VORSICHT and fair warning: if you're terribly fond of the intricate
details of time, place and person as presented in the 'Star Wars'
movies and/or their supplementary materials, this is probably not the
story for you.  It removes a number of SW characters and concepts from
their original settings and rearranges them to suit a unique niche in
the UF universe.  Complaints based on this difference will probably
not be addressed, since in most cases that's the freakin' point.

Excelsior,
--G.
April 26, 2002


---
                         FRIDAY, MAY 11, 2412
                  TRISKELIA DEKKANA IV, GENDA SECTOR

        The United Federation of Planets starship USS Conqueror
orbited a dead world beyond the Outer Rim Territories.  By way of
noting how the galaxy changes over the course of time, it must be
pointed out that this system had once been considered, by many beings,
the center of civilizaton.  Over two thousand years ago - perhaps
nearer three - the fourth world of what galactic stellar cartogaphers
now called the Triskelia Dekkana system had been called Santov, the
capital and hub of the vast and mighty Santovasku Empire.
        Today, it was nothing but a dead world covered in the rubble
that had once been a planet-wide city.  Everything of value had been
stripped away by generations of treasure hunters and thieves.  That
mattered little to the crew of the Conqueror, though.  The starship
had come for something of an entirely different nature.
        Below, three men walked slowly through one of the ancient
city's tunnels.  It had taken them several hours to come this deep
into the maze of catacombs beneath the ruins of the Royal Palace,
where once Quevas XIII Santova had ruled his empire.  It was said that
the royal bones still lay on the floor of the throne room, surrounded
by the moldering remains of the Emperor's court robes, right where his
rebellious daughter Kahm had left him after killing him.  Not even the
most intrepid treasure hunters dared enter the room and find out.
        The three men in the catacombs didn't care about Quevas XIII
Santova's bones.
        Presently, the complexion of the tunnel around them changed,
from the bizarre, chitinous gray-greenness of Santovaskan bio-building
material to the smooth, flat gray of metal.  Not long after, they
arrived at the end of the corridor, in the form of a large armored
door, perhaps thirty feet wide and half again as high.  Scattered
before this door were dozens of skeletons of various races, wearing
the remains of clothes of various periods.  Rusting weapons lay here
and there.  There was no sign of what had killed all these treasure
hunters.
        Stopping near the skeleton of a humanoid of uncertain origin,
one of the men, dressed in richly embroidered robes of dark blue and
black, reached up and pushed back his hood, revealing a seamed,
middle-aged, hawk-nosed face topped with curly, graying, sandy hair.
He sniffed the cool, metallic air carefully, looking thoughtfully
around him.
        "Automatic defenses," he murmured.  "Blade, Maul - open it."
        The two black-clad men removed their cloaks and set to work
with quiet efficiency, checking and then bypassing the security
systems that guarded the door before them.  The task took them almost
an hour, but they were methodical, working soundlessly at their
delicate tasks.
        The taller one was human, calm-faced and sleepy-eyed.  He
looked too youthful for the head of snowy white hair he possessed, and
his long-fingered hands worked with the calm, patient precision of a
craftsman - a watchmaker, perhaps, or a microelectronics technician.
He had a long, thin, straight scar on his left cheek, purple and angry
against the pale skin of his face, and most of his left earlobe was
missing.  Old injuries, those, incurred in the youth the man's face
still reflected.  He was thin and bony, his cheekbones very
pronounced, which made the scar on his cheek stand out all the more.
        The other was an Iridonian, humanoid but for his bright red
eyes and the crown of short horns that jutted up from his bald scalp.
It was impossible to tell what color his skin had originally been, for
every square inch of it that his clothes revealed was covered in an
intricate pattern of tattoos, bold and violent in stark black and
screaming red.  His movements were less patient and methodical than
those of his colleague.  Everything about his body language spoke of
tightly controlled impatience, the powerful energy that comes from
frustration.  He performed his work with the precision and care it
demanded, but his bearing made it clear that he wished the task would
be over and done with soon.
        Finally, he had his wish.  With a few last crossed circuits
and bypassed barrier elements, the ancient systems were defeated, and
with a metallic, mechanical noise, startling after the silence, the
door ground open, revealing a small octagonal room, dimly lit by red
glowstrips running along the edges of the walls at floor and ceiling.
        In the center of the room, lying on a bier which was itself
elevated upon a three-step dais, was the body of a man - quite a large
man, and made even bigger by the black armored suit he was wearing.
He lay as if in state, his gloved hands folded over his abdomen just
beneath the rectangular control panel set on his broad armored chest,
the soles of his boots toward the door.  On his head was a shiny black
helmet with a face mask that was part scowling death's head and part
hazmat visor.  A black cloak secured by a chain around his armor-
sheathed neck lined the bier beneath him.
        The human follower gasped softly, his face taking on a look of
mingled wonder and apprehension.
        "It's really him," he murmured in a soft, mellow voice.
        As if the man's statement had triggered some hidden mechanism,
lights flicked to life on the panel set on the figure's chest.  They
flashed in a brief pattern, as if testing something.  With a rhythmic
mechanical hiss, that chest rose slightly, then fell, then rose again.
        The man with the hawk nose smiled.  "Yes, Blade," he replied,
eyes fixed on the black-armored figure on the bier.  "It's really him.
And he's not so deceased as we are to believe."  His smile got a
little bit wider, and not at all nicer.  "Everything is proceeding as
I have foreseen it."


                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                              presents

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT
                   -= WARRIORS OF THE OUTER RIM =-

                         Road Movie to Naboo
                        Chapter One: Impulsion

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins

                with the astropolitical assistance of
                           Kris Overstreet

                      and all the Usual Suspects

            and thanks to the usual broad range of sources
           (but especially George Lucas, this time around)

                (c) 2002 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


                          FOUR MONTHS LATER
                    RUUSAN, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

