Afternoon of Destiny.

Author: Empress Piett    donnernblitzen@gmx.net

Summary: In the morning she's delivering pizza for a living. By
afternoon she's Mrs. Maul.

Author's Note of Defiance:
I don't care what they say. I just don't think Maul and
Eeth Koth are the same species.

I stepped out of the turbolift into a round foyer filled
with expensive furniture and decorations. My feet sank into
thick, dark red carpet. Soft music caressed my ears. The
place even smelled nice; but from somewhere down in my gut,
I shivered. Something was wrong. Perhaps someone had died
here.

I crossed the foyer quickly, shifting my pizza boxes to
check the address on the readout. Yep, this was it.
Senator Palpatine's personal apartment. Perhaps it was the
aura of power that intimidated me, then. I was quite an
insignificant person myself, and despite the several weeks
of delivering this new high-class fad food to the people
rich enough to order it, I still wasn't quite used to the
kind of places in which they lived.

The main door opened before I came up to it. To my
surprise, it was Senator Palpatine himself.

I said brightly, "Pizza delivery!"

Palpatine smiled at me (it made me feel important and
beautiful-- is /that/ how he got to where he was?) and
stepped back, with a gesture inviting me into his quarters.
The usual way was to put the pizzas into his hand and leave,
but this would do as well. I looked around the place and
visions of BIG TIP started dancing in my head.

"The smell is making my mouth water already," he announced.
That was funny, since the pizzas were encased in air-tight
warmer boxes. "May I see them?"

I moved to a table and set the boxes down, opening one of
the warmers so he could have a look. *Now* the smell burst
out into the room, spicy and mouth-watering. It made even
me feel hungry, and I was used to it. No wonder pizza was
becoming a fad among Coruscant's fashionable society elite,
and even being translated into affordable versions for the
more adventurous of the common folk.

"What are these round black things?" the senator wanted to
know.

"They're called /olives/," I said, watching his impeccable
manners as he sampled one. "They have to be imported from a
primitive, savage planet called Terra," and I gave him the
background spiel that I'd given a time or three before,
concluding with, "The olive-gatherers go down at risk of
their lives; that's partly why pizzas are so expensive."

"Really," he said politely. "But they are delicious."

"Yes. Well, I'd better leave you to it, and get on to the
next stop. Enjoy the pizzas!"

/Pay me,/ I mentally commanded, although I doubted that
that would work on someone of Senator Palpatine's caliber.

Either it worked, or else he had meant all along to be nice
and tip me. I suspected the latter. But when I saw the
amount on the credit chip he handed me, I actually
hesitated. Misplaced a decimal point? Added too many
zeroes? "Oh, I couldn't take that, Senator," I said.

"Ahh," he said quickly. "Share the wealth. That's what
it's for." He patted my shoulder, and my hand put the
credit chip into my pocket. "Just this way, my dear," he
said, directing me to another door than the one I'd come in
by. I went through into a rather bare, although still
luxuriously carpeted, corridor, wondering whether I had to
tell my manager about the tip or if I should just quietly
spend it.

The door closed behind me, and I belatedly noticed that the
place into which I had just walked wasn't lighted. When the
door clicked shut, it cut off all light. I was in complete
darkness.

"Wait a minute!" I yelled, turning around and thumping on
the door. It didn't open. "Turn the lights on!"

"Surely you're not afraid of the dark-- are you?" That was
somebody different who spoke, in a velvety, intimate voice
very suited for the darkness. The speaker was in the dark
behind me; I couldn't see him but I could tell that he was
much too close. My skin crawled. I wanted to jump away. I
would have pounded on the door again, but suddenly I didn't
want to turn my back.

"Who is it?" I demanded, trying to sound bold and polite.

"You have no reason to fear the dark. Or me."

"Turn some lights on," I said. I had located the door
control behind me, and now I pushed the button. Nothing
happened.

"I want to talk to you first."

"Um, no, I don't think so," I said. "I'm busy. I have a
schedule. Now please don't play tricks on me. It's
harassment and it's illegal. But you won't be in any
trouble if you just show me the door right now."

The voice was laughing softly, a pleasant sound, as if what
I said was really enjoyable in some way I couldn't
understand. The voice purred, "My master is pleased with me
and, like a good master, promised me treats. The treats
have been brought. Now I will enjoy them."

