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"Well," said the Emperor, putting down the ancient Sith artifact he'd been holding and looking down in bemusement at the small figure crouched before him. "That didn't work."
A moment ago, the heavily armored form of Darth Vader had been kneeling in the darkness of the Imperial throne room. That had all vanished - not just the man but the armor, the cape, the lightsaber, everything. In its place was a small black cat with short, sleek fur. It was only by looking at the creature's Force signature that the Emperor could be sure it was still Vader. Vader hadn't been somehow teleported out of here and replaced with a stray animal. He had, in fact, been transformed.
It seemed to take Vader a moment to work out what had happened. He blinked his wide yellow eyes, and then one ear flicked, and he looked down at his small paws on the black carpet.
The Emperor could feel, telepathically, when the penny dropped. Vader puffed out his fur, seeming to nearly double in size, let out an unearthly screech, and dashed away. As if he could outrun his own new physical form.
He watched, chuckling to himself, as Vader scrambled in every direction at top speed. There were a lot of little overhangs in here, and lots of raised surfaces to leap up onto. After a while the Sith-Lord-turned-feline came to rest under one of the data stations at the side of the room, fur puffed out in a near-perfect circle, ears back, eyes wide.
"Good," said the Emperor, smiling to himself. He walked towards Vader cautiously. Vader could easily bolt again if startled, but eventually he would realize there was nowhere to go. "I feel your fear, my friend, but there is no reason to flee. You've only suffered a temporary malady. Perhaps it is meant to teach you some lesson; perhaps your pride in your usual form has gotten the better of you."
Vader had no such pride. He hated the way he looked. Still, his physical size and strength were useful, and he knew it. It would humble him to be deprived of them for a while.
The Emperor crouched down cautiously beside him. He wasn't sure to what degree Vader retained his human wits in this form, but he should still recognize the Emperor as his master. "We'll find a way to fix this, of course. It will only take time."
Vader growled at him, an oddly high-pitched, expressive sound. The sound of his feline voice seemed to startle him, and he cut himself off mid-growl and twitched all over.
They would need to fix this, of course. The Emperor needed Vader as an enforcer, and even if Vader possessed skill with the Force in this form, he would have a difficult time battling any Jedi who appeared. But it would be amusing to keep him as a cat for a while. The Emperor could coax Vader into his lap and pet him while he made his evil plans; he'd seen villains do that in holo-dramas, and it was an image that appealed. If Vader's mind was still human then he would find it terribly humiliating, which only increased the appeal.
"Calm yourself, my apprentice," the Emperor instructed. "You will adjust to this as you've adjusted to your other trials."
Vader hunkered down even lower, belly to the floor in an attempt to stop himself from being picked up. He growled again, more quietly.
The effect was somehow adorable. As if Vader actually thought he could dissuade the Emperor from doing whatever he wanted. Unable to help himself, the Emperor reached out and attempted to scratch him under the chin. "There, there. There's a good cat-"
Before his hand could make contact, Vader hissed again and bolted away, this time rocketing up onto a structure a little higher than the Emperor could reach.
He could still have picked him up telekinetically, of course. But it occurred to him that the throne room wasn't a particularly good place to keep a scratching post, litterbox, and the other necessary accoutrements of proper cat care. It would detract from the aesthetic. And thinking of scratching posts and litterboxes reminded him of all the little things that a sufficiently put-upon cat could do to annoy him, while he was busy attempting to rule the galaxy.
Perhaps this was the sort of amusement, then, that ought to be delegated.
*
Director Krennic strode into Grand Moff Tarkin's private office unannounced, his white cape swishing behind him. "I don't know why you haven't approved my latest expense request," he snapped. "I'm trying to get a galactic superweapon-" He trailed off, looking at the Grand Moff quizzically. "Is that a cat?"