        Leonard W. Hutchins III knelt in the traditional meditation
posture of his Order, eyes closed, hands on knees, the picture of
placid contemplation.  His light gray robes were darkened with patches
of sweat and sticking to his back in what would have been a most
annoying manner, had he not been meditating specifically to clear his
mind of such feelings.  The small room he knelt in, one of hundreds in
this ancient temple complex, was dim and cool, which aided his
concentration.  Despite the intense effort he had recently been
engaged in, his heart thudded slowly in his chest, and his breathing
was deep and slow and regular.  He could almost have been taken for a
sleeping man, but his mind, though inactive, was alert.
        Had he been standing, Leonard would have been just a little
more than six feet tall.  He was slim but not gangly, well-proportioned 
and stronger than his thin build indicated.  His face was not handsome
or ugly (at least, he didn't think it was), but it was friendly and
honest, and it smiled readily.  People liked him and trusted him
instinctively wherever he went.  He had long rust-red hair and wore
glasses, round wire-framed ones, which as a youth he had needed for
reading and now didn't really need at all.
        His blue eyes slid open as the older man entered the room.
Questions crowded into his mind; he pushed them back and strove to
remain calm.  It would be too horrible to falter and destroy all he'd
worked so hard for at this late juncture.  He kept his expression
neutral as the master seated himself a few feet from his student.
        Aldous Gajic was an Earthman of indeterminate middle age, kind
and strong, and for the last six years he had been the focus of
Leonard Hutchins's entire existence.  He was one of a very few sentient
beings in the known universe, as far as Leonard knew, who could lay
claim to the title of Master in the ancient, nearly extinct Order of
the Jedi Knights.  For more than six years, since leaving his home in
New Avalon at the age of fourteen, Leonard had studied the Jedi arts
under this man, rambling with him and his one other student all around
the Outer Rim Territories, learning, growing, and upholding peace and
justice according to the ancient Jedi Code.
        Another figure entered the room.  He walked slowly, with the
aid of a cane, to Gajic's side, then settled into a seated position
next to him.  This creature, small, green, and wizened, seemed
unbelievably old, and yet somehow timeless.  His benign green gaze was
calm and direct.  He radiated quietude and peace, sitting content and
ancient like a little green Buddha.  He was the last survivor of the
Golden Age of the Jedi, a being over three thousand years old.  To
those few adherents to the Code lingering on in the modern world, his
name was a cipher for all that was great about the ancient Order:
Yoda.
        Gajic regarded his student for a few long moments, and then
his kindly face broke into a smile.
        "Leonard," he said, "it's time for you to leave me."
        "Master?" said Len, puzzled.
        "Passed you have," said Yoda.  "Nothing more Aldous has to
teach you."
        Len's heart leaped; he stilled himself again, preventing
himself from jumping up and making an unseemly display.  "Thank you,"
he said, executing a seated bow.
        "Smile you may," said Yoda, his own wrinkled green face
calmly adopting the expression.  "Calm a Jedi should be - but not
emotionless."
        Accepting the ancient master's gentle chiding, Len let his
grin out.  A further question was burning in his mind, and he wasn't
certain whether it would be appropriate to ask, but, with his usual
preternatural sensitivity, Yoda took the decision out of his hands.
        "Wondering about your fellow student you are," Yoda observed.
        Len nodded.
        "She has completed her trials as well," said Gajic.  "She's
meditating, just as you were.  Presently, Yoda and I shall go and
inform her of our decision."
        "Attend to that we should," said Yoda, getting slowly to his
feet.  Over three thousand years old, the Jedi Master was physically
frail, and moved slowly and deliberately.  For all that, he needed no
aid from Gajic, who merely stood and walked deferentially behind the
senior master.  Len remained where he was, and only when they were
gone did he realize that they hadn't told him if Emmy had passed or
not.
        Ah, well, he'd find out soon enough.  He closed his eyes and
slipped his mind back into neutral.

        In a similar room, in a similar pose, a most dissimilar person
awaited the Jedi Masters.  Her name was M'yl'ya, which humans tended
to pronounce "Emilia" and then shorten to "Emmy".  She was Hyelian,
small, slender but strong like most of her race.  In Standard years,
Emmy was perhaps four times Leonard's age, but that made her in
practical terms a bit younger than he - barely out of the equivalent
of her mid-teens.  She was delicate and fragile-looking, dressed in
white silken tunic, pants and robe of Jedi cut, her arms folded over
her modestly-proportioned chest, hands tucked into the opposite
sleeves.  Her Hyelian ears jutted through a pageboy mop of thick
purple hair, and her face was more cute than beautiful, round and
neat, with very large eyes the same shade as her hair.
        She too opened her eyes when the Jedi Masters entered the
room, and looked to Gajic expectantly as the masters seated themselves
before her.
        "M'yl'ya Kyn'o'bi," said Yoda.  "Jedi Knights for many
generations has your family produced."
        Emmy nodded.  She knew all about the long and honorable
heritage of the Kyn'o'bi clan - and of the single black stain against
that honor.
        "Today," said Gajic with a smile, "it has another.
Congratulations, M'yl'ya."
        Emmy blinked, and then a smile came, and with it tears of joy
at the corners of those big violet eyes.  For a moment she hesitated;
then she bounded up from the floor, swept up frail old Master Yoda in
her arms, and whirled around, hugging the Jedi Master like a stuffed
toy and planting a great smacking kiss on his wizened cheek.  Then, as
the ancient master began to sputter with wounded dignity, she put him
back where she'd gotten him and returned to her seat.
        "I'm sorry, Master Yoda," she said, still smiling.  "I meant
no disrespect.  You have made me very happy with your decision.  You
know that being a Jedi is all I have ever wanted for myself."
        Yoda blinked, smoothed his robes and collected his dignity,
still muttering a bit.  He cast a single baleful glance at Aldous
Gajic, who sat perfectly composed, only a brilliant twinkle in his
eyes betraying how very much he wanted to laugh aloud.
        "Forgive you I do," said Yoda; then he raised a cautionary
finger.  "But learn to control your impulses you must!"
        "I will try harder," said Emmy, bowing her head, but unable to
take the smile from her face.