"Yes!" I said perkily. "That's a good idea. Now excuse
me, I'd better not keep you from the pizzas. My cart is
full of pizzas, which will start getting soggy. Sorry I
don't have more time to chat--"

The voice must have hit the end of its patience, and the
body attached to it touched me. At first just a brush of
something against my bare forearm, and I gasped and
skittered away. Then a whole rush of warm, heavy clothing
against me and a solid body pressing against mine, backing
me into the wall. I might have screamed except for the hand
over my mouth, and both my arms were controlled. It was all
very smooth and expert and I was trapped.

I stayed against the wall, and the attacker gave me time to
adjust to the new situation. He removed his hand to let me
breathe. I had already gotten the message, so, feeling
completely helpless, I stayed silent, heart pounding.

"Good," he said softly. "Now will you talk with me a
while-- and then share my food?"

It wasn't time for blustery talking or making any threats I
couldn't carry out. It was time to be practical. Fear had
gripped me-- Fear continued holding me and he was very
strong. I nodded, and through Fear's competent grip on my
body, he felt the movement.

I ventured to speak. "You want to /talk/ to me?"

The voice, Fear, was pleased with me. "Yes," he said.
"Come with me."

He took my hand as if we were old friends and began to lead
me off. When he saw that I was nervous about walking with
him in the deep darkness, he put his arm around me. He
wasn't very tall, but had the aura of an endless fount of
activity and ruthless strength.

Would I be raped? An unthinkable fate. That only happens
to "other" people, not to me.

I thought of an incident a week or so ago, when I'd
delivered some pizzas to a bunch of wild schoolkids, and
they'd tried to get too friendly. Some of them had put
their hands on me in places boys' hands didn't belong. A
punch on the nose of one had sobered them-- as had the true
sight of me, when they'd managed to rip off my headdress
along with my outer cloak. I hadn't needed to defend myself
further. They changed their minds about my attractiveness.

In the end, I hadn't even reported the incident. It had
simply embarrassed me too much. On such a world as
Coruscant, where every species from around the galaxy came
together, nobody had any right to be shocked about strange
appearance. Head-tails, or tentacles, or multiple eyes or
scaly or furred skin were all common.

But humans were still the best bet. Humans were the
standard of beauty in advertising. Sizes, widths and
proportions of rooms, streets, buildings, were all designed
around human measurements. Human tongues had determined the
sounds of Basic.

Those boys had thought I was Human, and when they saw that,
although I was so close in resemblance, I clearly was only
that derogatory (or so it always seemed to me) "Humanoid".
And they rejected me. They decided I really wasn't worthy
to be assaulted by them.

And deep down in my soul, I agreed with them. I wanted to
be human; it's why I hid. It's why I saved up credits to
someday have enough for hair implants, dreaming of the day
I'd have a whole head of hair such as Human women took for
granted. Then I would be good enough, I had decided. My
red skin-- I wasn't sure about. They had treatments for
that, too, but despite the advertisements I suspected that
they were painful. I thought, if I picked the right shade
of hair, I might be "remarkable" and beautiful.

Fear was laughing at me. "Yes, this needs to go," he
agreed, and just as the boys had done, he tugged the turban
and ornaments from my smooth head.

I gasped and clutched at it, too late; and said angrily,
"What are you doing?"

"Why do you want to pass as something you're not?" he
asked, reasonably, as a teacher to a wrong-minded student.
We had come into a bigger room, dim but with enough lights
to see our way. Then suddenly the lights came on.
Floodlights, bright as day. My eyes had adjusted to
darkness and I winced at the light, then turned my head as
if I could hide my bare skull that way. As soon as I could
I looked around to see if any others besides my companion
might be looking at me, but there was only him. He now
released my hand. He wore deep black robes and a hood that
shielded his face. He had my silk wrappings in his hand.

"See how /you/ like it!" I shouted, and made a grab for his
hood. He permitted me to get it and to tug it halfway off.
It snagged on some short, sharp horns on the crown of his
head, but I got it back enough to see what sort of man I was
dealing with.

I stopped in shock. I stared. I forgot about pizzas, and
everything else in the world and the whole of my existence.
Just at that moment I felt bad memories starting to fall
away from my mind, leaving it clear.

