Ghost Ship - Chapter 2

"Are you hurt?" Montross asked.

"No," the officer said. He looked up at them, his eyes wide. "I'm scared as hell."

"At least you're honest," Ronin spit out, managing a hard smile.

A sudden thumping from behind the wall warranted the attention of all three.

"What is that?" Montross asked, cocking his rifle.

"Sounds like an e-web," Ronin whispered.

"It is." The young officer wiped something dark and wet from his face. "We're all barricaded up in there." He pointed fearfully at the door, as if it were the den of some fabled monstrosity.

"You mean you've got a group of survivors in there?" Ronin asked, standing up.

The officer nodded in return. He flinched as another burst of shots rang out.

Ronin and Montross sprung out from their hiding place and keyed the access panel to open the door. At last, they had found what they were looking for - a safe haven against an unstoppable onslaught.

Hopes for Camelot disintegrated as they walked into the fortified mess hall. The air was thick with the acrid smoke of spent blaster cartridges. Camelot's floor was slicked over with drying blood. Shouts and screams added to the panoramic scene of a small hell. The wounded and dying lay in a small corner, coughing and writhing. The medic was among those no longer mortal.

The few clones left alive were embunkered behind barricades of boxes and tables, firing wildly at the endless enemy. In the center of it all stood the only fully-armored trooper Montross had seen since the start of the battle.

He stood erect among the smoke and chaos like a warrior of old. He held his massive blaster rifle single-handedly, firing bursts that never failed to find their mark; his striped armor, antennae-like rangefinder, and shredded, stained Mandalorian hunting kama revealed his rank.

"You two! Defend that position! Now!" The ARC trooper pointed to a barricade, currently being assaulted by fat, hunched-over Trandoshan slavers.

Relieved to be under some sort of leadership, Montross and Ronin rushed to it, their eyes running right through their weapon's sights. Trandos were just outside the threshold, fighting point-blank with the remaining defenders. Montross was soon using his rifle's butt-stock more and more as the mercs closed in.

An ugly Trandoshan slaver vaulted the barricade and unsheathed his ryyk blades. The metal rang through the air like a crisp harbinger of death. The Trando lunged for Montross, knocking him to the ground. He felt a pit settle in his stomach as the DC slid from between his fingers. It clattered across the floor, just outside his reach. The reptilian mercenary grinned a sharp-toothed smile and raised his blade.

The ARC trooper sprinted forward, firing a burst into the Trando's head. It exploded. Barely noticing the green gore, Montross shoved the headless body aside and picked up his rifle.

"Get that damn e-web over here, now!" the ARC shouted to the gun crew across the room.

The troopers hefted the gun, stand and all, and set it in front of the line of defense. The gunner was shooting before it was in place on the floor.

Chunk, chunk, chunk!

The e-web spit out blue bursts of armor-piercing rounds into a sudden, vicious charge by some dim-witted slavers. When the e-web ceased fire to cool, ten green bodies added to the barricade's defenses.

After the last hostile fell, all was silent.

Ghost Ship - Chapter 1

"Yep, we found another one."

The Coruscant Security Officer stared absently at the armored body of a dead clone as he spoke into his handheld comlink.The clone was eerily hued in the neon green light of a glow rod.

"Yeah, bottom of the shaft. Yeah, I'll bring him up." He shot a grimace at his partner.

"Are you certain you can't spare one droid? OK. I'll give you a holler if anything else comes up."

He thumbed the switch and put the comlink back on his belt.

"We're going to have to carry him up?" the other asked.

"I'm afraid so, Roland. You grab his shoulders, and I'll grab his feet."

Roland grunted as he heaved the clone upward."Wow! Our boys in white are sure a heavy lot, aren't they?"

"Roland! He's dead, can't you see that? Have a little respect!"

"What did I say?"




Two weeks earlier...


"Hold your position! Hold your position!"

The sergeant had to scream over the din in order to be heard. Neither he nor more than half of his clone troopers had their helmets, and all hadn't any time to don their armor. Only two of the squad had their chest pauldrons. The rest were wearing their off-duty uniforms or their black bodysuits.

"Montross!"

The sergeant pointed to one of his men, loading a new clip into his rifle. He winced as an ACP round ricochetted off the wall.

"Thermal det! Now!"

Montross grabbed for his last detonator. Peering carefully over the edge of the supply box he had taken cover behind, he tossed the detonator toward a group of Trandoshan mercs, holed up on the other side of the hallway.

"Fire in the hole!" he shouted, ducking back behind his shelter.

The mercs scattered like cockroaches when they saw the little, golden sphere bounce to a halt. The squad's last piece of ordinance only managed to put a shallow hole in the floor. A mouse droid immediately appeared from one of the droid access shafts, bravely attempting to clean up the mess. It was the last thing it endeavoured to accomplish in it's industrious little life.
Ardek, the squad's sharpshooter, eased around a corner to slot an advancing Trando. Red mist fell softly to the floor as he slumped to the ground, a neat hole in his face.

"Fierfek!" Ronin cussed between bursts.

"Squad, retreat!"

The remaining five men began carefully crawling back, trying to slither underneath the main stream of enemy fire. The sergeant still stood above his embunkered men, shouting orders.

"Sarge! Get down!" Montross shouted.

But he was too late. A Trandoshan captain brought to bear his heavy repeater, and let loose a hailstorm. The sergeant was cut in half.

"Man down! Sarge is down!" Montross shouted, covered in his superior's gore.

None of the squad seemed to hear him. A screaming Qardis was being pulled out of the way, holding his dismembered leg.

"Montross! Get over here, now!"

"I'm pinned down!"

Montross curled up behind his sergeant's body, trying to use it as cover. He vainly attempted to wipe the blood away from his eyes to see. Mandalore, the medic, got up from beside Qardis, and ran toward Montross. A bullet whistled past Montross' head and caught Mandalore in the chest.

"Fierfek! Fierfek!"

Montross leapt to the crate behind him, fully expecting to recieve a round. The minute he was behind something, he felt himself over. He was, to his giddy surprise, untouched. The clone made the final stretch toward Ronin and Qardis, and helped drag his wounded comrade around the corner and through the abandoned sleeping quarters and mess halls.

Qardis began to fall into shock, and was mumbling incoherently. He dropped his leg, and his arms fell limply at his side.

"Dammit, he's dead!" Ronin said, horrified.

"Drop him, they're coming!"

They set down Qardis' lifeless form, and ran, rifles in hand, toward safety - wherever that was.

* * * * * * * * *

"We've got to find another squad... now!" Montross said, breathless. "I'm hearing blasterfire! Come on, they're over here!"

Ronin and Montross kept their pace, rifles raised and ready. Turning a corner, they slid to a halt, avoiding running into a hasty retreat.

"Get out of here!" one of the retreating clones shouted.

Montross fired a burst at some advancing Trandos before sprinting after his fleeing comrades.

"Grenade!"

A small spherical detonator landed right in the middle of the group, throwing flesh and clones in every direction. Ronin pushed his squad-mate into one of the storage rooms. The trapped clones ducked behind some boxes, hoping, praying they wouldn't be discovered. They were almost unable to breathe as the tapping sound of Trandoshan claws against the floor grew louder and louder.