        The sun was just beginning to set on the great step pyramid of
the ancient temple as the four Jedi Knights said their goodbyes in the
space between the two small starships parked on top.
        "Where will you go from here?" Len asked Master Gajic.
        "I don't know," Gajic replied, as though that lack of
knowledge was of no great concern to him.  "I'll resume my search for
the Cup, and go wherever its trail leads.  And you?"
        "I'm going home," said Len.  "There's business there I've left
unfinished for six years now.  It's time I faced up to my past."
        Gajic nodded.  "I wish you well with it," he said.  "What of
you, M'yl'ya?"
        Emmy thought for a moment, then shook her head.  "I'm not
sure, Master.  I guess I'll go with Len as far as New Avalon, and
then... perhaps I'll find passage back to Hyeruul and see my family."
        "Well, then, good luck to you, too."  Gajic paused to collect
his thoughts.  "I'm very proud of both of you.  Remember what I've
tried to teach you - what we've all learned from each other.  Be
mindful of the flow of the Force.  Listen to what it tells you."
        "I'll miss you, Master Gajic," said Emmy, embracing him.
        "And I you, child," said Gajic, unmindful of the fact that she
was actually twice his age.  "One day, our paths will cross again -
perhaps right here, when you bring your -own- students here for their
trials."
        "Good luck with your search, Master," said Leonard, taking his
turn to hug his teacher.  "Thank you for everything."
        "You're welcome, Leonard.  Remember me to your family."
        "I will."
        Taking his leave of Yoda as well, Gajic addressed the last
farewell to them all:
        "May the Force be with you."
        Then he boarded his battered old Magellan-class exploration
craft, raised his hand in a last wave from the cockpit windows, and
then lifted off and disappeared into the gathering twilight.
        "Goodbye, Master Yoda," said Leonard to the ancient master.
        "Be well," added Emmy.
        Yoda nodded.  "Think not that your education is over," he told
them both.  "Always we are learning.  Remember - always."
        "I'll remember, Master."
        "Then may the Force be with you."

        On the bridge of USS Conqueror, a sensor operator turned to
report to the man in the captain's chair.  While the operator wore an
Starfleet uniform, the man in command of the vessel did not; his
uniform was the black and imposing garb of the Psi Corps Enforcement
Division, the golden psi badge glittering coldly at his breast.
        "Sir!" said the operator.  "Small starship entering the
system.  IFF code makes it the International Police special envoy's
transport."
        The telepath raised one thin eyebrow.  "Indeed.  Right on
time," he added, glancing at the bridge chronometer.  "I'll say this
for them, they're punctual.  Hail them and make sure they've got a
comfortable approach vector."
        He spoke normally; experiments in commanding a mundane bridge
staff via multiple-contact telepathy had shown that the bridge crew
would very shortly be driven insane by the repeated, imperative
contact, so, much as it would have made his task easier, Captain Roman
Tsonis refrained from touching the minds of his subordinates.  He
cared nothing for their sanity or insanity - except that operating the
ship alone would have been inconvenient.
        "IPO transport now on final approach to Docking Bay 1,"
reported the sensor officer after a few minutes.
        "Excellent," said Tsonis; then, in precisely the same tone of
voice, "Destroy it."

        Six hours after departure, Len sat in the control cabin (just
a little too big to be a cockpit, just a little too small to be a
bridge) of the good ship Helldiver, lost in thought.  Outside,
hyperspace rushed past like a tunnel around a train.  On a video
display terminal in front of Len, an unfinished list of pending
repairs awaited completion.  At the moment, Len wasn't sure it would
ever be complete.
        Helldiver, an aging Rover-class scout ship, hadn't been much
of a ship when it was new, and that was a long time ago.  He'd bought
it as scrap on one of the many nondescript Outer Rim planets they'd
visited during his training, fixed it up enough to get it back to
their "home base" on Bonadan, and then worked on it, off and on, in
his spare time, making it spaceworthy again.  He knew a time would
come when he and Master Gajic would part ways, and he would need a
ship when that happened.  At the time he'd thought it was a handy bit
of foreplanning.
        Then he'd realized that the ship, a bit cramped with just him
aboard, was downright crowded with Emmy traveling along.  Ah, well.
It only had to get them to New Avalon.  Once there he could sell it,
or scrap it if nobody wanted it, which seemed likely.  It was
convenient to have your own ship on the Outer Rim, but for travel
within the Federation it was cheaper and usually easier to use
commercial transport.
        All that wasn't really what Len was thinking about, though;
rather, it was what he was using to try to distract himself from his
real thoughts, which were mainly concentrated on a frustratingly vague
feeling of foreboding.  It seemed like the closer he got to the Inner
Galaxy he'd left six years before, the more uneasy he felt, and he
couldn't put his finger on why.  It was as though the Force was trying
to whisper something to him, but he couldn't hear it well enough to
know what.
        Of course he was heading into a relative unknown; news of the
Core Worlds traveled slowly to the Rim, especially its very far
reaches like Bonadan.  What was more, Master Gajic had discouraged him
from seeking such news - it would, the elder Jedi warned, distract him
from his training.  It was advice Len had taken to heart, so he had no
idea what he was heading back toward - but surely with the Babylon
Foundation, the International Police, and the Federation to keep
things steady... 
        He shook his head and chided himself.  He knew the real reason
for his worry, it was plain enough.  He was going home after six
years.  That was reason enough, and on a much smaller, more personal
scale.  Everything else was just his imagination running away with
him.
        The after hatchway opened and Emmy ducked through, taking the
copilot's seat.
        "Too crowded back there for you?" she asked.
        "No," said Len, "just making a to-do list and thinking.  It
hardly seems real yet that we've passed our trials, we're on our
own... let alone that I'm going home."
        "Nervous?"
        "Some," he admitted.
        "That they'll still blame you?" she wondered.
        "-I- still blame me," Len pointed out.
        "Maybe you're the only one who does," said Emmy.
        He turned to look at her, and would have commented, but for
the sounding of an alarm and the abrupt, jarring departure of
Helldiver from hyperspace.
        "What the - ?" wondered Len, banishing the to-do list from the
VDT in favor of a diagnostic.  Had the hyperdrive failed?  If so, it
might be a bit of a wait for aid services this far out.  No, it was
in working order, it had been cut out by a safety override.  They'd
passed too near a mass shadow.  Had he made a navigational error?
He -had- plotted the course fairly near a couple of Outer Rim systems,
but he thought he'd set it up so that they'd miss.
        "There," said Emmy, pointing.  He looked up from the display
and out the viewport, and saw what she was pointing at.  There was a
planet not too far away, though far enough that it shouldn't have
caused a hyperdrive problem.  Near the planet, the sensor systems
reported a number of starships - an unusually high number for a planet
this far out.
        One of the starships, the sensor suite reported, was a GENOM
Interdictor.  Its pseudo-gravity projectors had caused the mass shadow
that had aborted their hyperdrive.  That was, after all, what they
were intended to do.
        Len frowned.  A GENOM ship out here?  Were they causing
problems again?  That didn't seem likely, unless their leadership had
changed dramatically while he was gone.  And the other ships were a
strange mishmash; some of them were showing Earth Alliance
configuration, others UFP Starfleet markings.  Why would Earthforce be
on a joint op with Starfleet way the hell out here?
        What was going on here?

