You Never Will

Savage

Rating:      NC-17 ( Kidnap, violence, torture, rape) Caution. You must be an adult to read this story - it may distress those of a sensitive disposition.
Disclaimer: Star Wars characters, names, and places belong to George Lucas and no money is made off them by me.  Everything else is original and belongs to me and may not be used without permission. - Savage.
Summary:  Maul perfects his skills of interrogation, coercion and torture on a human woman who thinks she would like to take Maul home with her.  Inspired by some message board talk about what Maul would really be like.  Not the Maul we normally like to dream about, but rather a sadist in search of his next victim.
Feedback:  Savage@cinci.rr.com
Initial posting: On dmeb2.

You Never Will

You think you know me.

 You are wrong.

There have been times – very brief times – when I have wondered what sort of man I might have been if Lord Sidious had not found me.  Iridonia is too remote for the Republic to have any influence, and the chances that I would have been spotted by the Jedi Council are slim.  There is a part of me – a very small part – that wonders if I would have been suited to the light side of the Force.  I wonder what I would be now if I had been discovered by them instead of my Master.

In my meditations I am confronted with my own beliefs and desires.  Some of those are contrary to the teachings of my Master.  Lord Bane’s writings tell me this is not only acceptable, but encouraged.  I must travel my own path through the darkness, and though it lies beside that of Lord Sidious, it is not the same route.

As I become more comfortable with my own skills and abilities I am permitted to leave the solitude of the rim planet that has been my home throughout my training.  At times I go to Coruscant and assist the Master Sith in his dealings with those who would help bring about the fall of the Republic.  Some of them do so wittingly; others do not realize their role. 

When I travel to other systems there is always a goal in mind – some task to accomplish for Lord Sidious, or a personal goal for myself.  I will seek out adversaries and eliminate them.  I will use my Sith gifts to influence the minds of the weak and to cut down any who oppose me. 

I must always stay in the shadows.

No one who sees me and understands what I am is allowed to live.  This is not a challenge to me.  No adversary has ever come close to matching my abilities.  I long to face someone worthy of my skills – I long to kill Jedi.

Every day I think of them when I wake, when I train and when I meditate.  I hate them and everything they stand for and when I think about them my anger grows and becomes an extension of myself.  I can nearly reach out with my mind and find them in their temple.  If I were but a little stronger, I could kill them from here, in my ship above their world.  I would crush their bodies, twist their minds and tear their eyes from their sockets with a thought.

Now I seek to perfect my skills of coercion, interrogation, and torture.  My object of study is a human woman.

She served me a glass of water in a cantina five nights ago.  She tried to engage me in conversation – asked about my tattoos and my species.  I dismissed her, but watched her silently for some time after that.  Throughout the evening her eyes and her mind came back to the small corner table where I sat.   When she looked towards me and smiled I could feel both excitement and fear.  She began to drink alcohol as the night progressed, and her thoughts became erotic.  The images were of fanciful love-play in a humid hotel or on the seats of an empty transport.  I laugh inwardly at the idea. She approached me again, and I allowed her to join me.

“We don’t have many Outlanders come through here,” she smiled and reached out to touch my arm through the sleeve of my cloak.  “I’ve never seen a… man like you before.”

I did not respond, but smiled at her.  I did not understand her curiosity.  I have seen it before – a few times.  Women and men who are not repelled by my harsh looks but drawn to them.  When I first encountered this I was angered by it.  My goal is to frighten, not to entice.

I have, on occasion, used it to my advantage.

I touched her face with my gloved hand, gently caressing her jaw and waiting for her to speak.

“What’s your name?” she asked me.

“Maul,” I told her.  In her mind, this information gave her power over me.

She informed me she was finished with her work and that she hoped she would not be leaving alone.  When she walked out of the door, I followed.

She thought she knew who I was.

She was wrong.

********

The metallic voice of the Infiltrator’s computer growls a status update.  The Zabrak language isn’t sounding as accurate as I had hoped, and I consider abandoning the project.  Voice tones recorded for computer speech are always human and always with human inflection.  The bias annoys me, and is one of the key differences in my design for the Galaxy.  Sidious sees an empire of humans in his future – under my rule, the very few humans lucky enough to be allowed to live will live as slaves.  The thought of them brings anger in the form of heat up over my torso and around my shoulders.  I close my eyes and an observer might think my face had disappeared under my dark cloak.  After a few deep breaths my anger quells and I decide to postpone the project, for now.  I switch the computer back to Basic to avoid hearing any further slaughter of my people’s language.