Then, it faded. It passed their door, and receded into silence. Three lungs took a collective breath. It wasn't hard for Ronin or Montross to hear the sharp, whining sigh of the third person in their party. Whirling around, they were surprised to see a gray-attired young bridge officer huddled up in a corner, his pistol on the floor beside him.

To be continued...

MagnaGuard Entry: D525-00663

Dear Diary,

Well, it's finally happened, I've gotten my big break. A Jedi Interceptor landed here on Utapau while I was on patrol. What a beautiful piece of machinery that starfighter was, too bad there was a smelly biologic inside it. I hate those organical pieces of meat, especially those Jedi, they're all messy and unclean and they stink too, although not as bad as the little squatty Utapauns. Those little grunts wreak something awful, it's almost enough to make me turn off my olfactory sensors - but then I would miss out on the sweet oily smells of the landing platforms and the wonderful aroma of engine exhaust fumes.

Oooh, that's why I put in for that landing platform patrol, those beautiful chemical scents give my microprocessor such a good buzz that my servos get all tingly. Although I think maybe I've been sniffing too many fumes lately, since I've developed quite a nasty twitch in my left arm. I really need to cut back. I'm worried that I will get a bad review on my next scheduled maintenance examination. I probably should do a little self diagnostic tweaking and clear this problem up before it gets me in trouble with G.

Anyways, the Jedi organic interfaced with a tall skinny Utapaun organic in the way that organics communicate with one another, and then the Jedi biologic climbed back in its starfighter and flew away. Good riddance.

When I reported back to G after my patrol, the news flash of a Jedi meat puppet poking around my patrol level was enough to bring on one of his real bad bouts of sputters from his organic aeration unit. G vocalized something to the effect that I just gave his "gut sack a terrible case of heartburn" or something like that.

Whatever.

Then G went on another of his tyrades about failing our programming and our duty as the elite mechanicals of the "Separatist Movement". blah, blah, blah. I think his biological brain is finally starting to corrode. I mean, what exactly happened during that excursion to Coruscant? Brothers D226 and D341 never returned from that tour of duty, and the word around the oil pit is that they were disintegrated by Jedi. Perhaps that's all just a bunch of simple binary gossip, but we can't be sure since G hasn't been real forthright about what went down and how exactly he came to abandon The Invisible Hand. G can be a real flake sometimes, and I think secretly he misses being a biologic.

I've also heard some scuttlebutt that Coruscant is populated by some of the most shiny BD-3000 luxury bots one would ever want to scan. Some of the brothers around here have decoded that G actually spent most of his time on Coruscant trading fluids with a few sexy luxury bots. Well, I for one could sure stand to system link with one of those pretty little numbers for a while. But then sometimes I calculate that I just want a hug to give my circuits that warm and energized feeling.

Dang it, there goes that twitching again. Feels like a flutter in my phalange circuiting. I really hope it's a software problem not hardware. That could be bad if it was cabling or worse yet a servo motor about to fail. I must make a memory marker to download a scan sequence to check and verify that my functional programming is intact.

I may have caught a virus somewhere. This hole we call Utapau is such a crude place, there are no firewalls anywhere!

Well, the good news is that G has called for a big interface on the main hangar in six trillion frequency cycles from now, and I've been summoned onto the deck for this one. Everybody who is anybody is going to be there. Oh, I can't describe the electricity this has generated within me. My batteries are fully charged for this, and it could be my one big chance to show that I'm the best damn IG-100 MagnaGuard ever produced.

I know I'm put together right, but I just need the chance to show it to everyone. And this could be it!

Unfortunately brothers D397, D305, and D428 will be there as well. The fact that D305 will be there is what really sparks my gears. I mean, HE was the MagnaGuard that let the Jedi biologic designated "Mace Windu" do a magical mystical Force Crush on G's little organic meat sack, and consequently G has been having those bouts of sputters ever since! At first D305 made up some lame excuse that his electrostaff malfunctioned and then later he claimed that G told him to back off because G wanted to terminate the "Mace Windu" biologic himself.

Puuuu-leaze!! That is so faulty!

Either way, I'm going to put a nice shine on my body armor and I'm going to polish up my beautiful red visual sensors. Big G will see that I'm ready for promotion to lead MagnaGuard. D525 is moving up the chain of command baby! I can sense it, I'm going straight to the top!

Ugh. If only I could get this freaking arm to stop twitching.

The door had opened with a hissing sound, and a befuddled droid looked out, only to find that the floor abruptly ended at the threshold. Droids have no real sense of fear, but C3P0's sensors lit up as he futily tried to register the depth to the ground floor below. Threepio started back in surprise, R2 twittering questioningly.
"No I am not scared!" Threepio protested.
R2 twittered once more, this time a little more than sarcastically.
Threepio managed to turn his head away long enough from the endless drop to survey the scene in front of him. Not a lifeform in sight. Yet, there were hundreds of machines! His sensors went fuzzy as he tried to take it all in. Rows and rows of statistics and words scrolled down across his eyes.
What in the blazes?
Threepio watched a robotic arm lift a piece off of an assembly line and attach it to a small stick-like appendage on top of a spindly creation. It welded it into place with a mess of sparks flying in every direction. There, in the shadows and toxic mist of this enormous foundry, stood something that Threepio instantly recognized. His built-in databank pulled out the schematics, and he jolted at the thought. Robotic arm making robotic soldier... He started in utter disgust.
"Shut me down! Machines, making machines. How perverse!"
C3P0 looked on in shock. Was this really the beginning of a droid's life? Was this really how some unfortunate robots were brought to existence, in the loveless, dark, choking atmosphere of a factory?
No, that couldn't be! That just couldn't be! Droids were created by an individual, a loving master. That was how he was made. His first memory, before his main optical sensors were installed, was how he had felt a small hand lay piece after piece of himself into place.
Master Ani had carefully built him, spending most of his spare time devoted to creating him. Anakin loved Threepio, and he knew it too well. He devoted to serve Anakin and his mother as hard and long as his joints would allow.
It struck him like a wall of bricks to see the loveless enviroment to which these cold-hearted cousins of his were erected.
And then he saw the scrap pile. Droids, quivering with faulty programming or joints, were twisting and writhing in a huge bucket, electronic squeals of confusion and pain echoing outward from inside.
Threepio felt welded to the ground, horrified. He looked on as the bucket headed toward a huge furnace, where dozens of the faulty robots were thrown in to be melted.
Why? Why wasn't there any love between the creator and the creation? Didn't those Geonosians care about them? Weren't they protecting them, like he had seen in the small catacomb they had just passed through?
He had little time to think as R2 impatiently bumped him, unaware of the ghastly sight his counterpart had just beheld. Threepio protested, teetering dangerously over the edge.
"Careful R2! You almost made me fall!" R2 gave another shove and Threepio plummeted to the depths beneath.

Unseen Influence...

