He raises his hand again - and this time a band feels like it closes around her throat.

Grrkk!

She raises into the air, the pressure around her throat not yet quite enough to knock her out, and Lord Inkil approaches until he's nearly within saber-reach.

She struggles, fingers scrabbling against the unseen force constricting her neck.

And he drops her at his feet.

Gasping for breath, she tries to sweep his legs out from under him.

He steps over her leg. "What have you come here for?"

There's a pressure on her mind. An urge to tell him.

"Fuck off."

Pressing harder - "You seek the same ghost I do."

"Everyone knows ghosts aren't real."

Voice amused: "You know little of the Force. Its greatest wielders need not be confined to this thin flesh."

"What did the old hermit tell you?"

"Didn't tell me shit. His brain's been cooked by the sun."

He tilts his head. "Nothing at all? I'd expect him to have more opinions about the ghost of a Sith in his area."

"Sorry but out here in the real world, we have other things than fairy tales to worry about."

"Darth Vader is hardly a fairytale."

"Vader ain't coming back, dumbass. No matter how often you dress up like her."

"She is already back."

"But I see you lot remain as ignorant as ever."

"I doubt that will ever change."

He raises his hand again, an invisible fist around her throat - aiming to knock her unconscious this time.

Cheating... bullshit...

She passes out.

It's hard to say how long she's unconscious. She wakes up in a painfully bright room, strapped tightly to a hard chair or table. She can't see much, can't turn her head, but she also can't hear anyone else in the room with her. There's a low hum of an active ship.

Nnrr.

She blinks into consciousness. What can she see?

A very bright light immediately above her! Vaguely, at the edges of that, a smooth white ceiling.

Ugh. She closes her eyes again.

A door hisses open after a while.

"Enjoying your stay?"

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to buy a girl dinner before you tie her up?"

She doesn't open her eyes.

"I do apologize for the poor hospitality," he says. It's almost hard to tell that he's being sarcastic.

His footsteps come next to hers -

And she feels rather like she's being stabbed in the head.

"How's Jaina doing?" he asks, voice casual.

(Memories of the Dawn Resistance's diplomatic liason from the New Republic - one of their main intelligence officers - start trying to bubble up.)