I stand up and stretch, my muscles are tight from the hours I have sat at the controls of my ship.  I turn around away from the console and face the passenger seats in the circular compartment.  They are empty, but remind me that I am not actually alone.  I enter the small lift and descend to the lower part of the ship.

I stop briefly to devour a meal bar and fill a glass with water.  I carry the glass with me through a small, dark doorway.  Inside, I lean back against a small table and look over the woman in the room.

She is a small human, and slightly built.  She has that sort of dull, brown hair color that I have heard humans refer to as “mousy”.  It is tied back in a long braid, though much of the hair around her face has been pulled out and plastered against her forehead and cheekbones with sweat.

I cock my head to one side and consider those strands of hair.  The room is cold enough to bring a slight chill to my skin, but the human should find it neither warm, nor cold.  Zabraks only perspire when overheated, not due to nervousness or fear.  I inhale, my mouth open, and I can smell/taste the fear on her.  It indicates that she is conscious, though the blindfold hides her eyes from my sight.  I find the fear intoxicating.

I stand and silently place the water glass down on the table.  I move in a slow circle around her without disturbing enough of the artificial atmosphere to alert her to my presence.  When I am about three-quarters of the way around her she breathes in sharply and then lets out a pathetic sigh.  It is more of a whimper, really.  Like pets kicked by their companions, I imagine.

She shifts her weight as much as she can and tries to alleviate the pressure in her outstretched arms and shoulders caused by the wrist bonds secured to the ceiling above.  She steps lightly from one foot to the other – only her toes and the balls of her feet can reach the ground – her autonomic nervous system more in control of her body than her mind.  She does not try to speak.  She hasn’t for over a day now.

For nearly twelve hours she screamed at the top of her voice.  I had considered gagging her for my own sanity, but learned quickly to enjoy the sounds.  Now I miss them.  I listened to her cries from the cockpit speaker as well as here, in the room with her.

I have not touched her.  Soon I will, but I will not be the playful lover she had hoped for at our initial meeting.

She has no knowledge of my comings or goings.

I offer her senses nothing.  No sight, as little sound as possible.  She has consumed nothing in the time she has been here.  Her outer clothing has been removed and her skin is exposed to a perfectly comfortable temperature for humans.  She receives no stimulation from the still air around her.

I stop when I stand in front of her again.  I take a few steps backward and, in total silence, detach my lightsabre from its clip at my belt.  I do not ignite it, but twirl it slowly in front of me, then above my head.  I go through my regular fighting routine of spins, thrusts and jabs, though I leave out the jumps.  I don’t think I can come down soft enough to remain completely silent, and I don’t want to chance that just yet.

I spin and point my weapon at the woman’s face, and stop a meter or so away from her.  My eyes travel the short distance between the end of the saber and the center of her face and nod, satisfied that if ignited, the sabre’s tip would be less than a millimeter from her nose.  I replace the weapon on my belt and step back to the table.  I take a short drink from the glass and look at my prisoner.  I place the glass down with an audible thump.

She jumps.

The body that has been slumped and defeated suddenly becomes alive again.  The fingers grip and ungrip the bonds, the head comes up and turns back and forth, searching for the source of the sound.  Her tongue comes out and licks across her dry lips.

“Are you there?”  Her voice is raspy.

I let my boots click against the metal floor as I walk to her.

“WHO ARE YOU?” she screams and fights against her chains.  Her fear and anger coil out to me like a wave of pure energy – feeding me and increasing my power.  I wonder if my midichlorian count increases at times like this, and if there would be a way to evaluate and test this hypothesis.

The woman continues to struggle and yell at me.  She makes unconvincing demands to return her or suffer the consequences, to let her go or I will die, to release her or be emasculated.  I wait silently as her screams of anger turn into sobs of terror.  Her threats change to pleading questions of what am I going to do with her, and to let her go and I will be rewarded.  I continue to wait, occasionally tapping my toe against the floor to remind her that I am still here.

She finally stops begging me and pants quietly, her strength gone.

I dip my finger in the water glass and touch it to her lips.

She recoils and then reaches forward with her head, trying to retrieve more of the liquid, but I pull back, only allowing the briefest taste.