He was like me. This stranger was just like me. He could
be my brother! I saw patterns on his face, sharp black
designs traced all over him for some purpose I couldn't
fathom, but I instantly ignored that. Underneath it, I
could see that he was just like me, with deep red skin and
yellow eyes. I looked into his eyes and thought of words
I'd never thought when I looked into my own eyes, though
they were the same-- words like /vibrant/, /intense/, and
/beautiful/.

Just like me. So, I wasn't a freak of nature. I wasn't a
deformed human. I hadn't been genetically tampered with by
some unknown enemy, or if I had, there was at least another
like me. I wasn't alone.

It was moments like /this/ that made life worth enduring.

I stood there with every emotion in my body and every
thought in my mind wiped away, except the feeling of
complete fulfillment and joy.

"Hello," I said wonderingly, when I could be silent no
longer. Stupid thing to say. But I didn't care.

"As you see," the stranger said. His voice was marvelous,
but not designed to show tender emotions.

All the next questions were obvious, and they were clamoring
behind my lips, fighting to see which should be spoken
first: who are you, where are you from, are there any
others, what are we /called/?

He put one finger on my lips, forestalling all the questions
that I knew, somehow knew, he could already feel me wanting
to ask. The finger was topped by a thick, short claw that
pressed into my lips. A claw like mine and I flexed my
hands together, thrilled and ashamed. He had let his grow
out; from now on I would, too. With determination, even, if
such a thing were possible, with pride?

"You may call me Khamier," he said. "There is no other
person alive who calls me by that name."

"My name is Mehlkhind," I said.

A brief nod. "Sister."

It was a formal acknowledgment I'd never heard before but
seemed to recognize instantly. I wasn't his sister. But I
was his-- /sister/.

It thrilled me. I wanted to answer in kind; I could feel
that desire bubbling up instead of the questions. So I
gathered my courage: "Brother?"

I was in his arms then. Unbelievable that this had come to
pass; from a boring day in a hopeless life to here. In his
arms. His arms around me and I closed my eyes.

Not too long; I wanted to look at his face again. "Those
horns you have!" I said, in childish admiration. "How
majestic you are! And look at me. I've always felt so
hairless and ugly--"

"Ugly?" I felt his rage right through his clothes, blasting
me like a hot wind, and it was rage in a complimentary way,
that made me grin in sheer delight as he held my head in
both hands and berated me: "How can you say /ugly/, when
you're the most beautiful woman ever born? /Ugly/, about
this? This perfection, this simplicity, this symmetry,
this--" He ran his hands over my head, and I felt my
eyelids close in sheer bliss of it. He shouted at me,
"Don't tell me you'd rather have a mass of colored fluff
hanging in your eyes, looking like an unmade bed most of the
time, and you thinking men are dying for you because of it!"

I burst into laughter, near-hysterical laughter, but Khamier
calmed a little and laughed with me.

I smelled pizza and lifted my head. Senator Palpatine had
come into the room, carrying one of the boxes of pizza, and
he had a slice in his hand on which he was munching. He set
the box down and settled himself into a plush couch.

My head was naked and I didn't even think of covering it.

The senator said, "Well, are you pleased, Maul?"

Khamier answered respectfully, as he detached himself from
me and sank into an obeisance, "Very much pleased, my
Master."

For lack of any better instruction, I joined him at
Palpatine's feet. Doing so felt natural to me, and as I
followed Maul's lead to stay on my knees, even moreso.

"And I'm required to watch this?"

"Only as much as you desire, my Master."

"But, Maul, I sincerely believe you when you say you'll have
her. And if I watch I'll end up feeling a little lonely
myself, and seeking the company of fallen ladies of the
night, and I can't have wind of that getting around to my
highbrowed comrades."

"Very wise, my Master."

There were layers of sarcasm beneath that. A shared joke,
then. I listened intently, part curious and partly feeling
more cautious disinterest than I usually did in curious
things. There was more going on here than I could see.

But I didn't care. I just looked up at Palpatine, and
glanced at Khameir, and thought contentedly that if I were
struck by lightning and died now, I would have lived enough
of a life, and been angry at the loss of only the part that
might have contained this man-- my /brother/.