        "Sir!" said the Conqueror's sensor operator.  "Small starship
entering the system.  Looks like the Harasser pulled it out of
hyperspace."
        "How small?" asked Captain Tsonis unconcernedly.
        "Getting a fix on it now," replied the sensorman.  "Scout
ship, Rover-class.  Two lifesigns."
        "Send to the Nestor," said Tsonis to his comm operator.  "Tell
our friends to deal with it."
        "Aye aye, sir."
        Tsonis hated all that pseudo-naval claptrap Starfleet insisted
on burdening itself with, and he'd made that clear to his crew too
many times.  "'Yes' will do nicely, Ensign," he said coldly, breaking
his self-imposed ban on telepathic contact to make his point.
        "Y-yes, sir," repeated the commtech, pale and trembling.
        Standing near the aft turbolift, Darth Vader regarded the back
of Tsonis's head with distaste.  The human talent of telepathy, which
Vader had been told was present in some five percent of the modern
population, worked on a different principle than the Jedi talent of
mind-touching via the Force, but the use of one was recognizable to
the other, given sufficient sensitivity and talent.  Vader could feel
Tsonis gloating to himself over his degrading treatment of the
commtech from where he stood - and Tsonis could feel Vader's contempt
for him just as plainly.
        The Psi Cop turned in his chair and sneered at Vader.  "You
needn't bother trying to intimidate me, Lord Vader.  The fact that you
misinterpret your own psi talents is of no concern to me."  He smiled
coldly.  "I don't fear you."
        "That," replied Vader cordially, "is your first mistake."
        With a derisive snort, Tsonis turned back to the main viewer.

        As Len perused the display, his hand hovering near the hailing
controls, one of the Earthforce vessels, a Nova-class cruiser, broke
formation and maneuvered to intercept them.  Before Len could hail it,
the tactical display on his VDT informed him with some alarm that the
vessel had just launched fighters, and not to provide him with an
escort.
        "What the... ?" he murmured, frowning slightly at the tactical
display.  "Those fighters are in attack formation."
        "Attack formation?!  That's an Earthforce cruiser," said
Emmy.  "Why would they attack a civilian transport?"
        "Why would they be here in the first place?" Len replied.
"We're a long way from the Solar system."
        Emmy nodded, conceding the point.  "And what's with that
Interdictor?" she wondered.
        "Earthforce starships, Earthforce starships, come in please,"
said Len, the fingers of his left hand holding the hail keys while his
right adjusted the shield configuration.  "This is scout ship
Helldiver, civil registry Outer Rim TK421.  Respond please."
        No reply.
        "I have a bad feeling about this," said Emmy.
        Len nodded, abandoning his hail attempts.  "Hold on."
        As the Starfuries came within blaster range, Len didn't
wait for them to open fire; he got a firm hold on the control yoke
with his left hand, reached down onto the instrument panel with his
right, flipped a safety cover off a toggle switch, and threw it.
        When Len had installed the four solid-fuel emergency thrusters
on Helldiver, he hadn't been sure what use they would be; but they
were among the consignment of genuine Rover-class parts he'd found, so
he installed them on impulse rather than waste anything.  Now they
roared to life, shoving the stubby, battered ship toward the planet
faster than its anemic ion thrusters could ever have managed.  He had
those firewalled too, and as the Starfuries' first spread whined past
the ship, Len felt profoundly thankful he'd listened to that impulse.
        Helldiver darted past the Earthforce fighters before they
could get off a second wave of fire.  Len hoped that the emergency
thrusters would hold out long enough for him to escape their range,
before they could turn and pursue him, because there was no way the
scout ship could outrun a Starfury without them.  They were rated
for forty seconds of boost time, and Len kept a mental count as he
aimed the ship for an atmospheric insertion.
        It wasn't until he was committed to that insertion that he
realized the course would take him briefly under the guns of one of
the EA cruisers.  He wouldn't take any bets that the Starfleet ships
were going to offer him any help in that department, given the
absolute failure of the Starfleet formation to respond to the
Earthforce fighter attack on Helldiver.  In fact, now that he looked
at it, they were deployed above the planet in a classic blockade
formation.  And were those troop carriers deploying for landing
operations?
        Why would Earthforce blockade an obscure Outer Rim world?
What would cause Starfleet to help them?  Where did either of them get
an Interdictor-class ship?
        Twenty seconds.
        If the Starfuries were going to catch up to him, it was going
to be about now...
        Red energy bolts began whizzing past the cockpit windows from
behind.  Leonard tried to push the throttles further, but they
wouldn't go.  Helldiver jumped as one of the Starfuries scored a hit
on the rear shields, which almost immediately started showing
decreased effectiveness.
        Thirty seconds.
        They would be coming under the cruiser's guns just about
now... 
        A heavy laser burst lashed out but fell behind them.  Another,
but closer.  The Starfuries' fire crashed the rear shields.  Any moment
now the planet's gravity would begin affecting their flight path, as
its atmosphere already was.
        Thirty-seven seconds.
        The boosters cut out three seconds ahead of schedule.  One of
the Starfuries overflew Helldiver just as the cruiser's guns volleyed
again; this time, thanks to the sudden drop in Helldiver's speed, the
gunner had over-led his target, and ashed his own side's fighter
instead.
        Gritting his teeth, Len pushed the struggling starship's nose
down, toward Naboo, and switched off the shield generator altogether.
Freed power poured into the ion thrusters, and the Rover's nose bit
hard into Naboo's upper atmosphere.  Len felt as if his arms were
going to be wrenched off at the shoulders, but, collecting his
concentration, he summoned the Force to help him.  The pounding from
the Earthforce blasters ceased, lost in the buffeting of atmospheric
entry, and Len wondered if the cruiser were still firing.  If it were,
he'd known soon enough; he'd sacrificed any ability to maneuver out of
harm's way by throwing Helldiver into a crude-but-quicker landing
approach, and in moments, if the guns were still blazing behind them,
the ship would be blown to pieces.
        No death-blow came, and after a wild ride through the
protesting Naboo atmosphere, Helldiver burst through the ionization
layer and into clear blue sky.  The damage computer was warning Len as
strenuously as it could that the power system was overtaxed and
required immediate shutdown; ignoring it for the moment, Len aimed the
ship at the edge of one of the planet's bodies of water, kicking in
the landing cycle at the absolute last minute.  With a little more
buffeting and the crash of falling trees, Helldiver swooped into the
forest at the water's edge, and half-landed, half-crashed among the
trees.

