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“Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral,” Vader said interrupting Piett’s nervous explanation. “I want that ship, not excuses.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the stiffly obedient soldier responded and bowed his head as the mechanized canopy of Vader’s meditation chamber lowered and hissed shut. He turned to make his way back to the bridge of the Super Star Destroyer when he heard a muffled call through the chamber wall. Vader was saying something else.

Putting his ear to the canopy, Piett asked, “What’s that, my Lord?” Again, there was the low hum of Vader’s mechanical voice, but the command was unintelligible. “Sir, I apologize, but I can’t…” Just then he heard the gears turn as the canopy lifted, but only slightly.

“And some chips, Admiral,” came the frighteningly familiar voice from the chamber’s gap. “I want that ship, and I want some chips, too.”

“Um, any particular kind, my Lord?”

“I want those tortilla chips that have the hint of lime dusted on them. I think Tostitos makes them. Those are great.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Piett reaffirmed, his heels snapping to attention. He turned once again and motioned for the mechanized door in order to leave.

“Don’t forget the salsa!” Vader called again while lifting the canopy even further, enough to give Piett full view of its interior.

Standing in the doorway, “Again, my Lord, there are different kinds,” he said. “Is there one in particular that I might fetch for you?”

“Whatever you get, make sure it’s mild,” the Sith Lord said sounding a little less stern. “I used to be able to handle the hotter stuff, but,” he raised his hands to make quotation marks with his fingers, “after my little ‘accident’ with Obi-wan on Mustafar, I don’t do well with the spicier stuff.”

Vader’s calmer demeanor gave Piett a moment of ease. “Yes, Lord, I’m the same way. The spicier salsas really do a number on my insides. I had some a while back, and let me tell you, I was in the toilet for at least…”

“Your time in the loo due to your inabilities with salsa does not concern me, Admiral,” Vader said, recapturing the respect due him. “And just so you know,” he growled, “it’s not that I can’t handle the spice, but rather that I wear black leather all day long. Everyone sweats after eating the spicier stuff. How would you like walking around in black leather all day long drenched in sweat?”

There was a pause.