It was a cat, of course. Tarkin had been sitting at a spartan desk, perusing a datapad, as usual - he was all-business, and he rarely took breaks - but sitting on the desk a short distance from him, spine straight and very still except for the slight twitching of the tip of his tail, was a small black cat with yellow eyes. On the floor in a corner, further into the room, Krennic spied a bowl of dried kibble and a dish of clear water.
"That," said Tarkin briskly, "is none of your concern. I'm temporarily responsible for him as a favor to the Emperor. Staying within budget doesn't seem to concern you, either, but do continue."
Krennic flushed slightly. "Kyber crystals are delicate objects with obscure properties and I keep telling you, you can expect unanticipated complications to arise during construction. It's not failure; it's part of the process. I don't see you quibbling like this when Lord Vader or the Emperor wants some cockamamie mystical project pursued."
The cat perked up and walked a little closer to Krennic across the desk, its eyes large and round and its whiskers curiously extended. Krennic was normally indifferent to animals, but something unsettled him about this one. He ignored it.
"Neither Lord Vader nor the Emperor," said Tarkin, "are required to send me their budgets for approval. You, unfortunately, are. My concern, Director, is that you're not bringing us any closer to functional dominion over the galaxy. Those additional credits you're asking for could be put to better use elsewhere, such as in Grand Admiral Thrawn's TIE Defender project, which has produced results on schedule."
Krennic bristled. He knew Tarkin liked the idea of a Death Star as much as he did. But that only seemed to make the Grand Moff more critical - as if nothing Krennic did could possibly match up to the abstract idea of the Death Star in Tarkin's head.
"This project," Krennic growled, stalking closer, "will change the course of galactic history. The Death Star will make war as we know it obsolete. It will change the face of diplomacy. Even Lord Vader's precious Force won't look so powerful anymore, compared to-"
He was interrupted by the cat, which suddenly growled low in its throat, ears pressed back. There was an answering rumble as items on the shelves at the side of the room began to move, floating towards Krennic menacingly.
Krennic whirled towards Tarkin. "What ridiculous experiment against nature is that?" he fumed. Could the cat really somehow be using the Force? Was it an elaborate joke, or had Tarkin and the Empire actually spent the money to figure out how to give small animals Force abilities? "This isn't even useful-"
"Enough," Tarkin said sternly, apparently to both of them. To Krennic's surprise, the cat sat back down and the floating items lowered back into their proper positions. Tarkin fixed Krennic with a gaze exactly as baleful as the cat's. "Your additional expense requests will be processed on schedule, and your complaining about it won't serve to speed that process. Dismissed."
Krennic made a strangled, protesting noise in his throat, and then turned on his heel and beat a hasty exit.
When he was gone, Tarkin allowed a small smirk of amusement to cross his face. Vader picked himself up, stretched, and padded back over to his side of the desk. Tarkin had a way with animals, and Vader had already respected him; it had been no great burden for Tarkin to adjust to this new form's needs.
Refocusing on his work files, he reached out and gave Vader a brief, absent scratch behind the ears.
Vader sat very straight, tail twitching, and pretended not to like it.
*
Admiral Piett had not signed up for animal care duties, but then, of course, there was a lot about this that Piett hadn't signed up for. The Emperor had informed him, following the Death Star's destruction, that he was the man best qualified for this job. Piett had accepted those words with a small, despairing sigh.
Piett had never had a pet before, but he knew perfectly well who this cat really was, and consequently he had taken extreme care setting everything up. There were three kinds of food, wet and dry, set out in little bowls and replenished regularly, and a constant supply of water. There was a litterbox which the droids kept sifted with religious attention; several regulation-gray scratching posts; a soft nook under the desk where Lord Vader could sleep uninterrupted; and a small supply of toys he could manipulate with his paws or the Force. Piett had researched all this carefully. He was sure that the penalties for any slip-up would be dire.