        On the bridge of the Conqueror, Captain Tsonis sat with arms
folded, regarding the image of EAS Nestor's commander on the main
viewer.
        "Are they away?" Tsonis asked the commander.
        "They've crashed near one of the forests," the commander
replied.  "Their ship is undoubtedly crippled.  Shall I have the area
bombarded, or send down a landing party to retrieve them?"
        "No," Vader replied before Tsonis could speak.  "Monitor them
and keep me apprised if anything new develops, but for now, take no
action.  I wish to observe them."
        Tsonis turned, his rage at being superceded barely contained;
Vader regarded him silently, the challenge implicit.
        "Captain?" inquired the Earthforce commander.
        Tsonis turned back to the screen, controlling himself with an
obvious act of will.  "Do as Lord Vader says," he bit out.
        The Earthforce officer nodded and vanished.
        Without a word, Vader turned and strode into the aft
turbolift.
        In the lift, Vader mused to himself on the developments of the
past few minutes.  Nearby, he could feel the seething rage of Tsonis,
which pleased him; a bit further, he felt the pleasure of the being
who thought himself Vader's master.  All was, apparently, going
according to whatever trivial plan Darth Sidious had.  That knowledge
pleased Vader as well, for no reason other than that it meant that
Sidious would be occupied with his own plans for a time, and not
pestering Vader with them.  That suited Vader nicely, since the Sith
Lord had plans of his own to attend to, and surprises to contend with.
A Jedi Knight, here, in this sector, in this era!  Not corrupted,
either; an honest standing-in-the-light Jedi.  Vader had felt him
touching the Force, struggling to control his wounded craft.
        The turbolift stopped.  Vader strode out, into the anteroom
preceding his private meditation chamber.  This had once been the
captain's quarters of this starship; Vader had commandeered it and had
it specially modified for his needs.  Identity scanners pinged the
transponder in his life-support unit and authenticated him.  The doors
slid open to admit him.
        This was his sanctum; none dared intrude here, not even the
creature who fancied himself Vader's master.  As though any could
master a Dark Lord of the Sith?  The thought was laughable, but it
served Vader's purpose to serve Sidious now, as it had to serve Quevas
Santova all those centuries ago.
        Vader seated himself in the great chair in the center of the
room, reclined, and, folding his hands over his armored chest, lost
himself in his thoughts.  A Jedi Knight, perhaps more than one, alive
and fully trained.  The implication was clear: at least one Jedi
Master had survived the pogrom and carried on the traditions, despite
Sidious's claims that only the Sith had survived.
        Darth Vader was not one given to doubts, but he had had some
about that claim, and now it seemed they were justified.
        So be it.  Darth Vader was not one to question his destiny,
either.  He had always felt - since before his fall from the light -
that he was destined to take part in some great event.  Once, when he
was younger and full of hubris, he had thought this to be the
extermination of the Jedi Knights, which he had largely engineered.
When that enterprise was finished, however, he became convinced that
it was not, at least not on the whole.
        Santova, with his usual short-sightedness, had taken Vader's
participation in the pogrom for simple evil for evil's sake, a
destruction of newly-hated enemies - perhaps even some kind of
ideological vengeance.  It had not suited Vader's purposes to disabuse
him of that notion.  It rarely suited him to disabuse the Emperor of
any of his wilder notions.  When Quevas Santova's short-sightedness
had finally driven his daughter (also Vader's student) Kahm to rebel
against him, and the conflict ignited the civil war that destroyed the
Santovasku Empire, Vader had neatly sidestepped Santova's expectations
of his service by arranging to die.
        He hadn't, of course; instead he had sealed himself in a
bunker, deep in the heart of Santov.  There he had turned his will
inward, harnessed the Force as he always had, and pushed himself into
a hibernative state to await the future.  The Force would wake him
when it was time to fulfil his destiny; of that he was certain.
        Imagine his surprise when the Force roused him to find his
sanctum invaded by this brash dictator, a man who thought himself both
the new Dark Lord of the Sith and the next conqueror of all known
space, who had by random chance interpreted the ancient rumors of
Vader's continued existence correctly and found him.
        Random chance, or the design of the Force.
        Now he was here, and he had seen his first real evidence that
the handful of Jedi he had predicted would escape the pogrom had, in
fact, escaped, and carried on their teachings.  That was excellent.
Everything was proceeding according to his vision.  A great wave of
the Force was building, and Darth Vader was riding its crest, on his
way to his destined triumph... of that, he was quite certain.
        And soon the so-called "Lord Sidious" would cease to be of
any use to him.