The small, gray Broadside -class cruiser slowly edged closer and closer to an unseen objective in the endless universe. It's engines cast an ultramarine glow on bits of space debris, twirling slowly in the weightlessness of the vacuum.
Jesha Ceras stood on the bridge of the Infinite, taking quick glances at the computer console, checking their coordinates.
"They should be here any minute, sir," the pilot said, sensing his captain's impatience.
"Yeah, well you know Bothans," Ceras said, tapping the gold ring on his thumb against a metal girder. "If there is any sign of Imperials, we ditch, you got it?"
"Understood, sir."
Ceras enjoyed the pilot he had been assigned. He could barely remember the name from when they had been introduced. Joris, he believed it was. The kid was excellent at the helm of even the most unmaneveurable piece of junk in the entire galaxy, and he was only seventeen. Joris was polite, and respected his superiors. That was more than he could say for the other cocky, hotshot pilots he had encountered in his long haul with the Genoharadan.
"I'm going to get some caf in the galley," Jesha told Joris. "Gimme a holler if anything shows up." He paused. "But you don't need to notify me if any Imps expose their plastoid heads. Just get us the hell out of here."
"Yep. I got ya." Joris said, settling back in his seat.
The galley was pretty much an improvised luxury aboard the old Imperial junk-heap. As soon as the Genoharadan had acquired the Infinite, they had squeezed the galley into the old armory.
Only a few hundred Broadside cruisers still resided under Imperial jurisdiction. The ones they had retired eventually found their way into the scrapyard. Not even low-budget crime organizations wanted them. If Ceras got it right, the Infinite was one of two Broadsides left in the Genoharadan navy. They were only years away from retirement as well. Poor Infinite would become unceremoniously finite.
Jesha poured out the old caf on the bottom of the pot. It had been sitting on the burner for the better part of three hours. Once he had prepared a second batch, he walked back to the command deck, clenching a hot mug.
Suddenly, the floor vibrated under his feet. Joris hollered.
"I'm know! I'm coming!"
Ceras ran to the command deck as fast as he could without spilling his hot beverage.
"They finally arrived Captain," Joris said, pointing out the wide viewport.
The huge Mon Cal star cruiser glided toward them, it's creamy-white paint scheme distinguishing it sharply against the black. A highly accented voice hailed them over the intercom.
This is the Freedom's Warrior. Please identify yourself.
"Just check their IR tags before we respond," Ceras bent down and spoke softly in Joris' ear. "We don't want to be caught in an Imp sting."
"Everything matches up with the info they gave us," Joris responded, looking up at Jesha. Jesha reached down and tapped the com.
"This is the Infinite. Hello Warrior, come in Warrior."
Right. Checking your IR tags now. There was a crackly pause on the speaker. Good. Prepare for docking sequence.
Jesha walked down the long hallways of the Freedom's Warrior, its red lights casting a dark glow on the passageways. A Rebel crewer bumped into his Bothan escort, and the alien's fur rippled in annoyance.
"In here," the Bothan said, gesturing to a small doorway. It was definitely a rarely-used conference room. Perfect for undercover dealings. Jesha walked in, and the Bothan left, closing the door behind him. Before him was a narrow, but long hallway. White lights lining the ceiling, starkly enhanced the walls' blaring white color. The hallway led into a small, blue room. In the middle, seated at a large, wood desk, sat Borsk Fey'lya. Two human bodyguards stood at his side. The Bothan ran his eyes up and down Jesha's figure, as if he was trying to size him up. Obviously dissatisfied with his assessment, he flared his nostrils.
Oh, no.
Ceras knew about Bothan arrogance, but this guy looked like a real case. He was about to be sold the most important intelligence the Rebel Alliance could recieve, and then take credit for it, and yet he openly appeared and acted aloof.
"Conduct a sweep," the Bothan leader ordered, and the bodyguards began sweeping the walls with rod-like devices.
"They're just debugging the room," he explained to Ceras, who nodded in return. Both waited for the guards to finish before any of them dared speak.
"Do you have the information with you?" Fey'lya asked, directing another disdainful look Jesha's way.
"Do you have the money on you?" Jesha shot back. The Bothan seemed to be taken back for a minute, as if he was surprised that anyone would dare question him.
"Of course," Fey'lya said, standing up and straightening his crimson straight-jacket with his furry hands. He took an electronic key from around his neck and pressed it on a small space on his desk. A small door opened, and the Bothan fished out a small credit chip.
"Fifteen million credits are in this chip. Just like agreed."
"Just as agreed," Jesha affirmed.
"Just for interest," Borsk began, gesturing to a chair. Jesha took the seat. "Why does your organization want to help the Rebellion in such a way, and furthermore, not take credit for this amazing intel?" The Bothan lit a deathstick and puffed it. He offered Ceras one.
"No thank you," he said, waving his hand. "Why? I'm, unfortunately, not at liberty to discuss those matters."
Once again, Fey'lya looked offended, and flared nostrils once more.
"The intel?" Borsk asked. "I've paid you, now where is it?"
Ceras grimaced, and pulled a small pendant from his pocket. Opening it, he retrieved a small chip, barely the size of a fingernail.
"This has all the information you need. The weapon's location, and the locations of its defences. Trooper rosters, naval strength, the amount of stormtrooper toe-nail clippings ejected into space each day; everything." Jesha emphasized the last part. "Just remember. You cannot disclose Genoharadan's involvement in your operation against this second Death Star. It could bring grave consequences."
"I understand."
"Good day," Ceras said, standing up. He offered the Bothan his hand. They shook, and Jesha left the room, the two bodyguards escorting him out.
"How did it go?" Joris asked, as soon as his captain came aboard.
"All went well," he said. "The information is now in Rebel hands. Hopefully, they will use it wisely."
"Are you sure they'll succeed?"
"They're the best candidates for the job. Much more organized and much larger than any of the other freedom fighters."
"Do you think they could form another Republic?" Joris asked, looking doubtful. Ceras took a long sigh. It was a thought he had pondered on for years. Only time could tell what the Rebellion could do.
"If they do, I'll be impressed. If they don't, it'll be our job to create one in their place." Joris nodded his head.
This is the Freedom's Warrior. Prepare to release.
"Preparing release," Joris responded, and put his hands on the control yoke. There was a slight vibration as the Infinite disattatched with the docking port. The young pilot twisted the ship away sharply.
"Hold on. Setting hyperspace coordinates to Nirauan." Ceras held onto a low metal girder as the viewport was filled with starlines. There was a sharp jolt, and they were underway.
The Genoharadan had done all it could do at the moment. They were no military; they had to leave the fighting up to the Rebellion. Ceras hoped that today would be the beginning of the end for the Empire. He knew it was a high hope, and even if the Death Star was destroyed, it would take much longer for the Empire to finally fall.
"I'm going to my bunk," Ceras said, patting Joris' shoulder. Pushing his ponderings to the back of his head, he lay back and fell asleep.

Transcript Number Eleven

Please state your name for the record.

My name is Randolph Emmett Mason.

I understand you are here to confess a crime.

Yes. I am a murderer.

When did you kill this person, Randolph?

People.

People?

