sharp clear image of an obviously young and surprisingly slender Hutt appeared on screen. The Hutt was seated on a cushion, with a small coterie of counterpart members at his side.
“Father,” the Hutt nodded respectfully.
“Rotta,” Jabba chuckled. “My boy. You do not call as often as you used to.”
“Forgive me, father. Nal Hutta has been in unrest. There are rumors of a major Rebellion offensive in progress.”
Jabba sat back with a purr. “I see you still have a predilection for Togruta women.”
Leia noticed that a young Togruta woman, well dressed, and not showing obvious signs of slavery, stood proudly beside her master.
“She has a name, Father. And she is my companion.” Rotta sounded reproachful, but did not breach respect.
“Say what you will, young Huttlett. You cannot go on showing a weakness for a dead Jedi you once set eyes for years ago. No one believes you prefer Togruta women because of their companionship.”
“We are not here to discuss Ashoka, Father.” Rotta reminded him, seemingly irritated his father mentioned his old Jedi friend, long gone.
Jabba seemed to relent, noticeably relaxing as Leia felt his tail tickling her buttocks. She remained still, as she feared any show of disrespect would earn her a severe bout of torture. Rotta did not venture to counter his father with Jabba’s preference for debasing humanoids.
“I have readied the armed fleet in case you call for them.”
“When you inherit the business, son,” Jabba seemed pleased, “you will make a great Lord.”
“I still suggest caution, Father. Human wars are not our concern.”
“I am not going to overreach my power, son. I am just weighing in the chips where the gamble seems to profit the victor greatly, but punishes the loser viciously.”
Leia was annoyed that the Hutt’s tail had entered the crack where the silk were not sewn together, tickling her womanhood, urging her to let forth a shameful amount of sex juices. Once she used to participate in meetings that decided the fate of men, and the contrast, as she was relegated to an idle toy whilst she was lost in the words that eschewed were humiliating on another layer. Leia gripped the cushions, trying to suppress a flash of heat that traveled from her groin. Jabba, at least his tail, seemed delighted as it further slithered its way freely along her sensitive parts.
“And should your gamble fail?”
“I still have you to carry on my legacy, my son.” Jabba laughed heartily. “Do not underestimate your father yet, child. He has still many things up his sleeve.” Jabba jerked hard on Leia’s chain, sending her body to rest on his belly, as a thick hand crept down to fondle her breasts.
“Do you trust Fett to properly convey our allegiance to the Dark Lord?”
Jabba laughed a hearty laugh, filled with amusement. His chats with his son and heir were one of the few moments he was truly entertained, and those were also the rare moments when naiveté was considered all part of grooming.
“My child, when you reach six hundred years old, petty squabbles between the Sith, Jedi, Empire, Republic, they all meander into the time table of humans. It was a mere ten generations ago for Hutts since we have witnessed the last great struggle between the Sith Empire and the Old Republic. I trust no human to convey little messages; I trust my life to no nuance of etiquette. Might alone is strength, and action alone is what matters. Do not trouble yourself with hidden agendas of foolish little humans.” At his last word, he openly thrust his tail forward so forcefully that Leia whimpered an anguished cry. Jabba was amused. “Little lives that believe they have meaning scramble about the universe while the Hutts persevere on, steadily enslaving all that we deem within our cautious reach.”
Rotta was silently contemplating his father’s words. “You speak wisdom, my father.”
“Indeed, Huttlett. You have yet to reach sixty years of age into full adulthood of a respectable Hutt. When the time comes, I shall step down towards full retirement.”
“Return to Nal Hutta, Father,” the son suggested.
“You will come to understand the benefit of living in such a backwater locale, my son. For now, I need you where you are, growing your strength against the likes of Ziro and Gardula. When the time comes, choose a place where you wish to expand your empire.”
“Yes, father,” the business was concluded. Rotta and his entourage bowed respectfully as they disappeared.
Jabba pulled his slave human up to meet his face, deep in contemplation, as he unfastened her chest plate and let it fall to the floor with a clatter. Leia remained frigidly still as Fortuna, anticipating his master’s ennui, proceeded to unfasten her loin guard.
“Human,” Jabba muttered, “you think you are a Princess, haughty and mighty with royalty.” Jabba’s free hand dug deep between her thighs, forcing his thick finger rudely into her vagina. Lei whimpered, backing away, but was held in place by Fortuna’s clawed hands on her neck. Jabba continued, “But you are just a tiny little being, pitifully small in the ebb and flow of the galaxy. What if today your rebellion should fall, tomorrow will see another repressed rabble rise from its ruin.”
Jabba’s eyes were full of disgust as he watched the human female slave squirm about, desperately trying to resist his hands from probing deeper into her sex. His other hand, now free as Bib Fortuna loyally kept her fast, proceeded to mash her breasts.
“I do not need to conquer your mind. I can destroy it with my fist.” Jabba declared, recalling her previous defiance in his private chambers, “and no one will miss you, no one will mourn you. You will cease to matter in the greatness of things. Do you know your real mother, human?”
Leia stared at Jabba.
“Do you know your Father, slave?” Jabba gave forth a sinister laugh. “You have your mother’s face, slave. She, too, was a feisty one. But your anger, that comes from a deeper, more evil heritage.”
Leia was speechless. She knew she was adopted. But Bail Organa was careful to talk little of her mother, save that she was a dear friend of his, and spoke nothing of her father. His silence now seemed foreboding as it eclipsed Jabba’s words.
“Your father was a slave, human. You have a slave’s heritage. Not that of a haughty noble, but a Tatooine slave. Not many know this.” Jabba chuckled as he felt his entire fist enter her vagina. Leia desperately clung to the Hutt, shuddering in pain, tears rolling down her eyes. “For I once knew a slave named Skywalker.”
Jabba withdrew his hand abruptly. Leia collapsed to her knees before the mighty crime lord. Her womanhood swollen and aching with a dribble of blood, she bore his words warily. But her inner senses she had always relied on, which she had named intuition, told her that he spoke true.
“And you are a Skywalker, I have no doubt.”
Jabba glared down at her, as if contemplating a mongrel beast, with a sneer that froze her heart as she gazed up to meet his eyes.
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Crime Lord of the Empire