“Please,” she croaks, “more water.”

I ignore her pleas and leave the room.  My mouth turns up in a grim smile as I go back to working on my language program for the Infiltrator’s computer.

********

I stand watching the woman for some time, though she moves very little.  After three days she is likely too dehydrated to do much.  I hear her cry on occasion, but no more tears of water are shed.

Except for the brief touch of water to her mouth, she has had no contact from me.  No stimulus outside of the ship’s droning white noise reaches her ears.  The blindfold remains intact.  Her one brief encounter let her know she is not completely alone, there is someone here – someone with the power to help her, but does not.

I move silently over to her, reach up and lift the corded rope from around the loop in the ceiling and drop the woman to her knees.  She groans, but does not try to speak.  I doubt she can form words anyway.

I haul her over to one side of the room without gentleness and drop her next to the bucket I brought with me.  I take her still bound hands and guide them to the rim.

“Water,” I say softly.  I watch her fingers creep over the rim and drop down inside until she comes in contact with the liquid.  I sit back on my heels a bit and observe her lower her hands into the water and bring them back to her mouth.  She sticks out her tongue to lap at the liquid.  After only a taste she backs off, gagging.

“Salt,” she says, her voice barely audible.  “Makes it…worse.”  She can barely utter the words.

“Worse than this?” I ask, and placed my left hand on the back of her head and push, holding her under the surface.

Her body is suddenly alive with renewed energy.  She flails her arms and legs against me, the fingers of her tied hands dig their nails into my gloves, desperately trying to remove my hand from her head.

I wrap my free hand around her body, tilting it upright so I can shove her face further into the water.  The panic and fear from her mind are drowning me as surely as the seawater is drowning her.  Again, I sense the surge of energy leave her body and enter mine.  My hand finds her left breast and I feel it when she can no longer hold on, and her body forces her to try to intake air.  She only receives the liquid.  Again, her energy increases as her mind and body fight for survival.

Her lungs force her to inhale over and over until she goes limp and I haul her out of the water.  I slip my arm around her waist, under the diaphragm muscle, and pull up on her weakened body.  Water gushes from her mouth and on to the floor.  After a few seconds I roll her over on to her back.

The woman is not breathing.

I place my hand under her neck and tilt her head back, opening up the breathing passageway.  With one hand blocking her nasal passage, I lean over her and blow air into her mouth, filling her lungs.  After three more breaths, she coughs and rolls herself on to her side.  I stand and back away from her.  I feel my hand move almost against my will to touch my own lips and notice the smile there.  My tongue tastes the salt water from her mouth and I wonder, not for the first time, why humans kiss.

Outside the room I flip open a control panel and twist some of the knobs there.  Inside the room a screeching noise emits from a dozen speakers.  The decibel level was previously set to just under what would permanently damage a human’s hearing.  With a thought and a wave of my hand, I tear the blindfold from her eyes as the light level on the other side of the door increases to something near the intensity of a small star.

I cannot hear her screams over the sound in the chamber.

********

The woman makes her second trip around the floor of the small, triangular room.  Her legs are too weak from the lack of food and water, and I am honestly surprised that she is getting along as well as she is.  She has not consumed anything in four days.

In her hand she grips the short metal handle that had been attached to the bucket.  It may have been broken off during my attack on her, and one end of it appears quite sharp.

The woman feels around until she finds the door, the table and its chair, and makes her way back to the spilled bucket.  She tries, unsuccessfully, to lick the salted water up from the floor of the ship, but too much of the moisture has already been absorbed by the ship’s environmental controls.

I take a half step to the side as she nears my feet, unaware of my presence.  She is in a nearly blind state from the brightness of the lights.  The human woman stops near my left foot and seems to collapse.  Her breath comes in rapid gulps and I think she could go maybe one or two more standard days before she dies from lack of water.

I very much enjoy the human crawling around near my feet.  My imagination wanders and I think of Sidious in the same position as the woman, and then quickly bury the thought deep within my psyche.  Someday I will allow the image to come back to me, but that is a long time off.  Any human humiliated in this way pleases me.  I close my eyes just a bit and think of all the humans that will grovel before me.  Senate leaders, damnable Jedi, slaves – all of them will beg for mercy at my feet.

Sidious would have punished me dearly for letting my attention wander.  Letting my guard down around an enemy is unforgivable, even when the enemy is nearly incapacitated.  Nearly.