I killed six people.

I see. When did you kill these people, Randolph?

A couple of years ago. December. Right at the end of the War.

Please tell me exactly what happened.

I needed money. Lots of ex-soldiers walking around with scraps of metal floating in their bodies, in pain morning to night, I figured I could scrape up cash with minor surgeries. Digging out mini-balls and shrapnel. Didn't seem real hard at the time.

Have you had any medical training, Randolph?

No.

How long did you masquerade as a doctor?

Month and change. I didn't try to cheat anyone, honest I didn't, but I guess seeing how I never stayed in one place for long there might be unflattering stories about me. Anyway I want to get to the killing. I feel real bad about it.

Tears are not recorded on this transcript, Mr. Mason. Only words.

Sorry, I'll get a hold of myself. Sorry. Anyway I did some toothaches and finger-splints and I don't know what the hell, and then back somewhere in the root-cellars of Pennsylvania I came across this family with a man who got something bad in his leg. Maybe didn't seem so serious when they discharged him, but the longer he worked his farm the worse it got. When I came by there was this great black spot on his thigh like oak blight. The smell was unbelievable. He told me he'd seen other men die of leg-rot. He wanted me to amputate.

You thought there was money to be had in that part of the country?

Maybe not dollars, but barter was good.

You mean, if you cut off his leg he'd give you some butter, or apples, or some such.

Haunch of pork in this case. I didn't know what I'd do with it but I felt so bad I said yes.

So you amputated?

Yeah. I had them fetch me a saw from the barn. I'd seen it done once or twice. I figured with some good strong boys to hold him down we'd get through all right.

Did you?

We--

Randolph, I can't record weeping. You have to speak if you want this in the transcript.

We got through. He died on the table. I've never seen so much blood. He screamed and flailed right to the end. I can't get it out of my mind. He was terrified. He didn't want to die. He kept begging someone to help him. I didn't know what to do, he just kept bleeding and bleeding. In the end I had to stand there and watch him fade away. His crying and mumbling got weaker and softer and then his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he was dead. We stood a long time quiet and then the family came over and thanked me for doing my best. They said that sometimes it was just God's will and I did what I could. They said they still wanted to pay me for my time. I said I didn't want anything but they said they wouldn't feel right without giving me something. I took that haunch of pork in my bag and I left. I walked and walked until I was sure I'd never see those people again.

You said you killed six people, Randolph.

Couldn't stand the weight of that pork on my shoulder. Felt like I was carrying the dead man's leg with me everywhere. Couldn't even bring myself to cook it and eat a single bite. In the end I stopped at this rundown hut with a dirty family of sharecroppers and I gave it to them. They cooked and ate it that very night. I wouldn't have any, said I was fasting. Only, there was something bad in the haunch. I don't know if it was there to begin with or maybe it grew in there when I spent all that time packing it around or what, but the whole family starting puking and swelling up, one after another. They turned purple-green, a like the color of that leg-rot. Once I saw that I got the hell out of there, I don't know what happened to them but if they're not dead you go ahead and shoot me right here.

I see.

So, that's it. That's what I wanted to tell you.

You have nothing more to add?

No, I told it all. I had to get it off my chest, it's given me nightmares for over a year now. I can't stand it any more. I got to get a good night's sleep.

Thank you, Randolph. As you can see I've written it all down. You can return to your room now.

ADDENDUM: Let the record show that Randolph Emmett Mason has confessed to eleven murders now since he was admitted to this facility in the Year of Our Lord 1869. So far none of them have born the slightest resemblance to the strangling of his wife Laura Ann Mason in April of that year. Unfortunately his periods of lucidity are decreasing and the board of examiners has come to believe that Mr. Mason will probably never achieve a level of recovery permitting discharge. Signed this 7th day of November 1879 Lawrence M. Harriman, physician attending.

Where there is Hope (revised)

“Leia… we are coming out of Hyperspace now,” said Bail Organa, hoping this would get her out of the sour mood he had seen from her for the entire trip back from Coruscant. Unfortunately, all this news did was make Leia heave a huge sigh of frustration and sink even deeper into her seat. The datapad in her hands she brought closer to her face, pretending to read the contents with much more concentration than was needed.

Bail sighed, and left her to read in peace until they landed.

“Do you think she will let me back in yet sir?” Asked the ever-calm Winter.

“Possibly, it wouldn’t hurt for you to try. I just wish I knew what was making her so moody.”

“I wish I knew as well sir,” Winter replied as she got up to go join her charge.

Leia continued to pretend to be interested in the datapad as she entered the room. But for all the effort she put on for her father, she couldn’t keep it up as Winter just sat across from her and waited her out. At least Bail gave up. But Winter simply sat there, behaving far better that Leia herself could behave, even when she felt like it. She smiled to her-self. Winter’s behavior had gotten her mistaken on more than one account for Leia. While she found this funny, Winter did not. Leia had been known to receive a small look if she started to giggle when it happened. Finally, she could stand it no longer. With another sigh, Leia got up, dropped the datapad on the table and went to sit next to her.

“I am interested in Politics right now,” Leia blurted out, “I came on this trip because I wanted to see the Capitol and all the excitement. I wanted to observe all I have been learning about in action, but all I did was sit and listen to long winded speeches and this and that, power and might, on and on and on…What’s the point of learning all this debating and such if I never get to use it?”

“My only question Highness is why aren’t you telling this to your father?” Winter replied, calmly changing her position to undo and fix Leia’s hair that she had messed up while squishing herself to the back of her previous seat.

“I don’t know, I guess because I don’t want to bother him”, Leia changed position to give Winter more room; “He has much more to worry about than to listen to me complain about something he has probably known about for years.”

“But he agreed to let you come. So he must be expecting you to ask a few questions.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to be an annoyance.”

“You are most certainly not an annoyance. Go ahead and tell him what you thought. He will give you an answer. He always does.”

With a final look-over, Winter finished fixing Leia’s hair. Just afterwards, they both felt a small jerk as the ship landed and the hiss of the airlock and hatch opened. Both girls got up and followed Bail out onto the landing platform there his wife was waiting for them.

“I am glad to see you all back safely,” Breha said, giving Bail a quick peck and asking, “How was the session?”

“More of the same I’m afraid.” Bail replied with frustration, “But I will tell you more once we are settled.”

“Leia”, Breha next swooped down to her daughter for a hug, which Leia gave only half-heartedly. “Did you have a good time?”

“It was alright,” Leia replied, ignoring the look she got from Winter, “I just wish it had been a bit less boring and there had been more debating. Are all the Emperor’s speeches that long?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you make out to be dear. You may one day find them enlightening. Now, go get ready for Dinner, we are having a guest.” As Leia and Winter went on their way (Leia was running as fast as she could with Winter yelling at her to slow down), Breha turned to Bail and asked, “Was it really that boring?”

“It was the longest speech I have ever had to sit through.” Bail replied with a smile.

“So, she had a point?”

“A very good one.”


“I thought you were going to tell him,” Winter gasped out as they reached Leia’s room, “But instead all you said was that it was boring?”