Palpatine had made his way through one of the slices of
pizza, and gotten to the crust. He nibbled off the last of
the sauce, and extended the bare crust to Khamier. I half
expected Khamier to refuse it. He wasn't a dog to eat table
scraps. But he took a bite and chewed, with a gesture of
thanks.

Palpatine then offered that same bit of pizza crust to me,
with all solemnity. I took a bite of the salty bread and
chewed, and imitated the gesture of thanks. Pizza crust was
all right, after all, though the other part was better.

Palpatine looked at us and said, "All right, dear children,
consider yourselves man and wife. Maul, you may kiss the
bride."

"It's a human custom," Khamier-- or was his name 'Maul'?--
said, gently rebuking.

"Forgive me, Apprentice." Palpatine had humor in his
voice. And I had eyes big as saucers; when somebody shows
up at your door and tells you you've won fifty million
credits, you just don't waste time asking a lot of silly
questions. At my obvious happiness he smiled a little
wider. "She seems to appreciate you as well, Apprentice."

I said eagerly, "Yes--" then I was at a loss what title to
give him.

Maul stood, and lifted me to my feet. I sensed a certain
possessiveness, protectiveness, in the way he turned me away
from Palpatine and put his body between us. Palpatine's
voice, suddenly with a cold undercurrent, said, "Enjoy the
reward I've given you. I have no further need of you at the
moment."

"Or of this?" Khamier asked civilly, about the box of
pizza, and at an affirmative response he closed the cover
and picked it up. "Perhaps my bride will be hungry later
on."

"Keep her out of the way," Palpatine said with sudden
ungraciousness. I watched him leave. The most powerful
politician in the galaxy, and the leader of civilian
society, wasn't necessarily the most powerful man. But that
might not be all there was to him. I sensed that it would
be a tragic mistake to underestimate him.

Part two...

Khamier took my hand and I went away with him, to a stark,
darkly-furnished bedroom. It had the air of a barracks, but only one
bed. Khamier closed the door behind us and I looked around, undecided
between eagerness and dismay. Everything was happening too fast. I was
late for my next delivery. I had surely lost my job by now, but my
uncaring about that fact was luxurious. I was-- /married??/-- to a
complete stranger. I wasn't yet completely reassured that they hadn't
brought me here to chop me in pieces and offer me to some cruel deity.

But I was more sure of this man than I had ever been of anyone in all my
life. The orphanage nurses, though universally kind to me, and some of
them even affectionate, had been strangers and stayed strangers. I kept
my childhood friends in a strict hierarchy. As I matured, I kept my
friends at a distance. The boy I'd been favoring for a potential mate--
but I could scarcely recall his name now-- had been tolerant of my odd
appearance, and complained that I never allowed him into my mind or
communicated with him.

Of course, I'd never really communicated, never had a long, philosophical
conversation, with this black-patterned man either, and yet I could. I
somehow knew I could. Whatever I thought to say would not be alien,
incomprehensible to him.

There was no need of words.

He looked at me, seeking my pleasure. He didn't seem the type to worry
overmuch about the victim's consent. I could almost smell blood on his
hands. This was a monster, to some. I simply /knew/ that too. And that
I had nothing to fear. I was his--

"Sister." He addressed me formally.

I took off my outer robe and dropped it on the floor; it floated by
itself to lie neatly over the back of a chair. I grinned in surprise,
and caught myself just in time from a very unwise question. No, that was
obvious: I /knew/ he was no Jedi.

But powerful! So powerful. He extended his hands to me, an invitation
to be touched. I aligned my palms with his, and felt his power then,
flowing through my body, crackling with life and energy and deep
knowledge and potential. I threw my head back, stretched my body,
exulting in it. "Khamier!" I half-shouted in surprise. But no, that
was wrong: "Brother," I whispered, looking at his deadly golden eyes.
Smiling.

"Get rid of the rest," he spoke impatiently, opening my clothes, and I
helped him, and together we could barely get them off quickly enough. He
held me away, looking at my body, and though I had always been a shy kind
of girl, I didn't feel shy now. I pleased him, I /knew/ that, and I was
glowing with pride, wishing to walk around naked just to boast of what I
was to him. His hand on my waist, short claws jabbing me, he turned me
around. I turned around a few times, then dipped my head to him, asking
for his touch. He gathered me up.

