Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents: UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT -=WARRIORS OF THE OUTER RIM=- THE FULCRUM OF FATE Part II Benjamin D. Hutchins Anne Cross with the invaluable assistance of the Usual Suspects and thanks to all the sources (c) 2006 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited TUESDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2412 ALDERA, ALDERAAN The ancient Jedi Master known as Yoda stood in his private chamber in the Aldera Temple, listening intently to the miniature hologram of Emmy Kyn'o'bi floating atop the projector built into his desk. "... don't know quite what to do in a situation like this, Master Yoda," she was saying. "Such an event should probably be reported to the Council, but... " Yoda nodded. "Mm. To the Council you are reporting," he observed with a hint of playfulness. "Though a quorum, I admit, I am not." He folded his hands atop his walking stick and leaned slightly toward Emmy's hologram, his ears canting forward. "Piqued my interest you have. Your troubles tell me, young one." "Well, they're not -troubles-, exactly, but... Leonard has told you that I've been traveling with Darth Vader?" Yoda nodded again. "Indeed. Troubling that is. Dangerous is Vader, even if true what he has told Leonard is. Deceit and betrayal - the coin of the Sith they are." Emmy shook her head. "Respectfully, Master, I believe in Lord Vader. He has made no attempt to - but that's a discussion for another time. It can wait until I see you in person." Yoda looked intrigued. "What, then, cannot?" he asked. "Lord Vader and I traveled to Santovask," Emmy told him. Yoda's ears rose at this, but he said nothing as Emmy went on, "We found the throne room of Quevas XIII in the wreckage. There he asked me to help him perform an ancient technique called Kamor Bakhva." Yoda blinked very slowly. "And did you?" he asked, his voice hushed. Emmy nodded. "I did. As I said, I believe in him... and in this instance my belief was rewarded." "Kamor Bakhva... many years it has been since that name I heard," Yoda murmured. "You know of it, then?" Emmy asked. She received a slow, thoughtful nod in return. "Performed it I did, once, as a young Jedi Knight," he said. "During the Yoma War. Millennia ago. Before Vader's time, when brothers in the Force the Jedi and Sith still were. Disagreeing, but enemies not. Almost unspeakably rare it was even then - and almost never successful." He left the question unasked, but Emmy's smile answered it anyway. Then she stepped out of the transmitter pickup's field of view, flickered, and vanished. A moment later, she was replaced by another figure, and though he had half-expected it, Yoda's eyes went wide. "Hello, Master," said O'bi-Wann Kyn'o'bi with a smile. Yoda stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, then said, "Master Kyn'o'bi... most agreeable it would be if to Alderaan you would come immediately." THURSDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2412 NEW AVALON, ZETA CYGNI It had not really occurred to Leonard Hutchins, when he set out to make his triumphant return to the inner galaxy, just how many people he would have to visit when he did so. He had figured, insofar as he'd thought about it at all, that he'd be able to swing through New Avalon in a day or so, stopping in to let a couple of folks know he wasn't dead, and then return to Alderaan to make sure there was nothing else the Council wanted of him before he returned to Naboo. Instead it had taken him most of a hectic week, and that was just to see the ones who were actually -in- New Avalon. He'd spent much of the remaining time on the phone to various parts of the galaxy. He shuddered to think what Kaitlyn's New Avalon Telecom bill was going to look like. Most everyone had been happy to see him (though some had to be permitted to speak their piece before they'd admit it), and happier still about the news he brought. Confirmation that his mother was alive seemed to galvanize a number of the people he talked to, especially those involved with the International Police. Her disappearance had been a dark time for the IPO, and the news that she still lived - and was in need of rescue - energized them. People who had at least tacitly given up hope were suddenly thinking, plotting, trying to find angles again. One of those people was his sister Priss, who was in her senior year at the Worlds Welfare Work Association Academy on Meizuri. Actually, Len didn't think she'd ever given up. His little sister had too much fire inside for that - she and her twin brother Guy took after their mother most of all. During their talk Tuesday night, though, he could feel her resolve crystallizing even at that far end of a vidphone link. In Priss, in his father, in dozens of other people, something long-dormant was stirring, and Len could feel the concerted effect of those stirrings beginning to subtly alter the vibration of the galaxy itself. The problem, as he found himself explaining to Kozue Kaoru on Thursday, was that compared to actually figuring out where she was and getting to her, finding out that Kei was alive had been the easy part. "I mean... I'm certain she's not in this galaxy, and we can reasonably assume that whichever one she -is- in is fairly nearby, but on an intergalactic scale, 'fairly nearby' is still... " He made a sort of hopeless gesture of bigness. Kozue nodded. "Yeah. Even the Colonial fleet didn't come here from another galaxy, just the far fringes of this one. I don't think any expedition from our galaxy has -ever- successfully visited another." Len shook his head. "Not that anyone knows of. Not even the civilizations of previous epochs - and some of them had technologies we can only dream of - ever recorded a successful intergalactic voyage." "But that doesn't mean it's impossible," Kozue pointed out pragmatically. "Only that no one's figured it out yet. People used to think faster-than-light was impossible too. Hell, where I come from, most people still think the sky is a glass sphere 100 thousand miles across." "Where you come from, the sky -is- a glass sphere 100 thousand miles across," Kaitlyn noted. The Colonial pilot snorted. "Don't bother me with details. The point is, I think it can be done; it's just that nobody's ever wanted it enough to shove the resources at it. And don't get me wrong, it'll take a -helluva- lot of resources." "And we have to find her first." Len shook his head. "I wish I could have gotten a better fix on where she is, but it was all I could do just to make contact, and that seemed more important at the time." "Could you try again?" Kate wondered, but Len shook his head. "I have, but either I'm not quite back to my full strength yet, or some other factor is holding me back. I haven't been able to reach anywhere near as far." He shrugged. "It's possible that the conditions when I managed it were special. Emmy was there, Achika was there, Corwin had just arrived... the Force was very much in motion." With a wry smile, he added, "It was not an ordinary day." Kozue laughed. "I'll bet," she said. "I heard about you guys flattening the Federation's nose out there. Must've been quite a show." FRIDAY, OCTOBER 26, 2412 ALDERAAN "Adventure. Hmph. Excitement. Pfeh! A Jedi craves -not- these things," the redheaded teenage padawan stationed at the top of the Aldera Temple's air traffic control tower muttered to himself. His companion, a girl about his age with curly brown hair, looked up from the datapad she was studying at the other end of the control console. "Sorry, Ron? Did you say something?" Ron shook his head. "Never mind," he said. "Just repeating one of Master Yoda's lessons to myself." "Oh. Well, that's good. Master Yoda is very wise, you know." "I know. You've only pointed that out about a million times, Hermione." "Well, you do seem to need things repeated before they sink in sometimes," Hermione pointed out. Ron might have made some protest to that, but before he could come up with anything suitable, she went on, "Who do you suppose he'll take from our class as his personal student? It's almost time for the masters to make their selections." "Who says he's going to take any one of us?" Ron replied. "He's -Yoda-. He doesn't have to take an individual padawan. None of the councilors do." "True. I think he will anyway, though. And you know, I think it'll be Harry." Ron made a give-me-strength gesture, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Of course you do." "Well, what?" Hermione retorted. "He and Master Yoda have a, a -rapport-. You can't deny you've noticed it." "I thought you didn't believe Harry was the One," Ron protested. "I don't," Hermione said. "And I don't think Master Yoda does either. But he still could be a great Jedi some day, don't you think?" "Yeah, yeah. He's strong in the Force and a natural leader, and if he doesn't get us all -killed-, he'll have Master Windu's job eventually," Ron said. "Ronald Weasley. You're -not- still mad at him about that unpleasantness on Dathomir, are you?" "Who, me, mad?" Ron replied innocently. "Come on, Hermione. You know that's against the Code. I'd never hold a grudge that way. Besides, he's my best mate. It'll take more than a little misunderstanding with 147 Dathomiri witches to change that!" he went on piously, then added, "All I'm saying is, every time we go anywhere or do anything outside the Temple, it turns into that kind of disaster, and... you know, it'd just be nice for us to go somewhere and -not- have people shooting at us." "Now, Ron," Hermione said sternly. "You know Harry can't help it that he's a vergence in the Force." Ron sighed. "I know. I just wish one of -us- could." "Well, maybe Master Yoda can." Ron rubbed his eyes. "Did this conversation just come full circle?" he asked. "I'm afraid it did," Hermione replied glumly. The comm panel chirped. "Saved," Ron said. Adjusting the boom microphone of his comm headset, he flipped the channel open. "Aldera Temple Control receiving. Go ahead," he said. "Aldera Temple, this is the Royal Naboo Starship Quicksilver, Captain Ric Olie commanding," a calm voice replied in the tones of an experienced spacer. "Request permission to land." Ron blinked. "Uh... stand by, Quicksilver." He gave Hermione a quizzical look and mouthed, (Where the hell is Naboo?) (Outer Rim,) Hermione replied, giving him her "you never study" look. (The Federation assault last month?) Ron made an "oh yeah, right" face and returned to the comm. "Er, roger that, Quicksilver. You're cleared to land... " He glanced over the status board, then out the window to confirm what it said. "... on the central platform." "Thank you, Control," Captain Olie replied. "I have Her Majesty Queen Amidala aboard; she apologizes for the short notice and asks whether it would be possible to arrange an audience with the Jedi Council." Ron blinked again. "Uh, I expect so," he replied before he could stop himself. When Hermione gave him the "oh, smooth" look, he added hastily, "I mean, that's not really my department, but I can't imagine they'd say no. Uh... Tell you what, I'll just have the Seneschal meet you on the ramp." Olie chuckled. "That's right neighborly of you," he said, and seemed to mean it. "Quicksilver on approach." Quicksilver was the largest of the Naboo monarchy's three official vessels, and the most impressive, a sizeable chrome wing with massive engines and an abundance of stately grace. She settled easily onto the central landing pad build atop the Temple's broad, flat roof. By the time the ramp came down and the royal entourage emerged, they found themselves awaited by a tall, erect figure in immaculate, razor-pleated, silver-trimmed black Jedi robes. White-haired and patrician, he had dark, intense eyes and perfectly correct bearing. Queen Amidala, elaborately coifed and dressed in an architecturally impressive blue traveling gown, descended the ramp. She was flanked by a pair of uniformed handmaidens; her chief of security and two of the Queen's Protectors followed. As the royal party reached the bottom of the ramp, the man in the black robes came to attention with a click of perfectly polished bootheels, then bowed deeply and spoke in a deep, sonorous baritone voice. "Your Majesty," he said. "Our temple is honored by your presence. Welcome to Alderaan." "Thank you, Master Jedi," Amidala replied. "I am Count Vladimir Dooku, Seneschal to the High Council of Jedi Masters," the black-robed Jedi added, "and I am at Your Majesty's service. I understand you desire an audience with the Council." "Indeed. If it is not too much trouble," Amidala replied. Dooku smiled urbanely. "No trouble at all, Your Majesty. They are preparing to convene for you as we speak. In the meantime, may I conduct you and your entourage to quarters? After such a long journey, you will doubtless wish to refresh yourselves." Amidala responded with a slight smile of her own. "I place myself in your hands, Count Dooku," she replied, then let him direct her party to the rooftop lift. When they had all gone below and the