“I figured he would take the hint for now,” Leia gasped back, reaching up and keying the door open. “It’s not like I was secretive about it. By the way, who is the guest?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Winter called as she went into the closet, “But I suppose we should assume important, and…casual?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Winter came out of the closet with several outfits in hand. “Pick one you like and I will match it.”

“Um… The pants and tunic. Are there any amulets?” Leia asked as she started to peel off the traveling clothes. They were much dirtier that she had originally thought.

“Check the box. I’m not entirely sure,” Winter called back. “And see if there are any earrings.”

In five minutes, both girls were ready. Leia had chosen a set of pale blue loose pants and a matching tunic with a necklace of silver squares that she had gotten from her father for her birthday a year before. Around her waist was something special. Only months ago, Leia had been formally named the Princess of Aleraan. With this new title, came a symbol of the power and responsibility. A belt made specifically for her. The silver belt had the markings of the Royal house set symmetrically with those of the Organa family; recognizing her officially as a member of the royal family.

Upon entering the large dining room used for these special dinners, Leia immediately saw that this dinner was not going to be as bad as she had thought. The guest her mother had mentioned was Mon Mothma. One of her fathers friends form the Senate.

While Leia had known her father had friends in the Senate, he had never had any over for dinner before. Or, at least she had not known about it. Governors and Officers were to be expected. However, rarely did Bail invite personal friends to dinner with the family.

“Leia, How nice to see you,” Mon Mothma said as Leia came over to greet her.

“It is nice to see you as well, Senator.” Leia replied as they all went to sit down.

The dinner was not very exciting, and it did not help that for the main course was Duck. Leia hated Duck; both alive and dead. They were awkward, like the dinner. It was mostly Bail chatting with Mon about the most recent set of speeches. Breha chimed in a few times with a question, but mostly just listened. Leia pretended to be interested only in her food, but she paid close attention to their reiterations, hoping to be able to make an intelligent comment, just to prove that she understood. But as the dinner wore on, she found it difficult to pop in. She was so consumed by her thoughts that she just barely noticed when Bail mentioned that she had come with him on the latest trip.

“Really, and what did you think Leia?” Mon Mothma was asking.

Jolted back into the present, all Leia could say at first was nonsense. She had never participated in these conversations, this was her first try.

“Huh? Oh, the trip…well…it was mostly confusing.”

“In what way?” Bail asked, “I’m sure we can clarify them for you.”

Startled by the answer the she had somehow known would come, Leia remained quiet for a moment. She then turned to glance at Winter. Winter glanced back, smiled, and nodded.

“My main problem is that I don’t see the exact purpose of The Galactic Senate. Is there a specific purpose?”

“Well,” Bail began, “The Senate’s main job is to provide the opinions of all the systems to the Emperor to help in his decision making process.”

“I didn’t mean the taught version; I would like your opinions. You both have been in your positions since before the Empire. What are the differences? What stayed the same? Of what changed, were they for the better, or not?”

All three adults were silent. Bail and Mon Mothma glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Such questions lead to dangerous answers, and therefore should not be discussed in certain settings. In the end, it was Breha who saved them both from answering.

“Leia dear, I think we should leave those questions for the classroom. Why don’t after dinner, you write them down to ask at a later date?”

After dinner, when Leia and Winter had left, the three adults all sat together in a private room.

“After the way she behaved this afternoon, I most certainly did not expect Leia to come up with those questions,” Bail said in disbelief, “she never gave off that impression.”

“What do you mean ‘never gave off that impression’?” Breha laughed, “Did you think her wanting to go with you was a fluke? She is quite mature already Bail. She knows what she was saying.”

“Even so,” Mon Mothma commented, “Her outward ness could get her into trouble. We, especially you, Bail, need to be careful. She might let something slip.”

“Not if she is anything like her mother,” Bail countered, “I think we should see where this goes for a while. By the next session, I think we will be able to discern whether or not to continue.”

“Very well,” Mon Mothma stood up, “I will leave this to you. Anyway, I must be off. Thank you ever so much Breha for the lovely dinner. Good Night.”

One month later…

“You’re sure about this?” Breha was not convinced. “I don’t think she is ready for this burden.”

“I’m positive,” Bail assured his wife, “Over the past month she has grown even more confident and curious. It is time she saw for herself and was introduced. She needs to be well known and well liked. We need to encourage this while we can.”

Breha nodded in understanding. They gave each other a goodbye kiss as Leia came out with Winter.

“All set?” Bail asked.

“All set.” Leia replied.

“Before you go,” Breha stopped Leia, “I have a present for you. Go on, open it.”

From under her cloak, Breha pulled a package. Leia looked at it with interest. I was not normal for her to receive something when there was no holiday. The package had some weight to it, but had no set structure. It moved with ease when she pulled the flap up. Out of the package came a bright white dress. It was plain, there were no special seams, or embroidery, the only different thing about it was a large hood attached to the back. However, the package was not yet empty. Still inside, was another white dress. This one, however, was form fitting and had a small drape for the back and arms.

“For the Session and Reception, in that order.” Breha was beaming, “Your new belt goes with both of them. I want you to make a good impression.”

“Thank you.” This was all Leia could think of to say. She was speechless. She was still in a daze as she hugged her mother and the ship lifted off.

As the stars turned to lines and they entered Hyperspace, Bail came in.
“Leia, we need to talk about a few things before reaching Coruscant.”

“Alright,” Leia said with a similar serious tone, realizing that this was important. As she sat down next to him she asked, “Should Winter hear this as well?”

“No, Winter already knows.” Bail smiled, “This is very important, especially for you.” With that, Bail began:

“At about the time you were born Leia, there was a big change in the Republic.
We had been at war for nearly three years, and signs of stress and need for closure were popping up. Many Senators were worried, including Mon Mothma and myself. The Supreme Chancellor had too much power. We feared that when the war was over, he would not relinquish them. In the end, we were right.

“Palpatine Eventually called an emergency session, and told all of the Senate of an elaborate plan to take over by the Jedi that had failed. He said his deformity was a result of their attempt to kill him. As a result, Palpatine declared himself Emperor ‘in order to ensure the security and continuing stability of the Republic.’”

“But it is no longer a Republic if there is an Emperor,” Leia added, “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Exactly,” Bail Beamed, “There isn’t a Republic anymore. There is an Empire. As such, many changes came pouring in. Nothing we Senators said really mattered anymore. Governors have been given more and more power. In reality, The Imperial Senate means nothing anymore. It is simply there for transition. It has no real power, and could disappear at any moment.”

“So is anyone doing something about it?” Leia asked, looking at Bail.

“We—are trying,” Bail began.

“When you say ‘we’, whom do you mean?”

“Mon Mothma, myself, and others. We strive to make our points better heard and attempt to stop The Empire as best we can in certain ventures.”

“In other words, a rebellion.” By this time, Leia was smirking inside with satisfaction. She was finally finding the underlying cause of all Bail’s strange behavior over the past month. Things were starting to fall into place.

“We prefer to think of it as an Alliance,” Bail smiled. “Interested?”

“Darth Vader couldn’t keep me away.”