        Princess Achika Shannon of the House of Jyurai, niece to the
Queen of that world, liked the Naboo Royal Palace.  It was a great
domed stone structure standing at the craggy point of a waterfall-
festooned cliff at the edge of the capital city of Theed.  The city
was beautiful, the cliff was beautiful, and the palace was worthy of
its location, with much gorgeous gold and red tile work and carved
stone.
        If she -had- to be trapped on a planet by a blockade while
carrying out a diplomatic duty, Naboo was a good planet to be trapped
on, and the Naboo had been tremendously courteous about the whole
thing.  No one had made the slightest hint of demur at the Jyuraian
Special Envoy's unexpectedly prolonged stay.  She was treated at every
turn with all the dignity and courtesy that a member of another
world's Royal House demanded.
        Being announced every time she entered the throne room was
getting a little old, though.  That said, today it didn't happen, and
Achika saw the reason why not as soon as she entered: Queen Amidala
was busy.
        Achika's favorite feature of the Naboo throne room was the
fact that the Queen's throne was behind a desk.  It gave the place a
slightly practical air, as if to indicate that the Queen of the Naboo
actually worked for a living, which was in fact so.  Naboo had the
oddest system of government Achika had ever seen: the society was a
democratic monarchy.  The ruler of the Naboo was elected by popular
vote and governed at the sufferance of the people; but when in office,
her power was considerable, limited only by the constitutional rights
of the people.  Amidala, the current Queen, had only been in office
for a matter of weeks; it was to attend her coronation that Achika had
originally come to Naboo.
        Behind the royal desk, the elaborately robed and coiffed
figure of Queen Amidala was looking with impassive countenance at a
holographic image of hawk-nosed Eidun Palpatine, self-styled Acting
President of the United Federation of Planets.  The Queen knew him
well, for Palpatine was a native of Naboo himself.  He had served as
the Outer Rim Territories' representative to the Federation Senate in
happier days.
        " - must understand, Your Majesty," he was saying in his
smooth, pleasant voice as Achika entered.  "With the galaxy in chaos
and the opportunists of Babylon taking any excuse to suborn or
subjugate any world they can get their hands on, your paranoia is, I
fear, justifed - but it is misguided when directed against us!  We are
the last legitimate authority in the galaxy, and we must have the
support of all loyal, peace-loving citizens to prevail against the
evil that threatens to overwhelm us all."
        "Save your posturing for those stupid enough to believe it,
Senator," replied Amidala sharply, her cool and impartial visage at
odds with her words.  "You will not throw our world into the fire of
your vainglorious civil war - a war you have already lost," she added
archly.  "You will -not- conscript your former countrymen and trade
their blood for power."
        Palpatine looked hurt.  "I'm very sorry that you feel that
way, Your Majesty," he said sadly.  "Your predecessor would have had
the wisdom to act in Naboo's best interests, but if you have not, then
I very much fear I won't have the time to persuade you gently.  The
clock is running short for the galaxy, and I cannot spare the time."
On the last four words the Acting President's pleasant facade slipped
a little, letting the flinty hardness into his eyes and voice.
        "You will do what you feel you must, Senator," said Amidala
flatly, "as will I.  Goodbye."  She cut off the connection with a
small gesture of her hand, and the image of Palpatine flickered and
vanished.  The Queen sat silent for a moment, seeming to gather
herself, then turned and inclined her head slightly to Achika.
        "Welcome, Princess Achika," said Amidala, as she did every
morning.
        As she nodded in reply to Her Majesty's courteous greeting,
Achika had to admit, if only to herself, that she didn't really like
Amidala all that much.  She was certainly capable and confident,
despite her startling youth - Achika had heard that she was only
fourteen Standard years old! - but her manner was wooden and
impersonal, and she spoke in a rather harsh, stilted tone that
reminded Achika of a poorly socialized machine intelligence.  On some
days she was better than others; today her tone was particularly cold,
almost dismissive.
        Achika tried not to hold it against the Queen of the Naboo.
She could be excused a bit of coldness after the conversation she'd
just finished, and anyway, Achika didn't think she was really trying
to hurt anyone's feelings.  Whenever she found the Queen's manner
annoying her, Achika tried to think how she would handle herself if
the unthinkable were to happen and she were to become Queen of Jyurai.
She might well become just as withdrawn, just to prevent her own
personality from being submerged in the trappings of office.
        And in the case of the Queen of the Naboo, there were a -lot-
of trappings.  Achika had been on Naboo for twenty-nine days now, and
every day the Queen had worn a different, gorgeous, hugely elaborate,
intricately fitted costume.  They were all bright, all lovely, and all
served to make the Queen look bigger and more imposing than she was.
Her coiffure was different every day, too, and always as elaborate as
her clothing.
        Only the ceremonial makeup on her face remained the same every
day: mime white, with a small red dot on the point of each cheek and
oddly applied red lipstick.  Her upper lip was painted red, while her
lower lip was whitened to match the rest of her face, except for a
finger-wide stripe of red at the center.  She was surrounded by the
usual squad of four handmaidens, all dressed in the same hooded robes
of bright orange velvet.  Achika looked the group over, looking for
Padme, the handmaiden who had, on occasion, been assigned to help her
with her things, but she wasn't among them today.
        Achika caught the tension in the throne room's atmosphere