"Yours!" I protested. "Get your clothes off too. For pity's sake--"
His were troublesome. Things that looked like they should open in the
front opened in the back. My attempts to help only complicated matters,
but there was, really, no rush. We had just enough time. We must be
together immediately. Immediately was now. Everything was progressing
at just the right pace. Frantic. But unhurried. Pieces of his velvety
black robes joined my drab delivery uniform.

When he was naked I had to sit down on his bed-- for sheer astonishment.
My legs were weak at the sight of him. So beautiful! From head to foot,
each detail perfect, symmetrical, finely designed. The deep red of his
skin intoxicated me. It was the same shade as mine. We matched
perfectly. I thought of our bodies joined together, tangled up, not
being able to tell where one of us ended and the other began, and I
looked up at him.

But down again, because all of him was beautiful. He stood in front of
me, and with my hands I traced the black patterns, following each one.
Many of them ended at his penis. I had never touched a man in such a
way, but I had no hesitation about doing so now. Shy? Not when his
flesh, though so different, seemed as intimately mine as my own.

I laid my hand on him, felt him pulsing, one soft, thin layer of skin
moving under my hands, over a magnificent thickness and hardness. I put
both hands on him, smiling, and then laughing out loud that turned into a
moan. "Oh, it will hurt me," I said. Statement of fact. Not protest.

"Put your mouth on it," he said. This bald statement inflamed me. Two
hours ago I could honestly boast that I'd *never* succumbed to necking in
the warehouse like everybody else did. Now I shivered with delight that
life contained such a pleasure as the privilege of putting my mouth on
that enormous shaft: and I did so. He tasted clean and hot, and I felt
the intensity of his desire communicated right through my lips. He held
my bare head between his hands, and I closed my eyes, overwhelmed at the
honor of this. I slid off the bed to kneel before him, and kissed him
and touched him. I wondered about the smooth sac beneath, and I was
allowed to feel his testicles. For a moment I was distracted simply by
the newness of experiencing a man. I backed away a little, so I could
look at him.

His hand on my shoulder urged me up. I felt a warm, lofty sensation like
invisible wings helping me up as I rose. I looked around: nothing but
thin air. /He/ had done it, of course. When he saw my puzzlement he did
it again, with clearer sensations so I could understand. It was like a
thousand gentle hands bearing me up, with warmth wrapped around my skin,
though my eyes told me I was only floating in thin air, then deposited on
a rather hard bunk.

I sat up; I couldn't just lie there. My brother came to me, his
magnificent body offered to me, and I knew just what to do, although I
had never done it before. I knew how to open my legs, how to lift to
position myself for him. He held my shoulders just hard enough for his
claws to hurt and send spikes of excitement through my arms. Then he
moved his hand down to touch me, and I whispered senseless, eager words
of encouragement.

I knew it was going to hurt, and I had a moment of doubt. But not even a
second of hesitation. I wanted the pain, the more the better, I wanted
every last drop of it, because I wanted this, all of it. I wanted him,
every inch of him. I only hoped he would find pleasure in me. To be
strictly practical-- I hoped he would fit in me!

He stroked my thighs, my belly, with soothing motions. From somewhere I
heard him say, "I wouldn't hurt my sister," and myself respond, "I know,
I know," although I didn't know at all.

His hands found the dripping wetness. He growled with satisfaction,
exploring me with his fingers for only a moment before coming close to
me. I watched the huge red organ jutting up under me. I lifted myself,
spread my legs wider and felt the head of it as a delicious solidness
pressing beneath me. Khamier, wiser and more experienced than I, used
his hands to rub it in my juices, as I waited, breathless, sensation
piling upon sensation. Then together, working as one, we impaled me on
it.

Oh, the force. It wasn't easy. It had to be pushed; I let the weight of
my body carry me downwards and I held my breath, gritting my teeth all
the way, then cried out, more with relief than pain, as he came to rest
deep inside me. We knelt together, arms around each other, my body full
to bursting with that strange new presence.

We just stayed, motionless, locked together, excitement growing as we
stared into each other's yellow eyes. It was as I had imagined. His
arms were finely detailed with chiseled muscle and sinew, and mine
smaller, softer, more rounded. But our skin was a visual blending. We
could have been colored from the same pot of dye.