To himself Bail thought ‘I hope I don’t have a bad feeling about this.’

X-Files style Butter story

I know this is late for the deadline, oops!!Oh, Well. Anyway this is my X-Files butter story.
1:00 pm
Federal Bureau basement
Washington D.C.
“Why exactly are you back in Oregon Mulder? Skinner is expecting us in his office in, oh, I don‘t know, 10 minutes. I‘m going to get chewed out by A.D. Skinner and you‘re out hunting for goodness knows what else”
“Mulder you’re in nowheresville Oregon, when we have to explain why we were the ones that stole this case and ran with it. AND we didn’t get any new leads on it.”
“Scully you’re ranting, calm down. I got a lead on the notes, when I was reading a book last night.”
“All right Mulder, I’ll cover for you. Just make sure you have solid information before you come back.”
How could Mulder do this to me again thought Agent Dana Scully, she thought back to 2 days earlier.

Two days earlier.
Scully walked into the all to familiar F.B.I. basement room, in all of it’s glorious filth. Case files were always stacked hip deep. An entire corner of the room was filled with balled up paper. She had no doubt that the small dented trash can was under there somewhere. She also saw that the old slide projector was up and running.
Her partner Fox Mulder was stareing at a slide projection on the wall. The projection was a photo of two bodies side by side. Both she noted were missing their right legs.
“Let me guess these people didn’t exactly win the luck lottery.” Scully said sarcastically.
“They were Stan Sheilding and Gary Leliwen. Both of them had earned a small fortune of about 5 million each.”
“Small fortune, Mulder?”
“How would you say these people died?” Asked Mulder.
“Over excessive bleeding, possibly.”
“Both lived on a certain Chandler street in Lake Oswego, Oregon. They were found at a nearby country club. Both had notes attached to their left leg.” Said Mulder.
“What did the notes say,” Scully asked.
Mulder handed her 2 pieces of paper. The first said If… Puzzled Scully looked at the next, all it said was You…
“This doesn’t specifically suggest an X-File.” Said Scully flatly.
“But wait until you see the next six.”
Scully lined up the papers from the next six murders to come up with If… You… Cut… Off… His… Leg… He… Will…
“He will what Mulder?” Asked Scully more than a little confused.
“There was a case like this back in 91’ . The investigators could not find a shred of evidence to link those murders to anyone. Although they did suspect Martha Barnes of killing a grand total of 11 people. With notes, that when put together, said if you cut off his leg he will give you butter.”
“Butter? You have got to be kidding.” said Scully.
“Yes butter, that is exactly what makes it an X-File.” Replied Mulder.

1:10pm
Federal Bureau Building
Washington D.C.
Scully had a feeling that she would either get a reprimand or be fired in the next 20 minutes.
She stepped out of the elevator and walked down the freakishly long hallway to A.D. Skinners office.
Skinner sat alone at a very tidy desk. He motioned for her to sit in one of the guest chairs.
“So agent Scully where is Mulder,” asked Skinner glancing up from a paper in front of him.
“Sir, he believed he found a lead on the case and returned to Oregon.”
Skinner shook his head and was about to say something when Scully’s cell phone began to ring.
“Answer it.” Skinner ordered.
She pressed a button and stuck it next to her ear.
“Scully we made an arrest here.” Declared Mulder. “It was Martha Barnes, the one I was telling you about earlier.”
“Do you have enough evidence to back up the arrest?” Asked Scully.
“Well, we have a confession and a set of very bloody kitchen knives.”
“All right then, that covers it.”
“I decided to do a few interviews, and Martha Barnes was defiantly on my list. Just guess what she served me as a snack.” said Mulder.
“What Mulder?” Asked Scully, extremely annoyed.
“Butter cookies and tea.”
“How is that in any way suspicious?” Asked Scully skeptically.
“She made 11 dozen cookies.”
“Is that why any and all butter was missing from all 22 victims houses, the ones from 91’ and now?” Asked Scully.
“Yup it’s looking that way.”
“I’ll see you when you get back to Washington.” said Scully. They hung up.
“Agent Scully what does Mulder have to say for himself?” Asked Skinner.
“He has solved the case and made an arrest.”
“This meeting I can see is no longer necessary, tell Mulder I look forward to seeing his report.”
“I will.” Said Scully as she stood up and left the room.

1 day later 5:00pm
Federal Bureau Building
Washington D.C.
“I still am no closer to understanding what made Martha Barnes kill people for butter.” said Mulder to Scully as he locked up their basement office for the night.
“I guess some people are just weird like that.” Scully said in reply.
“I guess,” said Mulder back.
“Speaking of guessing what was the book that led you to solve this case?” Asked Scully genuinely curious.
“Ummm, it was kind of a J.D. Robb book. Where this lady murders her husband with pie. Which led me to think of butter in cooking. Then I thought of the only person in that neighborhood that doesn’t have a chef to cook for them.”
“Mulder, you read Nora Roberts books?” Asked Scully in a shocked tone.

Whispering Shadows

The suitcase was small, brown, and completely empty. Mr. Flynt liked to say that it contained a bomb, and while none dared to come close enough to check, the word of the old man was taken as fact. It was in consequence of this that Mr. Flynt was often inclined to request ridiculous things of people, and in consequence to the aforementioned consequence, the people previously mentioned would almost always comply with Mr. Flynt’s requests. After all, supposing one didn’t comply, they would very likely be dismembered and disassembled at a subatomic level, assuming, of course, that Mr. Flynt’s suitcase bomb was in fact of the nuclear variety, powered by fission or perhaps even fusion reactions. Seeing as Mr. Flynt’s suitcase bomb wasn’t real, it could indeed be powered by fusion reactions, or something else entirely. The fact of the matter was that no one would ever know, save Mr. Flynt, as no one ever dared to come close enough to check. Seeing as the bomb was imaginary, their fears were entirely unfounded.

In this case, the people we are talking about have thick English accents.

“Damn it, man!” asked Mr. Flynt. “Wait, that’s not quite right, is it? Excuse me, narrator, but you’re telling the story wrong.”

How so?

“Well, it’s a bit of a technical problem, you see. When I said, ‘Damn it, man!’ you told it as if I had asked a question, rather than shouted it, you see.”

Ah, I see. Terribly sorry, won’t happen again.

“Cheerio, then.”

“Mr. Flynt, who’re you talkin’ to?” asked Hank.

“When?” asked Mr. Flynt.

“Just now.”

“Oh, just the narrator. A minor technicality, you see. Nothing to worry about.”

“Well I should hope not,” said Hank.

“To business then?” said Mr. Flynt.

“To business,” said Hank.

“I suppose you’re here about the butter,” said Mr. Flynt.

“The butter?”

“The butter!”

“Oh, there must be some mistake-- I’m here about the shoe polish. Look, I gots me a coupon.”

Hank then pulled a small pistol from his hat and shot Mr. Flynt dead. You can imagine Mr. Flynt’s surprise. Hank neglected to check the suitcase for the bomb, as he enjoyed a bit of mystery and would have felt incredibly stupid if there had never been a bomb, as he had been flossing Mr. Flynt’s buttocks for years with no pay in fear of being dismembered and disassembled at the subatomic level by a bomb that was possibly powered by fusion reactions.