early on.  No day in the palace was really carefree these days, with
the outlaw Federation blockade fleet hovering overhead, but on days
when that fleet did nothing but sit there, and transmitted no demands
for the Queen to refuse, it was at least possible to get on with the
day's business without looking over one's metaphorical shoulder every
few minutes.
        Today, tall, dark Captain Panaka, the captain of the Queen's
guards, stood at the right side of the royal desk, his hands clasped
behind his back.  Panaka was a pleasant fellow, and wonderfully loyal,
but his presence in the throne room was never a good sign.  The stress
showed on his face and on that of white-haired Sio Bibble, the Naboo
Governor General.
        "It's war," said Bibble, his white beard quivering with
agitation.
        "What?" asked Achika, crossing the room at a more rapid pace.
        "The Federation fleet has interdicted communications and
dispatched an invasion force," said Amidala.
        "What about the Babylon Foundation envoys?"
        "According to Senator Palpatine, they never arrived," Amidala
replied.  The Queen's eyes reproached Achika; she was an agent of the
Babylon Foundation herself, in a way, and the Queen apparently felt
that the Foundation had betrayed her.
        "That's impossible," said Achika.  "I spoke with Admiral
Hutchins yesterday evening.  His agents were to arrive this morning.
Experts of Justice are -never- late."
        "Perhaps they were shot down by the Federation forces," Sio
Bibble suggested.  "A small ship crashed in the Cliffside Woods this
morning, a mile or so from here.  The communications blackout came
shortly thereafter."
        "Either way, they have failed," said Amidala.  "Either way,
Palpatine's army is coming."
        "Our defense volunteers can't stand against an invasion force,
Your Majesty," Panaka said.  "We should evacuate you - "
        "To where, Captain?" asked the Queen.  "Their blockade will
prevent us from escaping off-world.  We have no craft capable of
fighting its way out."
        Not for the first time, Achika found herself wishing she
hadn't decided to leave Ryo-Ohki at home for this diplomatic visit.
With Ryo, she could have escaped, and taken the Queen and at least
part of her entourage with her.  As it was, she was as trapped as the 
rest of them.
        "You can at least leave Theed," said Achika.  "Get out before
the Federation's marines encircle the palace."
        "I appreciate your suggestion, Princess Achika," said Amidala,
"but I will not abandon my people to the tender mercies of these
Federation outlaws while I flee for my own safety."
        Achika's estimation of the Queen of the Naboo hitched up
another notch.
        Panaka looked up as if suddenly struck by an idea.  "Your
Majesty, there may be another reason."
        Amidala looked at her guard captain with a look of cool
expectancy.
        "In the Harkon Sea, there is an island which supposedly houses
the ruins of an ancient fortress, dating back to the Great Struggle."
        Sio Bibble's jaw dropped.  "You speak of the Forbidden Island,
Captain," he spluttered.
        "The ancients are said to have possessed powerful weapons,"
said Panaka with a glance to Achika.  "They may have left behind
something we can use to drive the Federation away from our world."
        Amidala frowned.  "I do not like the implications.  We are a
peaceful people -because- we have turned our backs on the ancient,
warlike ways.  To dredge all that up again... "
        "With all due respect, Your Majesty, I think it's worth
investigating," said Achika.  "Your security volunteers are brave, but
Captain Panaka is right - they can't repel a battle-hardened invasion
force.  If we don't find something to help against the Feddies, they
-will- conquer Naboo."
        The Queen thought on this for a few moments, her frown
deepening with each passing second.
        Then, with just the faintest hint of a resigned sigh, she
said, "I understand.  Very well.  We will go to the Forbidden Island.
Governor Bibble, you must remain here and represent my office while I
am gone."
        "I - Your Majesty, please!  Even if you feel the horrors of
the past must be resurrected, must you place yourself in such danger?
Surely Captain Panaka can - "
        Amidala turned to Bibble and silenced him with a look.
"Governor," she said, in the gentlest tone Achika had yet heard from
her, "I am a peaceful ruler - but that does not mean I will allow the
Federation to take my world from me without a fight.  The people of
Naboo elected me to protect them as well as rule.  I will not be
derelict in that duty!"
        "I - "  Bibble paused, his goateed jaw working for a moment;
then he relented, and even smiled a little.  "Good luck, Your
Majesty."
        "Thank you, Governor."  She turned to Panaka.  "Captain, we
will need to leave within the hour.  Suitable transport will need to
be arranged.  Please ready the Queen's Protectors."
        Panaka made a gesture partway between a nod and a bow.  "At
once, Your Majesty."  He came to attention, pivoted and left the
throne room.
        Amidala turned to Achika.  "Princess Achika, will you be
accompanying us?  I must warn you, the journey is likely to be
dangerous.  If you remain here, the Federation will be obligated to
treat you with the respect due your diplomatic status.  By coming with
us you would be taking a side and abandoning that status - you would
be fair game for them.  The decision is, of course, entirely up to
you."
        Achika bowed her head.  "Your Majesty, the Earth Alliance and
the Kingdom of Jyurai are at war.  In a sense, I am already a
belligerent, and I have no intentions of falling into the hands of the
Psi Corps."  She suppressed a shudder, then looked up and met the
young queen's eyes.  "Besides, I wasn't raised to stand by and watch a
peaceful people be oppressed.  I will help you in any way that I can."
        Amidala nodded.  "Thank you, Your Highness."
        "The honor is mine, Your Majesty."
        Queen Amidala arose from her throne.  "I must prepare for the
journey."