roof was deserted, two more figures descended the Quicksilver's ramp - figures much less prepossessing than the Queen and her entourage. They, too, were met at the base of the ramp, and their greeter was likewise much less glamorous than the Seneschal. Emmy Kyn'o'bi hardly minded any of that. She was more comfortable in her own skin than an assumed role like she knew Queen Amidala's public face was, and she would rather have been met by Yoda in his homespun robes than a battalion of liveried servants. And as for the man next to her, well, he was just happy to see someone he recognized. Less than a week after Yoda asked him to come to Alderann, O'bi-Wann Kyn'o'bi had arrived - but not as O'bi-Wann Kyn'o'bi, long-lost scion of the noble Clan Kyn'o'bi of Hyeruul. The man who stood next to Emmy now carried a passport identifying him as a 35-year-old Naboo subject named Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his appearance was decidedly human. Yoda, who had known Kyn'o'bi in his first life, expressed surprise at this, but Obi-Wan brushed it aside. "M'yl'ya has told me that my memory is not particularly well-regarded on Hyeruul these days," he said. "Besides, if it gets out that Kamor Bakhva is possible, there will be youngsters who will attempt it, and that could lead to disaster. No, it's better that O'bi-Wann Kyn'o'bi stays dead." He chuckled wryly. "Two Jedi from that clan are enough." Yoda considered this, then nodded slowly. "If what you wish that is," he said, "abide by it I will." "I appreciate that, Master," Kenobi said. "Emmy tells me that Jedi are still trickling in from the Outer Rim and Coreward Frontier territories to rejoin the Order here. As far as anyone but the Council will know, I'm just another of those. As a cover story, it even has the virtue of being true... from a certain point of view." Yoda inclined his head. "Wise you have become, Obi-Wan," he said. Kenobi chuckled dryly. "Well, I -have- been one with the Force for 3,000 years," he pointed out. "Mm. Discuss that experience we must. Pleased Master Faloon the Archivist would be to have your perspective on it also, I think." The ancient green Jedi Master turned to Emmy as the three of them walked toward the lift. "Things to discuss have we two as well," he added. "But time now there is not. Convening to meet with Queen Amidala the Council is." He reached up and tapped the call button for the elevator with his gimer stick. "Know you why this meeting she requested?" he asked curiously. "I've no idea, Master Yoda," Emmy replied, honestly baffled. "When you asked Master Obi-Wan to come to Alderaan, she declared that she would deliver us herself. None of us knew she planned to request an audience until she told Captain Olie to ask for one." She smiled slightly. "Queen Amidala is... like that." "Mm. Intriguing this is," Yoda said. "But find out soon enough I will," he added as the elevator arrived. "Show you to quarters I will; then join the Council I must. See you both afterward I will." "I will come directly to the point," said Amidala once the introductions and pleasantries with the Council were complete. "My government, and the peace of my world, were saved last month by the intervention of two Jedi Knights and their friends. The people of Naboo owe a debt to the Jedi Order." Mace Windu shook his holographic head. "Your people owe us nothing, Your Majesty. Helping people in need is our business." Amidala smiled. "You are most gracious, Master Windu, but I disagree. We owe you, if nothing else, a debt of gratitude, and the Naboo people pay their debts. I intend to pay this one." "How?" asked Bolo Burke, his always-mild voice tinged with the faintest hint of an almost academic curiosity. Amidala found the Rodian councilor slightly unsettling - not because he was a Rodian, per se, but because she couldn't read his large black eyes at all, so that she sensed more than saw the intense interest in his gaze - whether in her or what she was saying, she couldn't tell. "All present indications are that the Outer Rim Territories will be a place of increasing significance to the galactic situation in the next several years," Amidala replied. "We on Naboo find our position becoming strategically important for the first time in our modern history. It is an uncomfortable position for a people as unaccustomed to conflict as we, but we are not afraid. "If our world's destiny is to serve as the key to the Outer Rim, we would rather meet that challenge on our own terms than wait for outside forces to dictate our course. It is in this spirit that I offer your Order the full support of my government in establishing an Outer Rim outpost on Naboo." Burke's antennae elevated. "Hm!" he said. "I presume this is connected with our earlier discussion of the structure at Mobar Point?" Archivist Faloon inquired. Amidala nodded. "I've spoken with my advisors, and it is agreed that, if the Order accepts our offer, we will cede Mobar Point and its contents to you for use as a Jedi headquarters on Naboo. The Royal Construction Corps can help rehabilitate the site and prepare it for occupation." "And in return," the youngest councilor, Atin-Vae Springsteen, observed with a smile, "Naboo continues to enjoy the direct protection of the Jedi Order. Or a couple of us, at least." Amidala returned the smile, a touch of genuine feeling escaping from behind her diplomatically correct demeanor. "Quite so," she said. "You realize you don't need to do all this formally?" Springsteen asked. "The Council doesn't dictate where individual Jedi Knights base themselves unless they request assignment." "That's true, Master Springsteen - but doing it this way sends an unmistakable message." "Consider what you're proposing carefully, Your Majesty," Vert put in. "Allying your world openly with the Jedi Order means an end to Naboo's long tradition of neutrality. You may find that you make yourselves more of a target." "It is no longer a question of neutrality or non-neutrality, Master Vert," Amidala replied. "Our neutrality did not protect us from invasion by the forces of our own former senator. It would serve as no shield against the Pfhor or the Covenant. The darkness threatening to consume our galaxy is no respecter of political niceties. I fear the time is coming when there will be no choice but to fight; the only question then will be whether one fights for right or wrong." Yoda gave her a surprised look. "At odds with your people's pacifist traditions your words are," he observed. Amidala's small smile returned with an edge of wryness. "We are a peace-loving people, Master Yoda, but we are also realists," she said. "We admire ideals but understand that the universe is not always an ideal place. As it was once said on Caladan, 'Only a fool tries to negotiate with the tide.'" Vert smiled. "Or to dissuade you from a choice once made, it appears," he said. "I have been known to be hardheaded at times," Amidala allowed with dignity. Mace Windu nodded. "The Council will consider your proposal, Your Majesty. We will let you know within a Standard day. In the meantime, please consider yourself our honored guest." "Very well, Master Windu. Thank you." If Amidala left her meeting with the council feeling as if she'd just conducted a diplomatic negotiation, Obi-Wan Kenobi felt more like he'd endured a job interview. The councilors bombarded him with questions about Kamor Bakhva (about which he could tell them little since, as he noted, he didn't have a very good seat), his experiences at one with the Force (how can anyone possibly explain that to someone who hasn't experienced it himself?), and his qualifications as a living Jedi. He was tested on his knowledge of Jedi lore, his command of the Force, and his skill with a lightsaber. That last test proved an eye-opening experience for the younger members of the Council, since Obi-Wan was a master of several lightsaber forms, including one that had not been seen by living eyes since the fall of Atlantis. Even with a borrowed, unfamiliar saber in his hands, he held his own against Mace Windu, who was considered by most to be the Order's greatest modern swordsman. After that, it was a matter of only a few minutes' deliberation before the councilors returned to their seats and announced that Kenobi would be reinstated at his former rank of Jedi Master - though he could sense as the verdict was given that not all the councilors were entirely sold on the idea. As he left the council chamber, he reflected on that and decided that it was reasonable enough. History had not been entirely kind regarding his role in the rise of Darth Vader and the fall of Atlantis, and the fact that his destiny was still entwined with that of Vader gave some of the modern masters pause. So be it; Obi-Wan wasn't entirely convinced that it didn't give -him- pause too. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Master Kenobi," Zaerdra Kinshasa told him as she led the way to the quarters that had been prepared for him. "Master Faloon and Master Burke certainly bear you no malice. It's just that they're the most naturally cautious among us." Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. "Does it show on my face?" he asked. Zaerdra grinned. "Sort of. I'm good at reading people's body language - and I know my fellow councilors. It doesn't take a master diplomat to know where the currents are running." She stopped and tabbed open a door. "Here you are, Master Kenobi. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just press the red button on the panel by the door and ask for me or Count Dooku." Obi-Wan bade her good night and watched her walk off until the door swished automatically shut, then looked around his comfortably appointed little apartment. Not knowing quite what else to do with himself, he sat down on the end of the bed and turned on the television. " - night on the Independent Film Channel, what do you get when you buy an assassin droid from a vending machine and order it to protect a senator's daughter? Chad Collier's 'Scud the Disposable Babysitter', coming up right after 'The Henry Rollins Show' on IFC." For her part, Emmy didn't get the full council treatment. After the council session adjourned, she was slightly surprised to find Yoda and Prime Sentinel Jason Lock turning up on her doorstep, as it were, to ask her about her experiences with Darth Vader. She had been expecting - and even dreading a little - something like this, but it wasn't as bad as she had thought it might be. She had never met Lock before, and had heard that he could be a bit of a hard case, but he wasn't bullying or confrontational. He let Yoda do most of the talking, only occasionally interjecting thoughtful and incisive but not pointed questions. The two Jedi Masters seemed more intrigued than concerned when she tried to explain to them the strange revelation she'd had, facing Vader in the maintenance warrens beneath Theed Palace. She didn't think she gave a very good account of it, really, but then, how could such a profoundly nonverbal experience ever be captured properly with mere words? When she finished her account, Lock sat frowning - not with an air of disapproval, but simply because that was what he looked like when deep in thought - for several seconds. Then he looked at her and said, "I wish you hadn't let him just -wander off- after dropping you and Obi-Wan off at Naboo." Emmy blinked. "Well, with all due respect, Master Lock, what else could we do? We could hardly detain him by force." Lock shook his head. "No, and I wouldn't expect you to. You're right, the complaint was unfair, I withdraw it. I just don't like not knowing where he is." "Say anything, did he, about where he was going?" Yoda asked. "No," Emmy replied. "Merely that he had something he had to take care of, and that he had to do it alone. I... well, I didn't like to leave him, to be honest. I think his battle with Quevas XIII's shade... damaged him. He was trying to hide it, but I could sense a... a wrongness about him after the fight. Coming right after the Kamor Bakhva - it was a tremendous amount of strain for a man in his condition to endure." "Mm. Well, as you said, detain him you could not," Yoda acknowledged. "Hope we must that resurface he will." "I believe he will," Emmy said. "He told Obi-Wan and I that he would see us again... and whatever you may think or expect of him, I have to point out that he has never lied to me." Lock pondered this for a few moments, then inclined his head. "Very well. If you hear from him, will you please ask him to meet with us? He can come here under a guarantee of safe passage, or a party of Jedi will meet him at a neutral location if he prefers." Emmy nodded. "Of course I'll pass the message along, Master Lock," she said. "I can't guarantee that Lord Vader will respond... " Yoda nodded. "Understand this we do. Thank you, M'yl'ya. Rest now you should." The ancient master smiled. "A busy time you have had, mm?" The two masters left Emmy to her rest. As they walked down the corridor, Lock asked, "Do you believe her?" "Of course," Yoda