The metal prod doesn’t actually puncture my boot, it is the idea that she caught me off my guard that stings.  I kick her hand and her makeshift weapon flies across the floor.  My second kick sends her across the room.

She sensed me, either through the Force or blurred vision, and attacked without my realizing her intent.  I curl my fingers into tight fists and take three large steps towards her, I intend to end the game and kill her now.  She is clawing at her eyes, but they will not regain normal sight so quickly.  I do not mask my steps now, and she pushes her heels against the floor to retreat from me.

I haul her up by the metal restraining collar, nearly choking her.  I backhand her twice and see blood beginning to ooze from her nostrils.

I force myself, with great effort, to stop.

Control, I think.

I reach up for the restraining loop and reconnect her wrists there.  I turn and head back out the door.

“What do you want?” the woman cries.  “I don’t know anything!”

I stop.  Something in her tone more than her words grabs at me and dark energy passes through my body warning me not to treat this too lightly.

I return to her, my control back in check.  I let her know my movements around her as I walk up close, our bodies nearly touching.  I walk around to her back and lean in to her, my mouth near her ear.

“You are near death,” I inhale audibly.  “I can smell it on you.”  Goose pimples rise up on her skin and I feel her pulling away from me as much as she can.  I watch a single trickle of sweat as it tumbles down the center of her back, and wonder where her body managed to come up with the moisture.  I experience an unexpected twinge in my loins as the droplet makes its way over the small of her back and is absorbed by the thin, short leggings she wore.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks.

I ignore her and walk back to look at her face, then let my gaze travel down the rest of her body.  The clothing left on her covers only her intimate parts and doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, unless you know nothing of human anatomy.

She is much thinner than when I first abducted her – probably seven or eight kilograms lighter.  Her ribs are clearly visible and her skin has taken on an ashen color of one who was very ill. I reach out and let my fingers brush against one of her breasts.

Her reaction is expected, though futile since no matter how much she flinches she can only move a few centimeters.  I do not expect my own reaction to be one of desire.

Strange, I think.  I don’t like humans.  I have never felt any sexual stirrings for them in the least.  I don’t even like to look at them unless it is to watch them suffer.  I am not completely sure if my hatred comes from the humans’ way of making sure every other species is considered the lesser or because of the abuse I have endured under my own human master.   I take a few silent steps back, distancing myself from the woman and my feelings.

The feeling does not pass, but grows as I watch the woman struggle in her bonds.  I don’t know why I never considered using sexual torture before now, but the thought of it brings another smile to my lips.  I tear away the small amount of clothing that remains on her body and I release the woman from her wrist bonds.

She collapses to the floor, unable to move for a moment.  She groans and tried to pull her body into a fetal position, but I haul her up by her collar and slam her form into the wall of the compartment.

“Please,” she gasps, her eyes blinking rapidly as blurred vision begins to return. “I will tell you everything I know.”

“Yes, you will,” I say, and I wonder just what sort of information this woman has that could be of interest to me.  I did not choose her because I believed she could truly be informative, but merely for practice.  It will be quite a bonus if she ends up knowing something useful.

“Need…water,” she whispers.

I fling one hand back towards the table and pull the water glass through the air.  It shatters beside her head, sending shards flying all around us.  I am punctured twice on my face – she receives most of the blow.

Again, I am amazed by her ability to scream.  I clamp my hand over her mouth.

“I will tell you what you need,” I snarl at her.  I am aware of how close our bodies are to each other.  I close the gap between us and push my torso to hers.  I am immediately aroused.  I use the hand not holding her mouth to run down the length of her body and back up again.  I can feel each of her ribs under her paper-thin skin.  I slide my hand behind her back and down over her buttocks.  I pull her to me and feel her gasp under my grip.

I look at her face and see her eyes open wide now.  Her vision has cleared and she sees me completely.  There is terror in her eyes – pure terror – and it pours over me.  I feel my breath quicken.  She cannot move her gaze from my eyes – I know the effect they have on humans.  I bare my teeth at her and she seems to try to push herself into the wall.

She is screaming as I pull her out of the one room and into another.  I suppose it would be considered my bedroom, since I sleep here, but there is no bed.  There is a mat on the floor and I throw her on it.  She’s begging me now, though I’m not really listening to her words any longer.  I tear off my gloves and remove my tunic.  I throw them to one side.  She is trying to crawl away from me, as if there was somewhere to go.  I feel my anger growing at the thought that she would try to escape me.  With a single step I am upon her.