The one thing he hadn't done was try to touch the cat. He knew better. He didn't dare encroach on its feline habits at all, save for a respectful nod when entering or leaving the room. He watched warily when Vader moved from one part of his office to another, when he stretched or started to clean himself or curled up to sleep, when there was a sudden distressing ruckus in a corner from him playing with one of the toys. Sometimes Vader seemed very intent on tearing his toys apart. Piett knew better than to comment on the noise; he only refocused on his work, sweating slightly.
But in the past few days, despite Piett's efforts, something had started to change.
Vader had haughtily ignored Piett at first. He'd explored the room at his own pace, then settled into a rhythm of sleeping, eating, playing, staring contemplatively into space and so on. Piett didn't know what he'd done to disrupt that rhythm, but lately Vader seemed to have been trying to get Piett's attention. He approached him every few minutes, looked up at him expectantly, sometimes rubbing up against the legs of his desk or hopping atop it. All of Piett's researches into feline behavior suggested that Vader wanted something, but he couldn't think of any need he hadn't already seen to. What was he doing wrong? Was there something ineffable Vader needed because of the Force, perhaps? Maybe there was, and the Emperor had deliberately omitted mention of it, as a test. Oh dear.
Vader rubbed up against Piett's ankle, and then looked up expectantly and let out a low chirrup.
Piett looked down at him, utterly at a loss.
Vader repeated the motion, more insistently. The sound he was making sounded remarkably like a purr.
Well... there was one more thing Piett hadn't tried. But if he was wrong, and this wasn't it, then he was certainly a dead man.
With the same caution as touching an explosive device, he reached down and extended his hand to pet the cat that was Darth Vader.
Vader's purred louder. Under Piett's fingers, his fur was smooth, and he leaned happily into Piett's hands.
Somehow, Admiral Piett didn't die that day.
*
"What," said Princess Leia, once they were all aboard the Millennium Falcon again, "is that?"
"I don't know," said Luke, holding the small black cat protectively. He'd found it just after he saved Leia, Han, Chewbacca, and C-3P0 from Imperial custody on Bespin. It had come upon him in the middle of one of Cloud City's corridors and refused to be parted from his side, no matter how Luke gently shooed him or looked around for a possible owner. As soon as the cat had seen Luke, it had cleaved to his side. "He followed me here. I think he's lonely."
"I must object, Master Luke," said Threepio, who hadn't seen the need to be rescued in the first place. No one around here ever said thank you for being rescued. That was okay with Luke, though - he was glad to help. "Transport of a domestic animal across planetary systems requires multiple customs inspections for jurisdictional approval."
Han was already flicking the switches to fire up the Falcon's engines. "We're getting out of here before Imperial reinforcements show up. No time to argue about customs inspections. Just strap in and... strap the cat in."
Luke settled into his grav chair and hugged the cat to him protectively. It curled up in his arms and purred as if it had known him for years.
He had a funny feeling about this cat. It looked well-groomed and well-cared for, but somehow he couldn't help imagining that it had a long, sad history, and that it had been unhappy without him. And that felt important. The cat felt like some part of his destiny. Han and Leia would both laugh at him if he said that, of course. Even Master Yoda probably would have shaken his head and said Luke's head was in the clouds.
But when push came to shove, Luke always followed his heart. And his heart wanted to keep this little guy.
"But sir," said Threepio, "this cat could be property of an Imperial officer! We could be stealing-"
"We're already wanted for a few million counts of treason," Han said impatiently. "We'll add the stolen cat to the rap sheet. Now be useful or shut up."
Leia gave the cat a sidelong glance. It had so far ignored her, seeming to focus only on Luke, but there was something else about it that nagged at her. Could the Imperials have planted a tracking device on the cat? Could there be some other trap here? Maybe they could stop at a waypoint somewhere, on their way back to the Rebel fleet, and get it scanned. If Luke was going to take responsibility for this thing then it would need a complete veterinary check-up anyway.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Leia muttered, as Han pulled the lever to take them to lightspeed.