replied. "You do not?" "I believe that -she- believes it," Lock said. "As to where the truth lies... " He shook his head. Yoda nodded. "Touched by Vader's destiny she is - but not, I think, the Dark Side. Face that she did in her confrontation with him on Naboo." "Agreed. That was well done. I should have mentioned it to her. But what came after... I don't know. Her contact with Vader -has- left a mark on her. You must have sensed it. In my younger days I've have said she's been tainted. Now... I'm not sure what it means." He sighed wryly. "As I get older, the galaxy becomes a much more complicated place." Yoda chuckled, but made no other reply. Alone in deep space, Darth Vader lay in his bunk aboard his starship, waiting for a computer to tell him what he already knew. After a few moments, it did. The bionic systems that kept his ravaged body alive represented something beyond the pinnacle of even Atlantis's remarkable technology. Cybertechnicians captured in the Santovasku sack of his old homeworld and biosurgeons from the Santovasku forces themselves, commanded by their dread Emperor to save his mortally wounded servant's life, had wrought a miracle of dark and twisted science that even they did not entirely comprehend, resurrecting the shattered corpse of Anakyn shar Atrados as the armored revenant called Darth Vader. The machinery had sustained him through the rest of the war, through the final clash with his old master, through his forging of Quevas Santova's daughter into the instrument of the overbearing despot's destruction, and through three millennia of hibernation. It had reawakened him without a hitch when Palpatine, the self-styled Darth Sidious, came upon his tomb far beneath the ruins of Santovask. But Vader had always known that no machine could last forever. That his clash with Quevas XIII's shade had dealt the blow that was one too many to the system was an irony Vader found perversely appealing, but he had no time to dwell on it. His systems were failing, the creeping damage too pervasive for his ship's automated maintenance system to arrest. He was, at long last, dying. But he had far too much left to do. He extracted himself from the biobed, sealed it, and went up to the command deck. There he lowered himself into seiza and cleared his mind, considering what to do. By the time he dropped the two Jedi off in Theed, Emmy had known, or at least suspected, that Vader's battle with Quevas had left him diminished. Her sensitive Hyelian ears had caught the subtle wrongness in the sound of his mechanical breathing; her connection to the Force had, perhaps, enabled her to feel the black flame of the Dark Lord's spirit growing slowly lower. O'bi-Wann had missed it - when he and his descendent had parted from Vader, he was still a bit disoriented after his return from the far side of the Force - but M'yl'ya knew. Knew, and hadn't wanted to leave Vader's side, though she had to know there was nothing she could do. The sentiment touched his dark heart more than Vader would once have admitted, even to himself. Now he allowed himself a moment to savor it before pushing it from his mind with everything else. Think, he told himself, and then, No - don't think. Feel. His destiny was incomplete. Surely the Force would not let him die before he could take steps to ensure that -someone- would complete it - if not himself, then some successor. Too much depended on it. Everything depended on it! Wrath bubbled up within him at the thought that the universe could be so careless as to let him die without finishing what he had started. With the wrath came the Dark Side. He seized it cruelly, drew on it greedily. The Force had never failed to show him the way before. It would not - MUST not - fail him now! His eyes went wide beneath the lenses of his mask, but they saw not what those lenses reprocessed and projected for him. They saw instead a place, a planet. A destination. Vader returned to himself and sagged slightly as the anger and the tension left his body. Then he got up, took the controls, and flung the Shadowstorm into hyperspace. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2412 ALDERAAN This must be a busy time for the Jedi Council, Queen Amidala mused to herself. In only 24 hours, the composition of the council had changed, at least in terms of who was present in person and who was represented by a hologram when that body reconvened to discuss Amidala's proposal from the day before. Zaerdra Kinshasa was missing altogether. "This is a decision the Council does not make lightly," Archivist Faloon said. "The potential consequences of accepting Your Majesty's offer - consequences primarily on your side of the bargain - are considerable and not to be underestimated." "However," Vert added, "we are satisfied that you have given the matter full consideration before approaching us, and it would be an insult to assume that we know the business of the Naboo better than their elected ruler." "And we believe your assessment of the situation on the Rim as a whole is correct," Atin-Vae Springsteen put in. "Difficult to see the future is," Yoda observed. "Always in motion. Sense we do that important your world will be... but in what way we know not." Amidala favored the wizened Jedi Master with a cordial smile. "Then let us find out together, Master Yoda," she said. "Our sentiments exactly," said Mace Windu. "The Council has decided to accept your offer. We will reactivate the temple at Mobar Point." Amidala made a polite gesture of acknowledgement, half bow, half curtsey, that was very similar to the reserved obeisance popular among female Jedi. "Thank you, learned masters," she said. "You honor the people of Naboo. You will not find the trust you put in us misplaced." "Ours the honor is," Yoda said graciously, inclining his head. "Naturally, there are many details to be worked out before we can truly call the matter settled," Windu pointed out, "but today's decree can serve as an agreement in principle." "We will designate a representative to go to Naboo and coordinate matters with Your Majesty's office until the temple is ready to receive its permanent staff," said Faloon. "Count Dooku can, if you wish, accompany you back to Naboo whenever you leave." Amidala's perfectly composed face fell but fractionally; no one not so attuned to the situation as a Jedi Master would ever have noticed. "Don't worry," said Atin-Vae with a slightly conspiratorial grin. "We'll keep every factor in mind when the time comes to assign the Naboo Temple's actual staff." NEW AVALON "That's a pretty swanky ship you have there," Kaitlyn remarked with a grin. "I thought Jedi weren't into conspicuous displays." Leonard reddened a little and gave his sister a sheepish grin. "It's not mine," he said. "I was going to just hop a freighter out of Theed and eventually make my way to Alderaan that way, but Padme insisted." Kate arched an eyebrow. "'Padme', hm?" she said. Len gave her a look. "Kaitlyn, please," he said with an exaggerated air of patience. "From Priss I expect that kind of abuse. I hardly need it from you too." Kate laughed and slapped his shoulder, then gave him a hug. "Have a safe flight back," she said. "And don't stay away so long this time!" He grinned. "I won't," he said. "And I won't be out of communication this time, either. I'll let you know when I've got solid contact information." "You'd -better-," Kate told him with a little smirk. They hugged one more time; then Kate got back into her Impala and drove off, while Len walked across the tarmac to the Hydrargyrum. Just as he entered the cockpit, his mobile phone rang. Speaking of not being out of communication, Len thought. Swinging into the pilot's seat, he pulled out the phone and answered. "Hello, Leonard. This is Bolo Burke." Leonard blinked. "Hello, Master Burke. What can I do for you?" "Are you fully recovered?" Burke asked. "I feel fine," Len assured him. "I've spent most of the last week sparring with my sister Kate and some of the other Duelists. All systems go!" Burke gave a low chuckle. "Hard to find better proof of fitness for action than that," he agreed. "I have a favor to ask of you, if you don't mind." Len started flipping switches, powering up the ship. "What's up?" he asked. "There's a matter on Nar Shaddaa that I'd like you to look into for me. I had an investigator working on the case, but she has not been heard from in some time. I fear something may have... happened to her." The Rodian paused for a moment, then went on with just a trace of dry humor, "As such, I should warn you that the mission appears not entirely free of risk." "I'm at your service." "Good. Where are you now?" "Mathews Memorial. I was just about to leave New Avalon and head back to Alderaan." "Excellent. I'm transmitting detailed information on the case, including a dossier of my missing agent, to your ship's data systems. Here's the short version: We believe there is an underground arms dealer in the Theta-71-C60 district of Nar Shaddaa who's dealing in Jedi artifacts, including lightsabers. You're probably aware that ancient lightsabers looted from tombs and old battle sites on the Rim are popular curios in certain circles, though dealing in them is illegal in the civilized galaxy." Len nodded. "But Nar Shaddaa being Nar Shaddaa... " "Precisely. Which is why we're investigating it ourselves. The navigational particulars are in the data I just sent you. May the Force be with you." SUNDAY, OCTOBER 28, 2412 ALDERAAN Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the hallways of the Jedi Temple, accompanied by one of the two people he could call contemporaries. Yoda had not visibly changed, not even in thousands of years, and Obi-Wan found it mildly comforting to know that some things did stay the same. The little green Jedi Master's aura was a rock of comforting solidity, though it had changed in some respects from the way Obi-Wan remembered it. It hadn't changed enough to disconcert him, though now that he was actually living in it rather than observing it from the calm remove of oneness with the Force, he was finding the rest of the future to be, well, confusing. Many truths remained - Padawans were still students, there was still the darkness to fight and evil in the galaxy - but many things had changed. The most instantly visible change was in the technology that was in use all over the temple; it was visibly different, and the assumptions at its foundations had shifted from areas with which he was familiar to concepts he found baffling. The Jedi Order had changed too - from well-established temples with a commonly-known teaching hierarchy, the Order had splintered out into perhaps 50 masters, each teaching their own Padawans without input from any others. Although, Yoda assured him, that was slowly moving back toward what he had known. And the society - or rather, societies - surrounding the splinter of the galaxy the Jedi could now call home... he didn't even know where to begin. After some meditation, he had asked Master Yoda to introduce him to the Head Librarian at this new temple. Perhaps there, he might at least begin to familiarize himself with the history that led the galaxy to be the place it had become, though of course the records would be nearly nonexistent for large portions of time. "Living within the population outside the temple, consider you must," Yoda said, looking up at him as they reached the doors of the library. "Without knowledge of current politics, useless your skill at negotiation you will find." Obi-Wan smiled. "I never took much pleasure in that skill, at any rate, Master Yoda. Though, of course, if that's where the Order needs me... " "No, no," Yoda said, shaking his head and reaching up with his gimer stick to tap the door panel to the library. "No immediate assignment has the Council for you. Consider we must where best suited you would be. Of the Order you most assuredly are. But in this time, like me, a relic you are. Out of place. Mm." The door slid open, and the two Jedi Masters walked into the library. The soft sounds of murmured talking reached their ears, and then a voice said, "Can I help you, Master Yoda? Master Nu is supervising a research class." Obi-Wan looked over to the station next to the door, where a young woman was just getting up respectfully. The glare of several data terminals that she'd apparently been working at illuminated her face quite garishly, giving her eyes a weird fluorescent cast. Yoda coughed slightly, then looked up at Obi-Wan with a look the man recognized as one of consideration. "The library Master Kenobi wishes to access. History of the current era he wishes to learn, as well as the means to access further information - unfamiliar is he with the current library's technology." He chuckled softly to himself. "With Padawan Alaia content you must be, Obi-Wan. But familiar with the technology she is." He turned back to the young woman. "Please assist him, Padawan." "Of course, Master Yoda," the girl said, coming out from behind the terminal and bowing to the ancient green