I do not count the number of times I hit her.  Several, to say the least.  She is crying and says no other word aside from “please” over and over again.  I breathe deeply and think about the touch of her skin against my hand each time I make contact with her face.  I step back for a moment and feel my body tingle with excitement.  I notice it is different than the excitement I feel in battle, though neither better nor worse.

She is bruised and moaning as she drops back on to the mat.  She rolls partway on her side as if she would try to crawl away, but can go no further.  I kneel down beside her and pull her body into my arms.  I cradle her, like one would a child.  I hold her close to my chest and she is only able to fall against me, still crying.  I stroke her hair.  It feels strange in my fingers, somehow both soft and coarse at the same time.

I let my mouth draw across her forehead and cheekbones.  I do not try to touch her lips, not yet.  My hands run over her skin, rubbing deep into her and relaxing muscles tight with fear.  I can feel her confusion, though she says nothing.  I lay her down on her back, my tunic wadded up and placed under her head.  I caress her face once more with my hand, then leave her.  I return with water – fresh this time.

I hold her upright with one arm and hold the water up so she can see it.  I see the hesitation in her eyes – she has no trust of me.  I tip the glass to my own lips as she watches.  Satisfied, she reaches for the glass, but I hold it out of her reach and hold back my pleasure at her disappointment.  I tilt the glass to my mouth again and lean to her, my mouth very close, but not touching hers.  She understands and leans to me, opening her mouth.

The water flows from my mouth to hers.  Again I drink from the glass and offer my lips to hers.  With the third drink, the glass is empty.  When all of the water passes to her lips I keep the pressure against her mouth, my tongue pushing against hers.  It is a strange sensation, and not unpleasant.  My hand reaches for her shrunken breast and I feel her weakened hand push against my shoulder.

I allow her to push me back and lay her gently on the mat.  I bring her crystallized nutrition cakes and additional water.  She thanks me when she is finished.  I sit down behind her and stroke her shoulders and arms.  I can feel the tension in her arms from being held in the same position for so long.  She begins to relax against me.

I coax her down onto her stomach on the mat and massage her from her shoulders down to her calves.  I rub deep into her muscles for several minutes, then lightly stroke her skin.

“Why are you doing this?” her voice is a small whisper.

“Don’t you like it?” I respond.  She hesitates.  “I can stop, if you like.”

“I don’t understand,” tears flow from her eyes.  “What do you want with me?”

“Want?” I ask, the intent of my voice inflection is to indicate surprise.  I do not know if I am successful.

“Why are you being nice to me now?”

My answer is already prepared.

“How else would I behave when a woman agrees to accompany me?”

“Agrees?” she looks up at me, confusion in her eyes.

“Did you not ask me to spend additional time with you?”

“Yes, but…”

“So we came back here,” I interrupt.  “I thought most human women enjoyed a massage, but I will stop.”  I remove my hands from her.

“But you hurt me!” She yelled suddenly.

“I’m sorry,” I told her.  “I certainly didn’t intend to.  Show me where it hurts and perhaps I can massage it away.”

“I haven’t eaten in days!” she cries.  “You tortured me!  You beat me!”

“Whatever are you talking about?” I ask, shaking my head a little.

“You’ve been hurting me for days and days!” she cries again.  “You tried to drown me…” her voice trails off.  I shake my head again.

“Is that what you were dreaming about?” I ask.  “I thought about waking you, but I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.  I can see now I should have done so.”  She tries to argue with me, but I take her up in my arms and kiss her forehead and run my hands through her hair.  She begins to cry again, insisting it was all real.

********

I am surprised at how quickly her mind accepts the lie and she begins to tell me how real it all seemed.  I find this information both interesting and amusing.  If I could not trust my own senses I would not be Sith.  I am always pleased to know that my opponent is even weaker than I have previously observed.

For hours I comfort her, feed her, caress her and allow her to touch me as she chooses.  I bathe her in the shower located to one side of my quarters.  She spends many minutes combing through her washed hair as it dries.  Again, my body responds in ways my mind does not expect.  As she tosses her drying hair about her shoulders I come up behind her and wrap my arms about her waist.  She laughs playfully and wriggles against me in mock efforts to escape.