        Captain Panaka spent the next several minutes, as was his job
as Captain of the Queen's Protectors, fretting.  He understood her
stubborn determination to accompany the expedition herself.  She had
been elected, in large part, just because of that stubbornness, that
need to do what she felt was right at whatever cost.  It still
increased his blood pressure that she was putting herself in danger.
If the Federation forces captured her, Panaka felt confident they
wouldn't harm her.  Their stock was low enough in the galaxy - they
couldn't afford the murder of a sovereign ruler added to everything
else.  She might be safer in their hands than fleeing; accidents could
happen in a situation like that.
        Also annoying to Panaka was the fact that the Queen had
invited the Special Envoy from Jyurai along on the expedition.  Being a 
soldier, Panaka had a low opinion of the usefulness of diplomatic
personnel in any situation, and especially under potential battle
conditions.  True, the Jyuraian was polite, and seemed both intelligent 
and fit; but she was only a child, barely past twenty, and she was
hereditary royalty, which meant she had never had to work for anything
in her life.  Panaka doubted her ability to stand up to a real crisis,
a firefight or worse.
        When Achika arrived in the throne room for the rendezvous,
though, he was forced to admit that he might have to reconsider this
doubt.  She had changed from her voluminous, formal white court robes
to a sturdy, functional, but decorative Jyuraian battle costume.  This
had a red-trimmed, dark blue tunic belted in at the waist with a wide
red sash, bloused purple sleeves tucked into blue bracers of some hard
material, and matching bloused purple trousers, these tucked into
armored blue greaves above matching firm-soled shoes.  Her hair was
tied back in a simple fighting ponytail, and a brow band kept her
bangs out of her eyes.
        Tucked into the sash around her waist was an short baton
carved from dark wood, rounded at one end and flat on the other, three
jewels set into its rounded end.  Panaka, not up on his Jyuraian
culture, wondered what its significance was.  The Special Envoy had
carried it every day of her time on Naboo, and was apparently not
prepared to leave the palace without it.
        (It would later alarm Panaka to learn that it was a weapon, one
Achika had carried into Queen Amidala's throne room every day,
undetected by the room's sophisticated weapons scanners.)
        The Queen and the two handmaidens she had chosen to accompany
her on the expedition arrived moments after Achika.  Amidala had
changed to a dark, subdued traveling gown, her head enclosed by a
partial veil that hid her ears and hair; her face still bore its royal
makeup, and her manner seemed subdued.  Flanking her, wearing maroon
velvet jackets, practical trousers and sturdy boots, were her two
closest handmaidens, Padme and Rabe.  They had small, decoratively
chrome-plated blasters on their belts.  Achika had been told that the
Queen's handmaidens were always so armed, but their usual
yellow-orange velvet robes hid the weapons.
        The six uniformed Queen's Protectors under Panaka's command
formed up around the Queen and her handmaidens; Achika joined the
group at its head, falling in alongside Panaka with a nod which the
Captain returned.  No one spoke; the atmosphere in the room was
tense.  Outside, in the distance, the sounds of the invaders engaging
the city's outermost ring of defenses was audible.  They would reach
the palace soon; Theed was not adequately defended to repel a
full-scale assault.
        The group left the palace and moved hurriedly across the
courtyard toward the buildings that formed the royal hangar and garage
complex, where their transport waited to take them to the Forbidden
Island.
        They were about halfway there when a platoon of fully armored
Earthforce Marines tramped through the archway leading to the
boulevard.  The entourage and the battle squad froze simultaneously,
the Marines identifying these targets while the entourage reacted to
the sudden threat.
        Then the Marines began to advance, while the entourage went
into a defensive pattern.  The handmaidens hustled the Queen to the
nearest cover - a large stone platform on which stood a statue of an
ancient Naboo philosopher - while the Queen's Protectors took up a
bristling defensive formation around the three girls.
        Panaka whipped his blaster from his belt, backstepping toward
the statue.  He glanced to his right, about to advise the Jyuraian
envoy to seek cover - 
        Achika's hand went to her sash, and the wooden object was in
her hand before Panaka consciously registered that she'd moved.  Her
eyes narrowed at the advancing Earthforcers, and from the top of the
piece of wood, a beam of blue energy sprang out with a soft hiss,
forming a blade like that of a beam saber, though once it was deployed
it did not make the characteristic low hum.  Nor did it have a
lightsaber's bright core; its blade was sky blue, edge to edge.
        A split-second later, the Marines opened fire, and Achika
stepped in front of Panaka, the blue energy blade flashing as if
drawn to the blaster bolts, deflecting the volley away from the
Captain and the Queen's Protectors.  The Protectors and the
handmaidens began to return fire into the Marines' left rank as Achika
advanced with quick steps and slashed the lead Marine on their right
cleanly in half with her energy blade.
        Captain Panaka was so startled by the sudden explosion of the
Envoy from Jyurai into action that he nearly forgot to defend himself
and his Queen as he watched Achika dance through the Earthforcers'
right rank, blocking their fire and cutting them down with artful
sweeps and deflections.  Though physically powerful, the assault-
armored Marines were slow-moving and clumsy, unsuited for close
combat.  They might as well have been carved from stone for all that
they could lay a hand, a blaster bolt, or a close-combat blade on
Achika.
        But from the boulevard, another group arrived, and another
from the second archway leading to the Assembly building.  The Marines
sought to achieve conquest as they always did, not through finesse but
firepower, overwhelming their opponents rather than outmaneuvering
them.  The Queen's Protectors and Achika could probably have handled
the second group, but with the third arriving from another angle, the
situation became much more difficult.
        That was before the two figures appeared at the top of the
courtyard wall, flashed to the branches of the huge tree in the
courtyard's center, and then dropped to the flagstones in front of the
oncoming second group of Marines.  They, too, had energy blades, but
these did make the hum and throb and snap of Jedi lightsabers, and the
two new arrivals wore the robes of Jedi Knights as well.  Though they
were sighted with fair regularity on the Outer Rim, most educated
people believed them extinct, and none had been seen on Naboo for
centuries.
        Even so, Panaka had seen the holopictures in the history
databases just as well as every other schoolchild on the Rim.  He knew
what a Jedi looked like, and these two looked like Jedi.
        One was tall and thin, with long red hair in a ponytail, gray
robes and a white lightsaber with no colored fringe.  He held his
saber in both hands, just like the Jedi in the history holos, and
fought in much the same style as Achika, though with a greater economy
of motion, his every move lightning-fast and yet deliberate and
calculated.
        The other was short and slender, with short purple hair and
the prominent ears of a Hyelian, dressed in white.  She had a shorter,
thinner, purple-edged lightsaber in each hand, and fought with a
wildly acrobatic style, with much leaping, spinning, and backhanded
slashing.  She moved even faster than her tall compatriot.
        Their sudden appearance, and the subsequent decimation of
about half the third Marine group, sent the Marines into disarray.  They
hadn't anticipated anywhere near this fierce a reception by the royal
entourage.  In consternation, they fell back to regroup.
        Achika returned her weapon, blade off, to her belt and ran
back to rejoin Panaka and the Protectors.  One of the Protectors had
been hit in the shoulder by a Marine blast, and he was in considerable
pain, but he could still walk and fight.  No one else had been harmed.
        "We have to get to our ship before they finish regrouping,"
said Achika, gesturing to the Marines.  "Lead the way."
        The two Jedi - or whatever they were - arrived at the group;
the man had put his lightsaber on his belt, but the woman still held
one of her two in her hands, ready to deflect fire if the Marines
should start shooting again.  When they drew near enough for faces to
be seen, Achika, whose face had been flushed from battle, suddenly
paled, her jaw dropping.
        "Len!" she cried.
        The redheaded Jedi stopped, his honest face taking a similar
expression.  "Achika?!" he blurted.
        "This way!" cried Panaka, and the group moved off at a run,
with no more time for startled reunions.
        The Marines regained their initiative presently, but by that
time the royal entourage had made it to the relative safety of one of
the hangars.  This was actually more of a large boathouse, containing
a large pool of water on which floated a sleek silver cruiser of
perhaps two hundred feet in length, its lines clearly built for speed
and maneuverability.
        Achika and the two Jedi used their weapons to deflect away the
Marine fire, and the Queen's Protectors blasted back, holding the
Marines at the door to the boathouse until everyone had backed aboard
the silver waveskimmer.  At the controls in the cockpit amidships,
Captain Ric Olie, the Queen's yachtsman, punched a key to retract the
moorings, and another to drain the pool, dropping its water level the
three hundred or so feet from the cliff level down to sea level.
There, a large doorway opened out into the sea; a force field
prevented the water from escaping.  Now that it had been allowed out,
Olie dropped the field, engaged the engines, and the silver cruiser
powered out onto the open water.  Earthforce blaster fire splashed
ineffectually around it as they passed quickly out of range of the
shore.  Not truly an aircraft nor a boat, the skimmer rode the
surface, held out of the water by a repulsorlift field but in contact
with the surface along its keel and forward strakes.
        Out of danger for the moment, everyone had a chance to stop
and breathe.  The Queen's Protectors put away their weapons, and one
of their number with medic training took stock of their injured
comrade.  Padme and Rabe got the Queen's assurance that she was all
right.  The Hyelian Jedi stood aftmost of the group, looking back at
the cliffs and the palace of Theed, her violet eyes narrowed as if she
could still see the frustrated Marines lining the cliffside.
        Achika and Len stood to the side of the Queen and her
handmaidens, staring at each other with looks of total astonishment.
        "Achika, I - " said the Jedi, finally.
        Achika's face changed from astonishment to anger.  Without
warning, she slammed Leonard to the deck on his back with a solid,
unadorned right cross.
        "You son of a bitch!" she snarled; then she turned on her
heel, found a companionway and went below decks.
        "I see," said Padme to the stunned Jedi Knight with wry
amusement, "that you have already met the Special Envoy from Jyurai."

                          TO BE CONTINUED...