Jedi. "Leave you now I will," Yoda told Obi-Wan. "Know where to find me you do." Obi-Wan nodded, his attitude respectful but not deferent, and Yoda left the room. The young woman watched him go, slightly puzzled. The other, Master Kenobi, was a young man - surely he hadn't been a Jedi Master long - but he and Yoda interacted almost like equals. That was unusual. The Jedi were a largely egalitarian society, allowing for the striations of rank within the organization, but even so, Yoda's sheer age and experience made him primus inter pares with almost every other Jedi Master. The only one she knew of who didn't treat him deferentially was Mace Windu. Most interesting. She turned to Obi-Wan and smiled hesitantly. She had nut-brown skin and darker brown hair, worked up at the nape of her neck in a somewhat untidy bun. A Padawan's braid - a largely-abandoned tradition, Yoda had said, but making a comeback like may of the others - hung down in front of her left ear, and then was tucked back into the bun over her shoulder. Her eyes were a pale silvery-grey, and as he watched the pupils dilated into a slit, and then a four-pointed star. She wore the short robes of a Jedi who expects to be doing some running around, and her left arm was in a sling. As his gaze passed over that, she noted ruefully, "I may have to ask you to do some of the retrieval, Master Kenobi." "Well, there's nothing wrong with my hands," he agreed. "What happened to your arm?" Alaia's smile faded. "I broke it getting out of the old Sarati Temple when the Sorcerers came. We...we think they came because we'd finally cracked the encryption on some of the records in the archives there, so Master Befin told me to take the crystals and run." She swallowed, and he felt her aura in the Force flicker in a rather disconcerting fashion. "And - I'm the only one who got out. That we know of, anyway." "I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said quietly, as she visibly struggled to control her emotions. Her aura kept flickering - almost as if it were unraveling at the edges, and then reweaving itself into the Force. "How far along in your training were you?" Alaia shook her head. "I probably had another two or three years left, maybe. He didn't tell me. We were still trying to work out some problems I'd had - " She broke off, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Master Kenobi, I'm standing here blathering at you, and you came to consult the archives instead. What can I help you find?" He had to hide a sad smile - she was clearly determined to work out her problems on her own if she had to, but given the way her aura was behaving, he suspected she was going to need help. Why were the youngsters with the hardest problems to overcome always the ones who insisted on going it alone? "Well," he said, "you can start with any records that could give me an overview of the current political situation, as well as a lexicon of the various races I'm likely to run into - for example, I don't recognize your species, though I'm sure anyone else here could tell me. An elementary technical field guide." "Right," Alaia muttered, and went back behind her terminal, inviting him to join her with a look. As she sat down and began accessing data fairly quickly with her right hand, she added, "I'm Isisren, from Altari IV - but we're really just genetically altered humans." "Altered in what way?" Obi-Wan asked as he watched the unfamiliar text flash across the screen in front of her. "Greater tolerance for UV, vision into that range - that sort of thing. Altari's got a whiter sun than Earth does, and the ozone layer on the planet isn't as thick, but the early settlers weren't interested in spending their entire lives indoors, so," she flicked her fingers, and then resumed typing. "My eyes will look pretty normal in bright light - the slits are a more recent adaption so that we can see in what other humans consider to be 'normal' levels of light, which we find pretty dim by comparison. Anything else?" Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. "A speaking dictionary, and a grammar text, I think. I seem to have picked up your common language, but I can't read what you have on your screen right now." Alaia glanced up over her shoulder, as if to make sure he wasn't kidding, then smiled and tapped something else out. "Well, that's OK, neither could a couple of the kids I studied with. At least not when they started. Anything else?" "I think that will do me well to begin, don't you?" he replied. "Though I expect the records will raise as many questions as they answer." The girl looked thoughtful. "You're coming at this from the outside, aren't you? You haven't ever been to the Core Sectors before? You probably want something written by somebody who's as much an outsider as you are... oh. Duh, of course." She tapped out something else on the console, then got up. "Of course?" he asked. Alaia looked at him consideringly, then gave him what could only be described as an impish grin. "You'll see." Twenty minutes later, Obi-Wan Kenobi had a small collection of data crystals, and Alaia had a blank book and a single data crystal. "You slip the crystal into the top of spine, here," she said, and did so a bit awkwardly, and then turned the book around and handed it to him. As he watched, the cover of the book shifted from a plain, dull grey to a dark blue, emblazoned with two words, written in large, friendly letters. He couldn't read them, but he found himself smiling just the same. "What does it say?" he asked Alaia. "'Don't Panic.' It's the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - or more commonly, the Guide. It's really useful, if kind of esoteric at times. My Dad made it all the way to Ord Mandell with just the Guide and a towel one weekend, and Mom has never let him forget that she had to go get him when we came back from the beach." Then she looked wistful. "You're still in touch with your family?" he asked, not quite so startled as he might have been before Yoda had explained the changes in the Order. "No," she said, shaking her head and looking sad. "Master Befin and I moved around a lot, until we found the Temple. I used to post letters home when I got a chance, but I've only been here a couple of weeks, and Mom and Dad aren't really wealthy - expect if Dad shows up, it'll be because he hitch-hiked here. But given what happened, we all agreed it was probably best I go with Master Befin." "What did happen?" Obi-Wan asked. Alaia blushed. "Master Kenobi, I'm sure you have better things to do than just listen to me blather on about my problems." He smiled and shook his head. "It so happens that at the moment, I do not. I am trying to find my place in an Order that I have not been in touch with in... some time, and if I can help you, then I may have found it. So, tell me - if you don't mind." The girl shook her head. "Um... well, I'm told that some Jedi have really strong talents in certain areas - visions of the future, healing talents, that sort of thing. I get visions all right, but they're not of the future." She paused. "They're of the past." "Ah," he said, quietly. "I've learned to handle those - I don't get swamped with memories when I touch things that are incredibly old anymore, at least not usually. But I've also got... well, Master Befin called it a wild talent. And we thought I had that under control... " she trailed off, and her aura flickered. "But you discovered - when the Temple was invaded, perhaps? - that you don't," Obi-Wan finished quietly. She nodded wearily. "I don't," she agreed. "What is this talent?" Obi-Wan asked. Alaia stared at the floor for a moment, then said with a slightly desperate chuckle, "It's probably easier if I show you, Master Kenobi. If nothing else, it's one more try at controlling it, and I won't get anywhere sitting around being scared out of my wits by it." Obi-Wan glanced at the arches of the library overhead. "Should we go someplace else?" "Oh, it's not destructive," Alaia said, looking slightly desperate. "Except to me, really." Sensing that she was about to lose her nerve, Obi-Wan nodded. And then she wasn't there anymore. He could see her with his eyes, and hear her breathing, but her aura in the Force was gone. Alaia let out a sort of strangled gasp and shuddered. "OK, I did it," she whispered. "You see?" "You're... not there," Obi-Wan said, reaching out and tapping her on the back of the hand, just to confirm that she wasn't a hologram. "I can't sense you anymore." "And I can't sense anything at all," Alaia whispered. "I used to do this involuntarily when I touched something and it was going to overwhelm me, and then I would be disconnected for days. That's why we decided I needed to learn how to control it. I had gotten to the point where the Force would come back to me in an hour or so. But when the Sorcerers came, I had to get away with the records, and the only way to do it was to cut myself off deliberately." "Because then they could not sense you either," he said slowly. "I understand." Alaia clenched her hands in her lap. "When I did it on purpose, instead of just letting it happen as a reflexive defense, it was like something... -broke- inside my mind." "And now you can't come back?" Obi-Wan asked. "I can sort of -force- myself back," she said, after a couple of deep breaths, "but it's like... like pulling on a door with a spring on it. As soon as I relax, it's going to snap closed. It's been like this since the fight. I have no idea how to fix it." "Have you told anyone?" Obi-Wan asked. "Well, you," she said, trying to smile, "and Master Nu, but she hasn't really been able to help much. She's been trying, but... " Alaia looked embarrassed to be speaking ill of a Jedi Master, though the truth was she found Jocasta Nu both abrasive and unhelpful. "She's... her talents lie in organization, not instruction." "Hmm," Obi-Wan said. "Well, then, let's see if I can help instead." A short time later, Alaia sat in the center of one of the small rooms set aside for meditation practice, trying to control her breathing. Since she'd let go of her tenuous grasp of the Force in the Library, some of her panic had abated; she couldn't actually feel Master Kenobi's good will, but the expression on his face and his calm demeanor were more than enough to assure her that she wasn't going to have to struggle through on her own any more. Also, there was the fact that, cut off as she was from the Force, she wasn't feeling the echo-chamber effect of it magnifying her fear and anxiety back at her. She'd discovered that particular side benefit the first time she'd lost her grip. When she was cut off from the Force, she was her entire universe. For an egomaniac, it would have been paradise. For someone trained to the Jedi arts, it was purgatory; but it did have the side effect of making it easier to deal with the idea that this might be permanent, and she might have to leave the Order. "All right, Alaia," Master Kenobi said, closing the door behind him and settling down opposite her. "If this were a normal backlash from one of your postcognitive visions, how would you go about re-establishing contact with the Force?" Alaia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to will calm into herself. "If it were normal," she said slowly, "I'd try to meditate, and calm myself, and after about an hour or so, I'd start to feel things coming back. Like... color coming into a black and white image." "I assume you've tried that, of course." "It was practically the first thing I did when I got here," she agreed. "But I couldn't seem to get past the hurt in the broken place in my mind. Eventually, I tried to put it back together again, and it's sort of... I don't know - it's like holding the broken ends of a bone together. My hands aren't strong enough to hold it there all the time, and they're not steady enough to hold it stable enough to heal together." "Mm," he said, looking thoughtful. "I have heard of Jedi who have the ability to help heal minds as well as the more common physical healing techniques, but with you cut off from the Force, I don't know that they'd do you any good. So, you hold the broken place together, and then the Force comes back to you?" "Yes. But I have to keep concentrating on it, or it all comes apart again. And while I'm concentrating... I have other problems." "Such as being terrified that this is permanent and you'll be thrown out of the Order?" he asked calmly. "Uh... " she looked down. "Yeah. Not very Jedi-ly of me, I'll admit, but... " He chuckled. "Not at all. Most Jedi - especially younger ones - have worries like that. And the fact that you can admit it means you're further along than you think. Acknowledging that fear exists isn't the problem. It's letting your fear -control- you that sets you on the path to the Dark Side. Or clinging to it; you'd be amazed at how many people can't give up their fears." She felt the knot of fear she'd been carrying around unclench its death grip on her slightly. "So... what do I do?" she asked hesitantly. "We'll start with meditating. When you think you're calm, try to open yourself to the Force, and we'll work from there. Given that you've said healing isn't one of your primary talents, this may take time. But you can clearly still feel the Force when you work at it, so there's no reason to fear being turned out of the Order on that account." Alaia smiled weakly. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "I kept being terrified Master Yoda would figure out that I was faking it and... " "Yoda almost certainly knew that something was wrong with you the minute you arrived here, Alaia," Obi-Wan said with dry amusement. "I suspect that's part of why he took me to the Library this afternoon when he did - you weren't fooling him." "Oh," she said, feeling a little crestfallen. "He's lived a very long time and seen thousands of padawans, Alaia - but he has no reason to fault your courage. Come on, this discussion isn't going to take you anywhere productive. Center yourself, Padawan, and let's begin." "Yes, master," she said automatically, then blinked and blushed. "Ah, Master Kenobi," she added hastily. He smiled wryly, and feeling comforted that he wasn't annoyed, she shut her eyes and began to concentrate on her breathing as Master Befin had taught her. It took time, but she didn't try to hurry it this time - unlike Master Nu, Kenobi had given her no indication that he thought she was wasting his time. When she finally felt calm - albeit not that perfect centricity of spirit that she'd felt sometimes when she was in harmony with the Force - Alaia reached out with her mind for the Force. The damaged place twinged, but she was calm enough this time that she didn't panic and rush things. Instead, she stretched slowly, testing the length she could reach before things hurt. It was a bit like putting her weight on a sprain or a fracture to see how bad it was. It was pretty bad; she realized that by forcing her way through it, she'd probably been making things worse. Without opening her eyes, she said, "Master Kenobi, I don't think I should reach any further." "Then don't," he agreed. "What do you feel?" "It's... sprained?" she said hesitantly, opening her eyes and looking into his blue ones. "I think I was making it worse, actually." "Hmm," he said, looking thoughtful. "Can you reach just a little further? I can almost perceive you, but you're like a ghost or an echo, not quite there." She shut her eyes and focused inward again, then, cautiously, pushed a little further outward. She felt a twinge, like a rubber band snapping against her soul, and let out a little yelp and pulled back. A cold sweat started up across her back and forehead, and she opened her eyes and gasped out, "No." He nodded. "I'm sorry - I shouldn't have asked you to push. I was hoping that I might be able to help you hold on, but from the sound of it, what you need is time and peace." She swallowed, and rubbed her hands across her forehead. "That hurt more," she admitted, "than it has before." "You were paying closer attention to it," he said. "I suggest that you try to spend the next few days in as close to a healing trance as you can manage. I'll have a word with Master - Nu, was it? And tell her that you can't assist her for a bit." "All... all right," she said, shivering faintly and wondering if she was going to be able to manage any sort of a trance at all. "Get something to eat first," he suggested. "And maybe a bit of a workout, so that you don't brood over it for the moment. When you feel calm, try it again, and this time, don't reach." "Yes, Master Kenobi," she agreed. "Um... the medics told me to take it easy on my arm, but would you like my help translating those books I gave you? The Guide at least can be very distracting in places." He chuckled. "Perhaps after you eat something," he said. "You were in a trance for several hours, you don't have the Force to sustain that level of concentration yet." TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 2412 NAR SHADDAA Like any spacer who'd spent any appreciable amount of time on the Outer Rim, Len knew Nar Shaddaa. Or parts of it, anyway. It was probably impossible for a single sentient to know all of the Smugglers' Moon; that would involve intimate familiarity with thousands of square miles of dense cityscape, layer on layer of urban buildup reaching, in some places, more than a mile above the moon's actual surface. So much development had gone into Nar Shaddaa in the centuries since it was first settled that the added mass of imported construction materials had noticeably altered the moon's orbit around Nal Hutta - an unsettling thought as one disembarked from one's borrowed starship on a platform suspended over a 4,000-foot abyss by some slender durasteel cables anchored in blocks of dubious-looking ultracrete. Still, the argument could be made that if you've seen one district, you've seen them all. The architectural style does tend to be a bit repetitive. As he crossed the walkway from the landing pad to the docking tower, Len recalled words of advice he'd received on his first visit to Vertical City: "Watch where you step or you'll fall for hours." Not literally true, of course - no city could be -that- tall and have breathable air at the upper levels - but still sound advice. He was dressed in ordinary clothes, the better to blend in with the crowds of Nar Shaddaa - jeans, a Max Rebo Band t-shirt, old sneakers, a grey duster coat - and paradoxically felt more obvious that way. It seemed to be working, though; nobody spared him a second glance, or sometimes even a first, as he followed a busy skywalk across one of the city's innumerable yawning abysses, around a corner, and into a cheap apartment block. In a neighborhood like this, there was no receptionist or turbolift operator, only a couple of elderly Sullustans asleep on leather couches in front of the lobby television set. It was a simple enough matter to ensure that they wouldn't wake to notice the young man crossing the lobby and taking the turbolift up to the tenth floor. Apartment 10-71 was about as far from the lift as a person could get and still be on the tenth floor, but it had the advantage of seclusion - it was at the end of a short dead-end corridor off the main corridor, at the corner of the building. Len saw no one in the walk from the lift to the door. He gestured at the simple codeplate lock, an easy, casual gesture. With a click, it disengaged and the door swished open. The tiny apartment beyond was empty - nearly devoid of any sign of occupancy at all. Len entered, then re-locked the door behind him before taking a look around - a look that began and ended at the miniature folding desk set into the wall next to the door. It was the work of only a few moments to determine that the place was clean, almost surgically so. His predecessor on this investigation had trod very lightly indeed - or someone had cleaned the place up after her. Len unfolded the desk from the wall, swung its integral seat into position, sat down, and closed his eyes. His senses had little to tell him about what might have happened here - but what invisible traces might events have left on the Force? But no; that effort was almost as disappointing as the physical search. There were the faintest echoes of some disturbance here, possibly the result of conflict... but Nar Shaddaa was a violent place, and it seethed with life in conflict. Picking up a "signal" in this morass would be very difficult, and even if what he was sensing had come from something that had happened here, who was to say when, or to which of the apartment's undoubtedly many short-term occupants? Another dead end. Well, there was still one more thing to check. The mini-desk, like almost all such appurtenances nowadays, contained a data terminal. Perhaps Burke's investigator had left some sign there. Len switched it on, waited for its balky holoprojector to fizz to life, and started sniffing around its small internal dataspace. He almost gave that up as yet another dead end, but just as he was about to shut it down and take his leave, he noticed something. There was a faint discoloration in one corner of the display field, a roughly rectangular spot just about the size and shape of a file icon that was just the slightest bit off from the background color. At first he had written it off as a vagary of the cheap terminal unit's holojector, but the shape was too conveniently like that of a file icon for that. Len tried to open the discoloration and found, to his satisfaction, that his instincts were right: It was, indeed, a file. A file that demanded a numeric decryption key. That was a bit of a poser. He didn't have an icebreaker, and he could hardly sit and plug random numbers into the thing all day. For all he knew it had an error detection system on it that would permanently lock - or worse, delete - the file if too many wrong attempts were made. Think, he told himself. If this file is relevant to my inquiry, it was created by a Jedi Knight - one who had to have in mind the idea that another Jedi might someday need to read it. She would've locked it with a number sequence another Jedi would be liable to think of. What number is common to the training or experience of all Jedi Knights? After a few seconds' reflection, he smiled and typed, > 10191_ The file opened instantly. Its contents were short and to the point, the quickly jotted notes of a person with a short time to reflect on a difficult assignment. Ivan is very suspicious. I do not think he knows what I am, but he is convinced I am not what I've told him. Very strange feeling from him yesterday... I think his mind may have been tampered with, but I am no expert in these matters. Master Burke should have sent someone better suited to subterfuge than I. Ivan's obtuseness merely frustrates me. I am accustomed to much more straightforward dealings. When he narrows his eyes and starts becoming coy again, there is much temptation to put the questions I have for him more... directly. I feel as if something or someone is watching me. Not literally, but... it is like all the events of the last few days are the workings of a machine whose full shape and ultimate purpose I cannot see. I am uneasy and I do not know why. Still, there can be no doubt that the artifacts have come from his shop. Since dealing with the man has provided no useful insight, I will go to his shop when he is not there and see what it has to tell me. Len frowned thoughtfully and checked the file's creation date. Burke's investigator made those notes one week ago, an hour or so after her last contact with his office... and nothing had been heard from or of her since. Either she'd gone to this Ivan's shop and found more than she bargained for, or something else had happened to sidetrack her from her mission and put her out of communication. Either way, his next order of business was to find Ivan. He dumped the file to a portable crystal drive, wiped the terminal's memory, shut it down, and stowed the desk. He left everything else in Apartment 10-71 exactly as he'd found it, passed the sleeping Sullustans in the lobby like a ghost, and disappeared into the crowded streets. NABOO Vladimir Dooku, Count of Serenno, stood with his hands folded behind his back and looked up at the dingy but impressive bulk of the small fortress at Mobar Point. Like Leonard before him, he could feel the weight of its years and its heritage. As a Jedi Master, he could appreciate the history and significance of a place like this; as an aristocrat and a man of substance, he admired the fineness of its construction and the simple, honest beauty of its design. All those qualities brought a broad smile to his face as he stood looking up at it now. "Yes, indeed," he said. Then, turning to Queen Amidala, he added, "A fine structure. Once restored to its original grandeur, it will make a fine home for Naboo's Jedi protectors - a living symbol of the Order's rebirth on the Outer Rim." Amidala inclined her head. "Engineer Satoya and her Royal Construction Corps are at your disposal, Count Dooku. If there is anything further you need, come and see me directly." Dooku clicked his heels together and bowed deeply. "Leave everything to me, Your Majesty," he declared. "I will make this temple a jewel worthy of its setting." ALDERAAN Emmy Kyn'o'bi was beginning to suspect that the Jedi Council were keeping her cooling her heels at the Temple on purpose. Why else wouldn't they have sent her to help Len with whatever odd assignment had prevented him from returning from New Avalon? She had to admit she was getting a little fed up with it. She'd had several further interviews with Jedi Masters after her initial talk with Yoda and Jason Lock. Lock was almost always present for the follow-ups, as was the Irken councilor, Vert. Emmy knew what they were up to: they were trying to figure out whether her recent encounters with Dark Side phenomena had marked her somehow. Lock was notoriously obsessed with that kind of thing, and Vert had experimented with the Dark Side himself in his younger, more