A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away …

STAR WARS: Bad Ground

Before the Hunt

Imperial Palace, Coruscant, 13 BBY

"Rise, Lord Vader."

Getting to his feet, his breathing loud in the almost silent throne room, Darth Vader looked up to the throne where his master sat flanked by red-robed guards and wearing an impassive, unreadable expression. Had it been any other being, Vader might have used the power of the Force to detect what they were thinking and feeling. But he dared not invade his master's mind. Darth Sidious would certainly detect any attempt to do so, and would meet it with a dark violence that even Vader could not match.

"My congratulations on the successful intervention of our military forces on Tervissis, Lord Vader," the Emperor said, smiling down at his black-armoured apprentice. "Another world brought into the order of the Empire is a cause for celebration indeed."

Vader said nothing, merely inclined his helmeted head. Tervissis had been a holdout of Separatist and anti-Imperial sedition ever since the end of the Clone Wars, and its final fall had brought him great satisfaction. Vader's crimson-bladed lightsaber had delighted in its grisly work, and Vader remembered again how he had brought deaths – cruel deaths – to the Neimoidians, Skakoans, native Tervigs, and whatever other species and droid models had stood before him. His thoughts were clear in his mind, and his master smiled. As always, he knew what Vader was thinking.

"You have not enjoyed yourself like that for a long time, my friend," he said with a twisted leer. "You earned it, Lord Vader."

Vader never enjoyed anything, had not enjoyed anything since his fiery rebirth on Mustafar. But it was true that death was the only thing that now gave his life purpose. Death, and the Empire.

"I am pleased to have served the Empire, Master," Vader said, bowing his head once again.

The Emperor rose from his throne and descended the steps to where Vader stood. He stopped level with the cyborg, and despite the gulf in height the Dark Side radiated from Vader's master such that it would have been clear to any observer which of them was in command.

"You are a mighty weapon in the Imperial fist, Lord Vader," the Emperor said, placing a gnarled and withered hand on Vader's alloy shoulder. "And if you would have a boon for this latest action in service to our New Order, then I will grant it."

He knows already, Vader thought. He knows why I am here. Of course he does.

"Master, I ask your permission to participate in a hunt."

The Emperor regarded Vader with something that may have been surprise.

"A hunt, Lord Vader? Did I hear you correctly?"

The Emperor let out a cackle of laughter that echoed around the empty room. It was a dry, rasping sound, and beneath the black cowl of his robe the eyes that were fixed on Vader seemed to glow for a moment.

"Yes, I can see it now, my friend. Darth Vader, right-hand to the Galactic Emperor and Dark Lord of the Sith, mounted astride a strapping Fathier and leading a pack of Kath Hounds, hunting a lone Vulptex through the grasslands and forests of Alderaan, Viceroy Organa and his young daughter at your side."

The Emperor cackled again. Vader was unresponsive. He simply waited for his master to return his attention to him.

"But no," the Emperor said at last, "this is not the hunt you speak of. I would have more details, Vader, before I agree."

"It concerns Grand Moff Tarkin."

Vader sensed rather than saw the Emperor's interest piqued.

"Does it? He does certainly have a penchant for the hunt."

"He told me of his past on Eriadu, the brutality of his upbringing. I would make use of it. With every Jedi that I or the Inquisitors slay, I am denied another worthy opponent."

The Emperor smiled at Vader, a smile devoid of warmth.

"You believe that Tarkin will be a worthy opponent."

It was not a question, and so Vader did not answer. Instead he slowly inclined his head.

"You would have Tarkin hunt you, Lord Vader? On Eriadu, or on another planet?"

"On a world of the Governor's choosing. I will adapt to the situation."

The Emperor regarded Vader with something like calculation, as though he were seeing in his mind all of the possible results of this meeting. Finally, he gave a curt nod and said, "Very well, Lord Vader. I consent."

Vader found Tarkin three standard days later at the headquarters of Imperial Intelligence, not two kilometres from the throne room where the Emperor had granted his apprentice's request. Vader had not announced himself, but nonetheless Tarkin seemed unfazed as the tall, hulking armoured body emerged into the room. He was wearing the immaculate grey uniform that he had personally designed on Sentinel Base the year before, his legs apart, gazing out of a circular window in the direction of the smog-shrouded Works district. Everything about the Governor spoke to the rigid military discipline that Vader knew first-hand was as signature to Tarkin as were his gaunt cheeks and piercing stare.