I leaned over to kiss his breast and he growled his pleasure at me. I
would have done it again but he came to my breasts instead, caressing
them gently with those hands of his that I knew must be capable of so
much harm and death. I saw his claws against me and didn't fear. I
showed him my hands then, for the first time, which I had spent so many
hours clipping and filing to make them resemble human fingernails. He
took them in his hands and said regretfully, "Sister, what have you done
to yourself?"

Shame filled me. "They'll grow back," I said.

"Yes, they'll grow."

He filled me.

That was all that mattered. I had rested enough, recovered enough. He
moved a little and I cried out at the sheer intensity, the stretching and
tearing of my virgin body and the deep pleasure of his presence. I
shifted my body violently on him, making sure there was no hurt left that
I hadn't experienced, nothing unknown that I couldn't know, and my lover
held me tight, hissing at me in disapproval.

It simply felt too irresistibly good. Khamier showed me the more proper
movements to make, and I followed along obediently, appreciating the
wisdom of the ancient design. It was comforting to think of ancestors
I'd never known, that sometimes I'd doubted whether I had. Now I knew I
did have them, that they must have been /like/ me, that thousands of them
had done this before me, and my actions would produce more of them like
me as well. I was no longer a mote lost and alone. I would be a link in
a chain that would continue.

My head had been on his shoulder, lolling in helpless rapture, but at
this thought I lifted it and looked into his eyes.

He was not as unknowing as I was. He had planned this long ago. He had
been watching me for weeks-- I /knew/ this now. I could almost see
myself through his eyes, and I pitied the self I saw walking around doing
her duties in her boring, pointless life. The watcher had seen better
things. That girl becoming a woman, and he, as warped, dark, blackened
as his life and purpose had become, living on through her beautiful
body. Children.

And danger. Hate. I sensed it; it was immediately muffled from me but I
still knew it was there.

"Don't see it, my Sister," the soothing words came close to my ear, the
arms around me, protecting me, the warm hands on my body. "Only love me
now. That's all."

"I do. I do love you." I said it as a formality. We had already
progressed far beyond the need to hear those words, far beyond their
message, in fact. We weren't merely in love. We were family already.
Not brother and sister in reality, but better-- in spirit.

I had to hold myself off him now, holding still before him, braced,
tense, receptive as he thrust slowly, deeply, keeping time to that old
rhythm. I moved with him, closing my eyes, absorbing the sensation of
that massive hot thickness stroking within me, grinding my nerves with
sweet pleasure almost to the point of insanity. I bore it as best I
could; once even lost the motion and tried to struggle, briefly afraid of
the thing I was becoming. Khamier's claw-tipped hands on my shoulders
held me still. His mouth claimed mine, muffling my moan of unbearable
passion.

Dreadful certainty of what would happen, though it had never happened to
me before, and I couldn't wait, and didn't want this to end, ever--

The tension burst around me, the intensity beyond belief. My body keened
with pleasure and I fell into it without resistance, my spirit floating
somewhere. I shouted more senseless words and knew Khamier understood
me. Vaguely I was aware of him growling at me as he came apart too,
spurting a hot flood of thick wetness against my womb.

The moment never seemed to end, but when it did, I slumped, wondering if
it was possible to die of sheer happiness. Khamier went with me and we
lay together on the narrow bunk for a long time, breathing, wondering,
still. Our bodies relaxing, our breath returning. Still together.

I felt that hours must have passed. Years. I was so different from what
I had been when I came to this place. But when I finally sat up, slowly
so that I wouldn't faint, the first thing I noticed was the pizza.
Nobody had bothered to put the lid down on it, but it was still warm and
smelled delicious. "You were right," I said to Khamier. "Your bride is
very hungry. Ravenous, in fact."

"I ordered the kind that you always order for yourself," he said.

With crispy crust and extra cheese and olives. Perfect. I wasn't
surprised. I just curled up in his armpit, the box on my lap, and fed
him bites alternately with myself. Good stuff, it was. Very good
stuff. I had possibly never tasted it before. I had possibly never been
alive before. But I was now.

"I love you so much," I said.

"And I, you."

"I wish there were better words than 'I love you'."

"You know what they are."

"Oh, my brother," I whispered, emotion overflowing.

END