reckless days. The two of them were widely regarded as the Order's experts on such matters. It was, therefore, slightly ironic to Emmy that their continued attentions were beginning to annoy her. Annoyance, after all, could lead to anger, etc. etc. etc. She sighed, shook her head, and left her quarters. Maybe Obi-Wan was doing something interesting, something that could jar her out of the funk she was in danger of slipping into. "Today on 'How It's Made': Salusian-style ice cream. Magnetic boots. Metaspace jumpgates. And thumbtacks!" Emmy mused as she stood in the doorway that, of all the times she'd ever reflected on her revered ancestor O'bi-Wann as a child, she had never envisioned him watching television. "Oh! Hullo, M'yl'ya," he said, noticing her. "Have you seen this program, 'How It's Made'?" he asked. "-Fascinating- stuff. Last night there was an episode on industrial-scale breadmaking. D'you know, they make the dough at industrial bakeries in TEN-TON LOTS?" He shook his head. "This era is -unbelievable-." Emmy eyed him. "That's... great, Obi-Wan. I'm glad you're finding it so... interesting." Obi-Wan caught the look and, smiling, shut off the TV. "You didn't come here to talk about television programs, I see," he said. "What's on your mind?" "Well, I -was- going to complain that Master Lock and Master Vert are driving me crazy trying to figure out if Lord Vader or Quevas drove me crazy, but that would be petty," Emmy said. "So instead I'll ask if you're making any progress with the girl who lost contact with the Force." Obi-Wan blew out a breath, puffing his cheeks. "Alaia is a very unusual case," he said. "I've never seen anything like what's happened to her before. The last time we worked together, I thought it best to give her some time to recover before trying again... perhaps now is the time." He got up from the couch and added with a wry grin, "And perhaps I have been watching a bit too much television. I -was- told it was a good way to get a feel for the era... " "Who told you that?" "The Guide." "... Oh." They found Alaia in one of the practice rooms, going through some of the very simple Shii-Cho kata with one of the practice lightsabers that the very young students used, the ones that had been shielded so that they would not cut, but still had the heft of an actual saber. She was moving slowly, with grace but none of the superhuman perfection that a Jedi in tune with the Force could manage, and she was very carefully doing the drill only at half speed. It wasn't any easier that way, though; she had discarded the heavier over-tunic that she normally wore and had only the lighter undershift on. That was stuck to her back with sweat, and her face was a mask of concentration. The two Jedi watched her move for a little while, but eventually one of the cuts brought her turning toward the door, and when she saw Obi-Wan, she straightened, snapped off the saber, and bowed. She added another bow to Emmy, looked her over quickly, then turned back to Obi-Wan. "I was feeling kind of sluggish after lunch," she explained. "I couldn't seem to concentrate on meditating - I kept getting bored. And since they took my cast off, I figured with one of the practice sabers, I might get at least something like a normal workout in. I wouldn't want to try a real lightsaber right now, even if I still had one." "Sensible of you," he agreed, remembering that after several years as a Padawan, she probably was used to her master expecting his orders to be obeyed. "I take it you lost your lightsaber escaping the temple on Sarati?" "I set it to overload," she said, looking sad. "I was so proud of it - especially since it took us so long to find a crystal for me - but I wanted them to think that I was less trained than I was. I hoped they'd get overconfident and leave me alone. I kept a grip on it through the Force right up until I cut myself off - and that's when it went up." Her smile was rueful. "I just didn't expect that the wall would collapse on me and break my arm. But by the time I came to, they'd left, so I guess it worked." Emmy grinned at the girl. "Well, at least yours blew up when you were expecting it to. Mine just about took my hand off when it overloaded." When Alaia favored her with a surprised look, Emmy explained, "It was under some pretty heavy stress at the time, and I think the power cell shorted out. Either that or I had a resonant main crystal fracture. There weren't any pieces left to test, really, so I can only guess." "Hmm," Obi-Wan said. "We'll have to remedy that - and for you too, Alaia, when you're more healed. A Jedi shouldn't be unarmed, especially in times like these." Alaia smiled. "Oh, well, I'm not totally unarmed - I wouldn't have set my saber to go if I didn't have this." From inside the top of her boot, she pulled out a small cylinder, about the size of one of the smaller utility penlights he'd seen some of the mechanics using, only thicker. She offered it to Obi-Wan. He took it, then blinked in surprise. It was a very small lightsaber - a lightdirk. He looked back up at her. "May I?" "Go ahead," she said, sounding actually cheerful. "I've used it... " She glanced at Emmy and added apologetically, "And it's not going to blow up in your hand." He flicked the switch on the side, and a short, startlingly deep violet blade sprang out of the hilt with a quieter, slightly tinnier version of the snap-hiss that was characteristic of lightsabers. He scrutinized it for a moment. "The crystal is flawed," Alaia said. "It was an irregular remnant. That's why it's that funny color, and why I had to make it into a dirk instead of a full-sized saber. But we had the time, and Master Befin said that if I didn't mind the small size, there was no reason I couldn't use it as a test case." "The work is very fine," Obi-Wan said, deactivating it and carefully opening the case to look at the core crystal. He could see the flaw that she had mentioned running up the center, but aside from that, it was cleanly polished, and obviously worked. "You made it first?" "When I was 14," Alaia replied. "We didn't find a crystal of suitable quality for almost two years after that - I practiced with my master's saber most of the time." She sighed. "I suppose somewhere, somebody will be buying that on the black market, like so many other lightsabers..." She shook her head. "Anyway, I'm not unarmed. I was working on a saber-and-dirk style, but right now I'd be just as likely to cut my arms off with my little blade as I would with a full saber, so I figured I'd stick to basics." "Again, sensible of you," he agreed, handing it back to her. "May I examine your dirk sometime, Alaia?" Emmy asked. "I'd like to compare it with what I did with my own small sabers. Maybe it'll help me figure out what went wrong." Alaia looked surprised and flattered. "Of course. You're welcome to borrow it now, if you like. It's not as if I can use it safely, after all. Ah... but if you could tell me your name first? I've seen you around the temple and I know you arrived with Master Kenobi, but I don't know who you are." Emmy thwapped herself in the forehead. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I'm Emmy... " she paused, remembering that her last name would sound very similar to Obi-Wan's, and decided to skip it for now. "Pleased to meet you, Alaia." "And I you," Alaia answered, bowing. "Thank you for bringing Master Kenobi to the temple. I'm very grateful for his help," she added. Emmy grinned. "My pleasure." "I hate to interrupt the pleasantries, but," put in Obi-Wan a bit dryly, "Alaia, do you feel as if you could focus enough to test how much you're healed? This is the first time you've felt like exercising, and your mind may well follow your body this time." She looked down for a moment, then looked back at him. "All right," she agreed. "I have to stretch healing muscles to get the full range of motion back, and that hurts, so I suppose this isn't any different." Emmy felt a shift in the Force from him. My cue to leave, she thought. "That's the spirit," she said aloud. "I'll let you two work. Master Obi-Wan, I'll see you later this afternoon." He nodded to her, but his attention was clearly on Alaia as he sat down in one of the observation alcoves around the room. Emmy left the room, and Alaia tucked the dirk back into her boot, then collected her tunic and racked the practice saber by the door with the other children's sabers. When she glanced back at Obi-Wan, it looked as if she was about to ask him if he meant -right now-, but she apparently read it in his face. She came and sat down next to him. Without prompting, she closed her eyes and started to slow her breathing. Obi-Wan sighed inwardly. It's a shame her master was killed, he thought sadly. Obviously, he did very well by her, though he should have anticipated that she might sometime try to cut herself off from the Force intentionally. With a rueful little smile at himself, he added, Ah well. I remember another Jedi Master who failed to take a padawan's frailties into account... Then her presence faded slowly back into being next to him, and he smiled more warmly. Carefully, so as not to startle her, he reached out with his own mind and asked, << Alaia? >> << Mm? >> she answered, clearly not entirely aware of what she had done. But when he offered her a mental 'hand,' she took it. Immediately her presence strengthened, and her eyes snapped open with a gasp. Her calm unraveled quickly, but with his 'grip' on her presence, she didn't lose her connection to the Force. "Din sha breth... " she breathed, an exclamation he didn't recognize. "That feels so -good-... " "I take it it doesn't hurt then?" Obi-Wan asked, smiling faintly and waiting to see if she would calm herself or if she would need to be reminded - it didn't seem likely that she'd stay this euphoric for long. "It... " she paused, and her aura steadied and faded slightly. "It's not as strong as it used to be, and it's kind of like... kind of like running cold water over a burn? It still hurts, but it feels good at the same time." "Good," Obi-Wan said. "If you can maintain contact, you should be able to heal faster now." "That'll be the trick, won't it," Alaia muttered, her forehead furrowing in concentration. Her aura calmed even more, and settled to a steady pale blue in Obi-Wan's mind. She took a couple of deep breaths, then looked up at him. "Master Obi-Wan... thank you. Thank you very much. I... really appreciate the time you took to help me. Words are kind of inadequate, but - " She smiled. "But thank you anyway." He chuckled, approving of the calm he could feel in her now that she was over the initial shock. "You're welcome, Alaia, but you did most of the work." She sat there for a moment, just being quiet and apparently appreciating the feeling of being in contact with the Force again, then said, "Master Kenobi, I can feel my arm going stiff. Do you need me for anything now? Otherwise, I'm going to go get a shower." "Anything I might need your help for can wait, Alaia." She got up, bowed respectfully, and left. Obi-Wan sat there for a few moments longer, thinking, and then went in search of Master Yoda to ask him what the current procedure for taking a padawan learner was. While he suspected he could just ask Alaia, he didn't see any need to embarrass her, and he suspected Yoda of setting him up. Facing a smug 4,000-year-old Master would probably shake her calm unnecessarily. NAR SHADDAA "I know nothing about that," said the man who ran the junk shop on Vogga Prospect. A heavy-set, jowly, stolid human of Russian extraction, he answered only to Ivan, and so far he was being as unhelpful to Len as his description in the mysterious note file had suggested. Len, now formally dressed and looking the part of an important corporate (or criminal) functionary in suit and long, dark coat, looked disappointed, but in a detached kind of way. "That's too bad," he said. "I represent an organization that would be very interested in any such items you might happen to come across." He felt Ivan wavering and decided that the time was right to give the man a little nudge. Leaning slightly closer over the counter, he looked over his dark pince-nez into Ivan's eyes and added in a low voice, "An organization with very deep pockets." Ivan stiffened, his eyes unfocusing, and Len cursed inwardly, feeling the man's mind slam shut like a book. "I know nothing about that," Ivan repeated flatly after he'd recovered his cracked composure. "You should leave." Leonard retained his aplomb. "You're making a mistake," he said calmly. "You'll come to wish you'd been straight with me." "You should leave -now-," Ivan said, and Len didn't see any purpose in arguing, so he left. Damn, he thought as he made his way up the street. I wasn't expecting that. Someone taught him to do that - someone who knows the technique it's meant to counter. Still, that alone is interesting enough to get a tactical team in here to take a look around. I wonder how fast - - hold it. Len paused nonchalantly at a newsstand by the side of the street. Without