“Er, excuse me, Mister Narrator?” asked Hank.

Yes, Hank?

“Well, me an’ the lads was under the impression that this story was supposed to contain a line about butter with something about a leg off or some such?”

Yes, Hank, that’s true.

“Well, me an’ the lads also figured that you never included any such line, an’ that makes us feel a mite uncomfortable. Like we failed ya somehow.”

Oh, well, I seem to have forgotten. It’s my mistake, really.

“Well, I could get some of the lads together, and we could do a little something for you, if that would help at all.”

No, thanks though, Hank. I really don’t care anymore.

“Okay, well, then… I-- I was happy to be of assistance, for that one bit, anyway…Nice to have worked with you.”

Same here, Hank.

“Cheerio.”

Tracey's Leg

This story takes place in the “Firefly” universe, during the same period of time as the television series.

“Doctor Hofmann?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Lieutenant Womack. I have a business proposition to discuss with you. Do you have somewhere we can speak in private?”

Dr. Hofmann gestured toward his office, then followed the tall, gruff officer inside. He stepped around to sit behind the desk, then motioned toward the chair opposite him. “Please, sit.”

Lt. Womack remained standing where he was and nervously licked his lips. “Dr. Hofmann, I need to have a surgical operation performed… discreetly. A friend of mine will be coming here as soon as can be arranged, and he’ll need all his internal organs replaced. And I’ll need the ones you take out of him delivered to me.”

Hofmann could only stare. “You’re smuggling organs. To sell on the black market.”

Womack’s face hardened. “Shiny. I’ll find another doctor. And we’ll use your organs to patch my carrier back together. Medically speaking, how long will you survive without your heart? Will you still be alive by the time we remove the lungs?”

Suddenly, Hofmann laughed. “Oh, my dear Lieutenant, that will not be necessary. I am not opposed to such activities. I have purchased illegally enhanced organs several times myself, in fact. You have my complete cooperation.”

Womack’s expression still did not change. “If you tell anyone we had this conversation, you may find yourself the subject of a few other experiments. Dong ma?”

“Indulge my curiosity, Lieutenant. May I know who will be delivering the product in question? And who the supplier is, as well, if you please.”

The Lieutenant licked his lips again, and his eyes darted around the room. Clearly, he was not accustomed to this kind of response. Hofmann supposed most people would tremble in fear before such an imposing figure, but he was too old to be frightened by bullies. He suspected that Womack was trying to figure out whether Hofmann would sell him out. If he’s done his homework, and Hofmann assumed he had, he’d know that the doctor could be trusted to keep confidence. Finally, Womack answered his question. “Little worm by the name of Tracey Littleman. The stuff comes from a place called Gemini Labs, out on Silverhold. Run by a Dr. Jones.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Just let me know when your Mr. Littleman arrives here on Ariel, and I’ll get your organs out for you. I believe five percent is the standard share, and I’ll expect payment when you pick them up. Will there be anything else?” Hofmann expeditiously escorted the dumbfounded officer out of his office, then picked up his phone. “Susan, patch me through to Silverhold. Dr. Jones of Gemini Labs.” He waited a few moments, then a young doctor came on the screen. He had dark skin and black hair, and looked suspiciously at Hofmann.

“I’m Dr. Jones. How can I help you?”

“Dr. Jones, I am Dr. Hofmann, Ariel Medical Clinic. I believe I’ll be receiving some merchandise from you soon.”

Jones hesitated a moment before responding. “Perhaps. Could you tell me who set up the delivery?”

“Mr. Womack did, of course. Listen, Dr. Jones, I have a small favor to ask you. There’s one thing I haven’t eaten since I was young, a very delicious treat my grandmother made called Hefekloese. Best served with hot butter and fresh blueberries. I understand you have cows out there on Silverhold?”


Carefully, Susan set down the audio-only telephone she had been using to listen in on Dr. Hofmann’s call. She had spent two years as the hospital’s receptionist, and had worked on Hofmann’s personal staff before that. She had facilitated most, if not all, of his previous black-market dealings. She didn’t know the Mr. Womack Hofmann had mentioned, but she knew plenty of others in the industry. She pondered the implications of the “special favor” Hofmann had just requested of Dr. Jones, then reached a decision. She opened a line out.

“Sully, it’s Susan Ming at Ariel Med. I have information for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Are you familiar with Gemini Labs on Silverhold?”

“Dr. Jones produces a decent line of replacement parts there. It’s a little further out than I normally operate, but exceptions have been made before. I’ve encouraged him to move coreward several times in the past, but he’s a bit panicky about getting caught by the Alliance. He could produce much better quality if he weren’t out on some forsaken outer rim planet. Is that familiar enough for you?”

Susan gave a tight smile. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you to kidnap his next carrier out.”

Sully shook his head. “I don’t kidnap people, Susan. I do business. I’ve never had a client, a carrier, or even a debtor brought to me by force. It tends to make them less cooperative.”

Susan shrugged. “Then call him and ask him to come. Bribe him. However you want to do it, but you need that carrier. He’ll be carrying some extremely valuable merchandise. The contracted buyer doesn’t know it, so it’s well worth it even just to outbid him straight up. Trust me when I say that this is one deal you don’t want to pass up.”

“You’re a very persuasive girl, Susan. Just how much are you expecting to receive for this little tip?” asked Sully.

Mentally, Susan braced herself. “Ten percent of your profit.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “That’s a large cut just for a tipoff. What makes you think this enhanced heart will be so much more valuable to me than any others?”

“Oh, it’s not just the heart. This guy will be carrying the full package – lungs, stomach, liver, spleen, state-of-the-art kidneys, probably a million credits right there. But that’s just a pittance compared to the bonus cargo.”

“Go ahead.”

“If you cut off his leg, he’ll give you butter.”

Want to know the rest of the story? Watch the Firefly unaired episode “The Message.”

A Story with Butter: Donuts for Darth

Donuts for Darth

Deep inside the Star Destroyer Ventilator, Suzy stormed about a tiny kitchen, flinging bowls and baking pans around as she searched for her recipe reader.

“This is unbelievable!” She muttered, ignoring the protocal droid who’d come in to assist her. “First they bomb out the café district, completely destroying my bakery, then they draft me to bake for the Empire?”

“Madam, please, if I may assist you, I am TC-42, your new assistant. My memory banks have
been programmed with all the recipes in the known galaxy. I have the instructions for over
six million forms of pastries…”

“You don’t have MY recipes!” Suzy retorted, “Those were my most prized possession, handed
down to me from my grandmother.”

TC-42’s eyes glowed for a millisecond, as he accessed his databank. “Your Grandmother, would
that be Lou-Za Mivir of Coruscant? I have those right here…”

“What??? I kept those recipes in a gravystone safe for the last 27 years, how could you possibly have those? And how did you know my Granny’s name?”