She thinks she knows me.

She is wrong.

********

I can only describe the sounds as inhuman.  The Basic word is inadequate, but will have to suffice.  If there were any way sound could travel through space she would be heard throughout the sector.

Surprisingly, she offers some information that may be useful.  I turn on a recording device, just in case.

“Please just take me back,” she moans again.

“Tell me what I need to know,” I say to her, “and I will contemplate your release.”

“None of my information is important,” she insists.  “All I know of the Xeon Association is a few names – maybe a location or two – nothing you couldn’t find out from anyone.”

She named a criminal organisation with which my Master did business from time to time. “Do you think I would waste time with you,” I lean over to her, face down on the mat, her hands secured at her lower back, “if you didn’t have information I can use?”

“Just don’t hurt me any more!”

“Why would I hurt you, darling?” I say, my voice dripping with cynical concern.  “You asked me to tie you up – if you don’t want to play this game we can always stop.”

“Wha-what?”

I laugh out loud this time.  Humans are incredibly pathetic and naïve.  My boot comes in contact with her side and sends her off the mat and on to the cold metal floor.  She rolls over and cries out in pain.  I am growing tired of the games and I can feel my cock reaching out for her.

I pull her back to the mat on her stomach and pull her lower body up until she is on her knees.  She begins to cry again, and I hit her repeatedly until she swears she will be silent.

I remove my boots and trousers.  I can’t remember being this ready to take a woman before. I do not know if it is my own desire, her fear, or the sheer violence that attracts me.  I will have to experiment more with removal of extraneous variables – but that is for another day.

I penetrate her with one steady motion.  She sobs as I enter her tight sex, but does not try to escape me.  As with every action my body makes, I am in complete control.  I continue to alternate between a caring lover and a tyrant.  I can feel her mind holding out – crying out – for the former.  When he emerges she is instantly relieved and when the other returns she is frantic with fright.  At this point her mind, if not her body as well, are beyond saving.  She will never emerge from my ship a whole person, as if I would ever allow her to leave alive.

She tells me everything while I fuck her.

Much of her information is common or outdated.  One piece is of interest – the name of a system and a date for a shipment.  That will be put to good use.

My need to be inside her flesh has waned a little.  It is the domination I seek – her fear and loathing of me – not ejaculation.  I remove myself from her and sit back.  I release her from her bonds and give her instructions she can never fulfill.

“Make me cum,” I tell her.  “How long with it take you?”

“I don’t understand,” her cowed reply is accompanied by growing anxiety.

“Yes you do – how long do you think it will be before you can make me cum?”

“I don’t know,” she hesitates, but still makes the mistake of answering.  “Ten minutes?”

“You have ten minutes,” I tell her.  “If I do not reach climax in that time, you will die.”

“No,” her voice trembles.

“Nine minutes, fifty-four seconds.”

She drops down between my legs and takes me with her mouth.  She has certainly engaged in this practice before, and it is a wonderful sensation.  Her hand gently cups my scrotum as she licks me, sucks me, and toys with my flesh.

“Four minutes, twenty seconds,” I lean over and whisper to her.  There is no need to focus on the passing seconds – years of training have made this second nature.

She becomes desperate and mounts me quickly.  Her actions are fast and with less finesse than her fellatio.  Her fear still makes them all the more pleasing.  I moan under my breath and feel her tension subside.  My mouth opens and I growl softly.  I push against her, my nails digging into her flesh.  Then I stop and look into her eyes.

“Forth-five seconds.”

She collapses against me, pounding my chest.  She thrusts her tongue past my lips.  When she pulls back, she can see it in my eyes – she cannot win.  Resolved to this, she stops and buries her face in my chest.  But the gentle lover is gone now.

I roll over and throw her onto her back.  I drop my control and release into her at ten minutes and twelve seconds.  She knows it is too late – I do not have to tell her.

While I dress she pleads for her life.  She offers to live as my concubine, and I find myself toying with the idea.  But no, she would eventually know what my habits are and would grow accustomed to them.  Her fear would ebb, and I cannot have that, can I?

She still thinks she can know me.

She remains incorrect.

********

I guide her to the airlock.  She tears at my arm and screams at me over and over again.  I think I am ready to indulge in a little silence.

I do not watch her form float into the nothingness that is her grave.  I still have work to do on that language program before I reach Coruscant.

You do not know me.

You never will.

END