looking around, he looked around. Figures were melting out of the crowds, figures who were dressed to blend in but did not because of the way they carried themselves. They wore ordinary cloaks or long coats like travelers all over the Rim, but under the cloaks or coats were the distinctive angles and edges of armor. Mercenaries? Soldiers of organized crime? Len supposed it didn't really matter much. What happened next was like a scene from a movie. The armored men and women converged on his position, their gait becoming more purposeful as they homed in on their target. Some of them started throwing back cloaks or clearing open coats, revealing weapons of a diversity and power surprising even for the streets of Nar Shaddaa. The armored shutter of the newsstand ratcheted down in Len's face, cutting him off from yesterday's Rim Republican. The crowd -vanished- in mere moments, people darting down alleys, fading into doorways, and generally making it entirely plain that in no way did any of them intend to get involved in whatever was about to get thrown down. Len waited a beat, then acknowledged their presence by turning around. There were eight of them, falling into a fairly tight, well-rehearsed cordon as they halted about a dozen feet away from him. Far enough to make a response with anything less than overwhelming firepower unwise. They were even competent enough not to form a complete semicircle, so that their crossfire wouldn't cause problems for the ones on the ends. You didn't see that in your average platoon of thugs. The leader of the group seemed to be a hard-looking blonde woman with a Romulan-built disruptor carbine at her side and a vibro-axe slung on her back. Like all of them, she wore battered but serviceable ex-military body armor and looked like she'd just as soon things ended in as noisy a fight as possible. "Hello," Len said in a pleasant, friendly tone. He removed his pince-nez and tucked it into an inside pocket of his coat. "If this is about those parking tickets on Ord Mantell, I can explain." "Shut up," the blonde woman snapped. "But it wasn't even my car," Len protested. "I said shut up." Len looked a trifle hurt. "I'm only trying to explain my position," he said reasonably. The woman turned her icy glare to one of her men. "Kegrus." "Yes, ma'am!" said the third man from Len's left, a pock-faced youth who looked rather nervous about the whole affair. "If he talks again, shoot him." Len smiled at Kegrus and said affably, "You'll find that hard to do with the safety on." Kegrus - who was absolutely certain he'd taken his submachine blaster's safety off - said "Wha?" and glanced down at the weapon. Suddenly something struck him heavily in the chest, knocking him over backward. His weapon, oddly, followed the opposite trajectory, flipping through the air and landing neatly in the hands of the man they'd been sent to deal with. "Hello! Now -I- have a blaster. Does that make me one of the boys?" Len asked conversationally. The blonde stared coldly at him. "Your move, smart guy," she said through her teeth. "What do you say we all put our weapons up and have a nice, reasonable conversation about what's bothering us?" Len asked. "I bet we'd all find that helpful and informative." "Do you have any IDEA who you're talking to?" the woman snapped peevishly. "No," Len replied with perfect honesty. "My name is Selven. I'm the deadliest woman on Taris." Len eyed their surroundings with a slightly skeptical expression, then pointed out with an air of reluctance, "... We're not on Taris." Selven's eyes narrowed. "I usually make it a point not to have personal feelings about my kills, boy, but you're starting to make me hate you." Len blinked. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I'm afraid there's been some kind of mistake. I'd definitely have it on my schedule if I was planning to be killed today." As he chatted, he took one last careful look around at his situation. His disarming of Kegrus aside (and the young man had more weapons, and now looked quite annoyed at having been made such a fool of in front of his boss and colleagues, as it were), his accosters still had the superior position. Their crossfire was still quite comprehensive. They had him covered from all angles; the only way out of their line of fire was to try and go around the newsstand, and -that- would only avail him a several-thousand-foot plunge to what passed for ground level around here. At least, that was the only way out of it that any normal person would think of. "You should've thought of that before you started prying into Ivan's affairs," Selven told him. "He's a bit of a weakling. Easily spooked. You gave him quite a fright." "That wasn't my intention," Len replied. "I only wanted to do a little business with him, but he went and got all -defensive-. Maybe I could apologize for startling him and we could try again." Selven smirked slightly. "I don't think so," she said. Time slowed as Len pushed his perceptions outward. He sensed Selven's intention to shoot him before she herself was entirely aware of it. In his heightened state, he could almost see the nerve impulse travel down her arm to her trigger finger, hear the muscles in that finger start to tighten. Around her, her men were still alert but quiescent. Their cue to open fire would be her first shot. Which gave Leonard all the time in the world. By the time Selven's disruptor beam slashed across the space between her and the newsstand, he was gone. Her men opened up on cue, pouring a brief but furious volley of blasterfire into the newsstand's already-glowing armor, before they realized he was gone and stopped. "What the - " Selven snarled. Then her keen eyes caught movement just above her line of sight. Looking up, she saw Len - smiling, his coat still settling around him - in a half-crouch on the roof of the newsstand. "There! -Blast- him!" Len gathered himself and leaped again, this time up and forward. The blastermen's second volley passed under him as he performed a graceful, almost swan-dive-like leap over their formation, tucked into a half-twisting roll, and landed about ten feet behind Selven. "You guys really ought to be reasonable about this," he said as the mercs wheeled to face him. "I didn't come here looking for a fight." "Well, you've got one anyway," Selven replied. "I don't know -what- you're chipped with, but once we finish you off you can be sure I'll have my techs dig it out of what's left." Len cracked a half-smile. "An interesting technical challenge, to be sure," he said - and then he made a small gesture with his left hand, the same sort of casual flick of two fingers he'd used to open the door to Apartment 10-71. Selven and her squaddies were hurled to his left as if caught in a hurricane-force wind, weapons and equipment scattering in all directions with a great clatter of metal on permacrete. Most were stunned by the blow and the impact with the street. Only their leader sprang to her feet, teeth gritted, eyes full of fury. "-No one- mocks me!" she spat, launching herself in a full-on charge as she whipped the vibro-axe from her back and brought it around in a keening, neck-high arc. Len faded back slightly. There was a snapping hiss, an electric growl, a flash of light and a smell of ozone, and then Selven was stumbling past him, her balance almost ruined by the sudden loss of most of her weapon's weight. She skidded to a halt several paces beyond him, whirled, raised her axe, and stared in astonishment at the glowing end of the haft, cut neatly off a few inches below the head. Off to her right, the whirling head chunked into the curb next to the newsstand and stayed there, buzzing, for several seconds before its reserve capacitors died. Leonard stood facing her, the white blade of his lightsaber humming softly. "Maybe that's your problem," he said calmly. Selven's eyes widened. "Another Jedi!" she blurted. Len cocked an eyebrow. "What happened to the first one?" he asked. For a moment, something almost like panic seemed to be welling up on Selven's flinty face; then it died away as quickly as it had come and was replaced with her already-familiar icy sneer. "You'll find out," she said. "Let's go, boys. Our 'friend' will handle this one. He's too big a fish for us." Len gave her a skeptical look. "You don't seriously think I'm just going to let you pick up your stuff and -go-, do you?" "You'll be too busy to stop us," Selven replied - and before Len could form a response, the Force whispered a warning. He whirled, raising his lightsaber just in time to catch and deflect a torrent of lightning-like energy that ripped out of the alley across the way from the newsstand. The discharge shrieked against his blade, making the weapon's grip vibrate slightly in his hand as it clawed at the beam and then scattered to spall the street like sparks from an arc welder. Then it stopped. Out of the corners of his eyes, Len could see Selven and her men grabbing up their gear and bolting, but, as she'd predicted, he was too busy to stop them - though not too busy to take note of the direction in which they fled. Then all his attention was taken up by the figure emerging from the alley - a black-clad woman, athletic and slim, with the feline facial features, pale-striped yellow fur, and warrior topknot of a Cathar. She fixed him with a glare from her vertical-slitted yellow eyes and bared impressive fangs in a sneer several degrees nastier than Selven's. "Well. Look what we have here," she said. Her Catharese accent sounded almost the same as Ivan's Russian one to Len's ears. "Who might you be? One of Burke's errand boys? I'm almost tempted to give you a message to take back to him... but that would involve sending you back alive, so perhaps not." The shock of confronting a Dark Jedi where he'd expected to find smugglers and gunrunners was compounded by the fact that he -knew- her. Not personally, they'd never met before, but he had seen her face in pictures, read her dossier... and not too long before, he'd perused a few of her private thoughts in a dingy apartment mere blocks away. "Juhani?!" he blurted. "What - what's happened to you?" She smirked and drew her weapon, its scarlet blade making a cruel, guttural sound. "You could say I've seen the light," she said, then lunged, her lightsaber crashing against his. ROYAL JYURAI INTERSTELLAR SPACEPORT JYURAI, ENIGMA SECTOR The planet Jyurai was (apart from one small area few outsiders ever heard of, much less visited) a beautiful, heavily wooded world - but a spaceport was a spaceport, and one was much the same as another, especially behind the scenes. In the enclosed bays and outdoor revetments where light freighters gathered to load and unload their cargoes, pilots and shipholders had to remind themselves what planet they were on by looking at the signs. The metallic anonymity of the capital's spaceport (beyond its splendid public terminal) was complete. The owner of the ExoSalusia XC-92 Avenger light freighter docked in Bay 47 didn't care about any of that. At that moment, she was concerned with one thing and one thing only. "I want that cargo off my ship," she said to the unkempt Mon Calamari whose face looked out at her from a wall panel at the entrance to the revetment. Her face was impassive, her voice calm and even, and from that the Mon Cal had drawn the assumption that she really wasn't all that upset. This merely showed that he was new on the job and hadn't met her before. If he had, he would know that Rei Ayanami's face was always impassive, her voice always calm and even. He chortled, a bubbling sound, as though he were underwater. "Too bad," he replied. "No refunds, no returns, sweetcake. We loaded the ship according to the manifest." "Someone else's manifest," Rei pointed out. "My ship is supposed to have 200 gross of carbonium rods on board." She paused. "Instead, it has 200 tribbles. 200 -loose- tribbles, since your cargo jockeys couldn't even be bothered to secure the cages properly." The Mon Cal burbled again. "You were loaded what, two hours ago? You've probably got 250 of 'em in there by now! If you don't want 'em, buy some poison. Or a blaster. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do. Cargo Control out." The screen went blank. Rei blinked at it, once, slowly. The rust-colored, turret-headed humanoid droid standing next to her asked, "Query: Shall I go to Cargo Control and explain our position more... forcefully?" There was an audible eagerness in his very human-like, mellow voice. Rei shook her head. "No," she said. "Go back to the ship and see if you can round up the tribbles." Turning her head to look directly into the droid's rather sinister faceplate, she added with just the faintest bit of emphasis, "-Alive-, HK-47. We won't be able to charge them back if they're dead." The droid vocalized a sigh. "Reluctant acquiescence: Very well, Master." He turned and trudged back to Bay 47, the picture of mechanical dejection. Rei watched him go, smiled very slightly, then turned and headed down the broad metal corridor, past other revetment doors, racks of cargo modules awaiting loading, and idle repulsorlift trucks, bound for the Cargo Control office. She paid little attention to the black-cloaked figure approaching from the other end of the central corridor, bound from the cheap lightcraft revetments at the end toward the public terminal. She knew he was there, but he struck her as unremarkable. Just a tall humanoid in a breather suit - an ill-maintained breather suit, if that raspy, squeaky wheeze on the intake cycle was anything to go by. And yet - as she drew nearer, there was something about the way he carried himself... Oddly, Vader was having a similar thought about her. If anything, she was even less remarkable, on the surface, to him than he was to her: a young woman (girl, really), small and slender, with very white skin, pale blue-silver hair, and deep-red eyes. She wore a typical spacer's outfit - black military cargo pants, well-worn black leather boots and half-gloves, a toolbelt with a holstered blaster pistol at one hip, a grey flex-form shirt, and a short black jacket with the sleeves rolled up. The only unusual thing about her, besides her coloration, was the sword slung across her back. That was what had struck Vader - not the sword itself, but that she carried herself, despite her delicate build and apparent youth, as though she knew how to use it. There was almost something of the Jedi in her walk, though the blade on her back was a normal metal sword, as far as Vader could see. That was interesting, but he had little time to reflect on it. He had little time to reflect on -anything-. Now that he'd arrived at the planet to which the Force had guided him, he had to - Vader stopped walking. Several figures had melted out of the shadows in between the pools of harsh white light cast by the ceiling-mounted industrial floodlights, which were set just a little too far apart to fully illuminate the corridor, and surrounded him. All wore dark robes and held metal cylinders in their right hands. "Lord Sidious sends his regards, 'Lord Vader'," said the one in the lead, her voice venomous, mocking, yet oddly seductive. She flung back her hood, revealing a haughty face and the jagged bone crest of a Minbari warrior. Rage filled Darth Vader's body again. How -dare- these fool minions of that upstart charlatan Palpatine waste his time, especially now that time was so precious to him?! With the rage came strength, vitality, power - the fatigue that had slowly crept over him as the effectiveness of his life-support systems waned was washed away, and for this moment, he could almost believe that he was whole again. The Dark Side of the Force was with him. "Kill him!" Kahm Talann barked, and all around Vader, scarlet lightsabers sprang to life. The sound was suitably unusual to arrest Rei's progress toward Cargo Control and turn her around to see where it had come from. Somewhat to her astonishment, she saw seven dark-robed figures with lightsabers throw themselves at the man in the breather suit. She knew what a lightsaber was, and how it differed from a common beam saber. In another life, she had been a student of a style of swordplay that owed much to the ways of the Jedi Knights, and in the course of her training she'd both seen and handled a lightsaber. Their rarity meant that the sight of -seven- people armed with them, all in the same place, filled her with surprise. That surprise deepened when Vader produced his own and met his assailants' charge. Her first instinct, once she was past her surprise, was to turn around and keep walking. This was clearly none of -her- concern. She had no idea who any of these people were, nor what their beef with each other was. For all she knew, the tall guy was some kind of interstellar despot from one of those dirtball kingdoms beyond the Rim, and his attackers were a sect of Jedi bent on redressing the wrongs he had perpetrated on his oppressed subjects. One of the attackers noticed her and brought her to the attention of the Minbari who seemed to be their leader. "Brelt - kill her," the Minbari snapped. "No witnesses." ... Or not, Rei conceded to herself as another saber-wielding assassin broke away from the melee and started trotting unhurriedly toward her. Years of making a living as an independent spacer in the tougher parts of the galaxy - no easy task even if you -aren't- a perpetually-teenaged girl with wide, slightly sad eyes and a nice body for your "age" - had given Rei quick hands. She drew her blaster and fired in the blink of an eye. The man chuckled and batted the burst aside with his lightsaber, never slackening his sauntering pace toward her. OK, she thought, plan B. "HK-47," she said into the handlink stuck to the back of her left hand, "I need you." Not waiting for an acknowledgement, she holstered her blaster, then drew her sword and thumbed a control on the grip. The blade blurred with a hair-raising high-pitched whine, then steadied as the sound arched up beyond the human audible range and the sword's edge began to glow yellow-white. Rei's oncoming assailant's amusement visibly deepened. Rei knew her vibroblade wouldn't stop his lightsaber - the Sith weapon would slice through her titanium-alloy blade as easily as it would cleave her flesh and bone - but then, fencing with him wasn't her intent. Brelt lunged, hoping to draw her into a reflexive parry that would cost her her weapon. She dodged instead, moving out of his path with practiced grace. She retreated from two more attacks, never counterstriking, just staying out of his way. His annoyance grew, his broad red face settling into a scowl as he realized she wasn't going to make it easy. His irritation, coupled with his automatic assumption of superiority, made him sloppy. His next attack had his full weight behind it, and when she slipped aside from it, it left him fully extended, on the verge of sprawling headlong. Rei's vibroblade couldn't cut through another sword, and certainly not a lightsaber, but it did a fine job on his arm. His scream was electrifying, as much shock and indignation as it was pain. Brelt reeled, instinctively grabbing at the stump of his right arm, which now ended just below the elbow. His severed hand went slack, releasing his lightsaber, which started to go out as it fell to the floor. Rei half-crouched, flipped her vibroblade to her left hand, snatched the lightsaber just before it hit the floor with her right, thumbed it back to life, then sprang to her feet and swept the two weapons past each other before her, instantly tripling the number of pieces Brelt was in. Flying blood flecked her pale face, almost matching the scarlet of her eyes; the vibroblade, unlike a lightsaber, didn't cauterize the wounds it made. She was already stepping past the wreckage of Brelt as it tumbled to the floor. The other dark-robed killers had ignored her, already assuming she was dead, when Brelt moved to intercept her. It wasn't the first time Rei Ayanami had been written off before her time. Vader had already killed three of the remaining six Sith, but those who remained standing were the best of them, including Kahm Talann. He had seen her in action, training against Palpatine's other top-ranked apprentices, during his time as a member of the self-proclaimed Sith Lord's camp. Her viciousness and skill had impressed him, and it continued to do so - but at the peak of his form, she would still have been no match for him, even with two reasonably competent helpers. He was far from that peak now, though, even with the Dark Side to fuel him. He could feel his breathing apparatus laboring within his chest, the exertion accelerating the machinery's deterioration. Red fog was creeping in around the corners of his vision. Since his resurrection on Atlantis, it had -always- hurt to breathe, but now each breath was a spike of fire. Talann could feel him weakening, damn her. The thought, and the smug little smile on her face as she countered his attacks and tried to capitalize on the openings left by his having to deal with her minions, served to give him even more strength through the Dark Side... but even the Force could do only so much with a mortal vessel as badly damaged as Vader's. The Minbari eluded a strike that would have taken her head from her shoulders had he been at his best, then trapped his saber. In the second it would take him to free himself, her two minions could easily finish the job. Just then, two unexpected things happened. The Sith assassin to Vader's right suddenly glanced to the left, then tried to break off his attack to counter some incoming threat. A lightsaber crashed against his own, skidded down the blade with a noise like an electric banshee's wail, then sliced off his hand as a keening vibroblade freed his head from his body with a great fountaining of blood. The Sith assassin to Vader's left saw no such threat, but -felt- one as the Force cried a warning to him. Too late, he turned, his saber rising to a guard position, and then was cut down by a hail of blasterfire that seemed, in its volume and ferocity, to come from the weapons of at least a squad of infantrymen. Vader drew fresh strength from the Force and turned his twist out of Talann's saber lock into a punishing disarm that sent her weapon skittering across the corridor. She was self-possessed and well-trained; she didn't let her shock over this sudden, violent reversal of fortune immobilize her even for an instant. Instead, she leaped back and to the side, into the open doorway of an empty landing bay. "-Mistake-, child!" she snarled at the young woman who had come to Vader's rescue. Her lightsaber flew back to her hand, but she didn't renew her attack. Instead, she drove it into the control panel at the edge of the doorway, causing the heavily armored bay door to start grinding shut. Before its converging panels shut away her hate-filled face, Talann called mockingly, "This isn't over, 'Lord Vader'!" Then she set her grip on the Force around an object in the corridor and yanked as hard as she could. Rei whirled at the sound of tortured metal, saw the heavy cargo rack against the corridor wall next to her peeling away as its lower legs collapsed. Several tons of unknown cargo in standard metal shipping containers was falling straight toward her. She set herself to jump out of the way, knowing she wouldn't be able to get clear before it crashed down and smashed her to pulp, and then - - it stopped. She turned to see the black-armored stranger standing amid the corpses of the Sith assassins, one gloved hand raised. His breather unit sounded -really- bad now, making nasty grinding and popping noises. A red light flashed frantically on his chest panel. "Get - clear," he grated. Rei jumped. With a sizzling CRACK and a spray of blue-white sparks, Vader's chest panel exploded. He reeled back as though propelled by the explosion, gripped by such agony he couldn't even cry out, and collapsed heavily on his back as the cargo finished its interrupted fall with a cacophony of metallic sounds. Rei rolled upright just outside the chaotic tangle of metal the stack of cargo had become, then sprang to his side, abandoning her captured lightsaber so she could tab her handlink. "Medical emergency outside Bay 73," she said, her voice as low as ever, but charged with urgency. "Man down. Humanoid cyborg with life-support failure. Situation critical." "Roger," replied the voice of the spaceport's EMS dispatcher. "Units are on their way." HK-47 didn't ask questions; he just took up a guard position near the remains of the Sith assassin he'd gunned down, his heavy blaster pistols at the ready, and waited for instructions. Rei paid the droid no mind, kneeling next to the sprawled form of the mysterious stranger who had just saved her life. His masked face was turned toward her, and though the mask prevented her from seeing his face, she had the distinct impression he was staring into her eyes. One of his hands came shakily up, reaching for her, as if he intended to touch her face. She intercepted it, taking it in both of her own hands and feeling the hard angles of a robotic replacement hand under the heavy black glove. "The Force... is... strong," he murmured, his deep voice almost inaudible. The amplifier in his mask was dead. "Don't speak," Rei told him. "Your breather unit has failed. Save what oxygen you have left. Medics are coming." The last thing Vader saw before his visual filters failed was Rei's face, her wide scarlet eyes looking back at him with a calm intensity that belied the deep, powerful currents within her. The last thing he sensed before he slipped away entirely was her Force aura, a luminous storm of white mist and black lightning, beyond the dead shell of his helmet. It was the most beautiful and dangerous spirit he had ever felt. He had been searching for it his entire life. And now that he had found it, he was going to die before he could do anything about it. He tried to wring enough rage from that hideous irony to hold on, but there was nothing left in him to hold on with. Blackness. TO BE CONTINUED