"Desolate, is it not?" Tarkin remarked as Vader came to stand beside him at the window and gazed, too, toward the distant, towering smokestacks and decrepit buildings that were the hallmarks of Coruscant's industry. "Best to raze it to the ground and begin anew."

"The Works has its uses for now," Vader replied. "But I agree that it is a blight."

For long moments neither of them said anything, until finally it was Vader who broke the silence.

"I am calling in the debt you owe me for Mon Cala. I wish for you to hunt me, Governor. On a world of your choosing, with whatever methods you think best. Kill me … if you can."

Tarkin might have quirked a small smile at Vader's words, but if he did then it was only for a heartbeat before his thin lips once again rearranged themselves into the perfectly straight line that was the Eriaduan's custom.

"I have hunted many fine beasts, Lord Vader," Tarkin replied, without looking at the Dark Lord. "Veermok. Nexu. Reek. Even a Rancor. But I do not believe that I have ever hunted prey as fearsome as the man I stand with now."

Vader had long wondered whether Tarkin knew who he was beneath the helmet, whether the Grand Moff knew that Vader had known him when he had lived a different life. Tarkin was certainly intelligent enough to have reached all sorts of perfectly plausible conclusions regarding Vader's identity and past, but he had never let on about any of them. At least not to Vader.

"No. You have not."

Tarkin finally turned to face Vader. Significantly taller than the Emperor though he was, Tarkin still did not reach eye-level with Vader, and was obliged to look up toward the blank, black lenses that served as Vader's viewports. But, just like Vader's master, Tarkin was unintimidated by the being that so many trillions of beings spoke of in hushed and terrified tones and preferred to believe was not real.

"I accept, Lord Vader," Tarkin said. "I the hunter, you the prey. I suggest Chandar's Folly. Do you know it?"

Vader did not reply. He simply swept from the room, his black cloak billowing behind him, the sound of his breathing following him from the chamber.

Tarkin spent the next several standard weeks preparing for the hunt of a lifetime. The prospect of going toe to toe with a Sith Lord was as exhilarating as anything he had ever attempted in his life. Vader seemed to have been made for killing. No, he had been made for killing. Tarkin had witnessed the black-clad cyborg deal death with his lightsaber, at the controls of a starfighter, and with the strange power of the Force. No creature, no matter how large or well-armed with teeth and claws, even came close to the raw power that Vader brought to bear against his foes.

Yet Tarkin was nothing if not determined, and he prepared himself vigorously for the task ahead. He reviewed all that he knew of Vader from their missions together on Murkhana and other worlds. He read the reports of officers that had been assigned to Vader's command, and the testimonials of prisoners who had been subjected to interrogation at the Dark Lord's gauntleted hands. Tarkin had even considered going to the Emperor for a unique insight into the way that Vader thought and, crucially, fought, but had ultimately decided against it. The Emperor was to be kept above such matters as the petty distractions of his underlings.

As well as researching his quarry extensively, Tarkin had also set about recruiting the most elite of the Galaxy's hunters to assist him, with the promise of glory, credits and blood as the prize for success. He had considered Boba Fett, but deemed the young aberrant clone to be too inexperienced and headstrong for such a hunt. He had thought to contact Cad Bane, who had specialised in hunting Jedi during the Clone Wars, but the Duros bounty hunter seemed to have vanished into the vacuum of space and had been neither seen nor heard of by Imperial Intelligence since the end of the war.

When bounty hunters had proven to be a dead-end, Tarkin had instead taken to trawling the hunting clubs and lodges of those worlds which were particularly known for their dangerous game.

On Tatooine, he had found Gil, a Human male who had made his name by successfully hunting and killing one of the desert planet's massive Krayt Dragons on his own. After verifying Gil's methods and tactics, Tarkin had made him the first member of the hunting party which, he hoped, would be enough to take on Darth Vader. The Shadowlands of Kashyyyk had offered up Vrysst and Knarrll, Trandoshan brood-brothers who had made a small fortune for themselves by hunting the native Wookiees, as well as their Chadra-Fan trackers, Hardhear and his grandson Sissian. On Ryloth he had recruited Twi'lek Drenn Dalron and his Human lover Yerga. Myrkr, Hoth, Onderon and its jungle moon of Dxun, Dromund Kaas, Ylesia and Malastare had all produced hunters of sufficient skill to meet Tarkin's criteria, and soon he had a team of twenty – nineteen hunters and himself.

Surely sufficient to match a Lord of the Sith.