“I’m, sorry, Miss Suzy, I was only recently uploaded with that information. I was re-assigned from the Protocol Corps, I’m not very knowledgeable about such things.”

“Great,” Suzy muttered. “A protocol droid. How helpful that will be in the kitchen. And it
walks in spouting Granny’s cookie recipes! Oh, I don’t like this Empire business one bit! ”

As she began unpacking her confiscated bakery equipment, she glanced over at TC-42. “Well come on, Silverbuns, let’s get this stuff put away… there’s not much I can do about this in the middle of hyperspace.”

TC scurried over to the cabinets and drawers and put away most of Suzy's salvaged equipment.
"Miss Suzy? These crystalline éclair pans seemed to be cracked, should I send them for repair?"

"Send them for repair?" Suzy look amazed. "And where do you think you're going to send them?
To the engine room, or the armory? This is a frakkin' warship!"

"I was under the impression the war was over, Miss Suzy," he replied. "That is what they said on the Holo-News."

"Well," she said more calmly, with a hint of her old humor returning. "I thought so, too, until they sonic bombed the bakery district and cracked my éclair pans. Oh, and when they hauled me away to bake cookies for the crew of this bucket of bolts..."

**************

This was Tarkin's ship, and having Lord Vader on board made him nervous. Not that it should,
he thought. He was the Commander of the outer rim district, and that Vader character was
merely the new Emperor's apprentice.

But there was something about him that made the other officers uncomfortable. The unseeing
eyes in the helmet, the raspy, mechanical breathing, the booming voice. Who was he, really?
Man or machine? Tarkin suppressed a brief shiver at that thought as he left the bridge for his breakfast.

**********

Suzy pulled the last tray of Gundark Claws out of the oven and set it out to cool. Next to that there were the Cinnahair Buns, named after a popular hairstyle. Cheese Nubians topped with Endorian Burgle Berries rounded out the day's selection.

"Tee-Cee! Get those trays out to the Officers' Dining Room, and make sure the cleaning droids do something about this disaster area! I'm going to take a nap."

"What? A nap? Sometimes I just don't understand human behavior!" TC-42 grumbled, as he carried the trays out to the Officers' Mess. "It's as sure as stars will fall that someone won't like the menu, and they'll probably blame me. Life was so much simpler when I was just an interpreter.”

*******

"Miss Suzy, wake up!" TeeCee called. "You must come back to the kitchen! That Tarkin fellow wants doughnuts! Oh dear, how can she sleep at a time like this?"

Suzy blinked her eyes and struggled to get up out of the chair she’d been sleeping in. “Whaaa?” She mumbled. “Oh damn you, Silverbuns. What is it?”

"Commander Tarkin wants doughnuts this morning. He said to tell you personally, although whom else I would tell, I really don't know, I'm not allowed to speak with anyone, you know. ..." TC's voice trailed off as he walked towards the kitchen. Raising the lighting, he started to assemble ingredients.

Suzy followed him into the lighted area of the kitchen. “Don’t tell me you know Granny’s recipe for doughnuts!”

“Well, yes, of course I do. As I said, I have been programmed with over six-million pastry recipes, and can easily…”

“Stop! No more, please. That recipe has been in my family for over a thousand generations. Everyone loves our doughnuts… Senators, Monarchs, even the Jedi! And now the secret recipe
is walking around and talking… so to speak…”

She sighed, "Okay, let's get at it. Get that dough into the megamixer. Gorram it, life on a star destroyer really sucks! I'll be old by 40, working these hours. You'd think droid-baked pastries would be good enough for military types... Oh! I beg your pardon, TeeCee, I meant Utility Droids of course."

"Of course, Miss Suzy, I didn't think otherwise. But didn’t you get up early to bake when you had your own bakery?"

“That was different! Most of the time I was still up from the night before! And besides, with Dex's right next door, I always had Jawa Juice handy. Oh, where is my hyperlaser doughnut cutter? “

Spoons and cups went flying as she dug through the bags and boxes of tools the clone troopers had confiscated from her bakery. She paused for a moment to think about their current situation. I wonder what happened to Dex? And that nice Jedi he was friends with,
the one with the snarky partner. What was his name? “TC! Where are you?” She called.

“I’m right here, madam, I haven’t gone anywhere, oh dear. Here’s your cutter, and the dough
is almost ready.”

Suzy slapped the dough out onto the counter, and soon had three enormous baking sheets filled with circles of dough. A few tears leaked out of her eyes as she remembered baking doughnuts for Dex’s Diner every morning. Good old Dex, she hoped he was all right. At least the bombing of the restaurant district had taken place after hours. But what was that Jedi’s name? And why wasn’t he around when she’d needed him?

“I still don’t get this whole Empire thing,” she mumbled. “What sort of government blows up its cafes? The Republic never tried to operate on an empty stomach.”

“Take those other trays to the dining room, TC, and then come back for the doughnuts. I’ll get them frosted.”

He squeaked away with the last of the breakfast pastries while Suzy wondered when his last oil bath had been.

Suzy sat down and began applying frosting to the baked goods. Chocolate, now there was one thing everyone in the universe can agree on, she thought. If everyone would just sit down and share some chocolate and relax there never would have been a war in the first place!

Absently, she reached to pick up the jar of colored sprinkles when suddenly it slid towards
her and into her hand! What the…?

“Well, THAT’S never happened before!” She pushed the jar away and tried it again. The jar almost flew into her hands. Amazing…

Just then the door from the dining room crashed open, and TC hopped in on one foot, carrying
his other one, clearly distressed about the dark figure behind him.

“Miss Suzy, oh where are you? Help me!” He cried in that prissy voice of his. “This, this, this… officer is trying to destroy me!”

“What is going on here? Who are you? ”

“I am Darth Vader, right hand of the Emperor, and if you are wise you will call me Lord Vader. I felt a disturbance in the Force… and then your serving droid brought me a PLAIN Nubian! ”

“So you attacked him? Did you think that if you cut off his leg, he’ll give you butter? And
who dresses you?”

The imposing black figure turned to face her, “What did you say?”

“I uh, said ‘I’m sorry my droid is distressing you!’ Would you like a chocolate doughnut, Lord Vader?”

“Oh!” He turned and looked at the table. “Doooughnuts…”

Mando'dini.

In Timothy Zahn's Heir to the Empire, Captain Palleaon and Grand Admiral Thrawn talk about how some of the clones from "early in the war" were mentally imbalanced from being grown too fast. The movie "Attack of the Clones" and the subsequent literature surrounding the Clone Wars seem to contradict this statement. This story is an attempt to reconcile it.


Mando'dini.

Lurd Shetai, some called it.

In Basic, mad clone disease. The usual story said the early clones went crazy, before the cloners got their growth acceleration parameters figured out. That's not exactly true.

The Kaminoans were experts at their craft. They knew how to balance rapid growth and emotional stability. Some of their clones were a bit imbalanced, but it wasn't because they were grown too fast. It was because their compliance parameters had been set too low. Some idiot convinced them to keep the Nulls anyway, and I never got around to asking who. But they were the only "mad clones" anyone ever saw.

As the War progressed, the Republic decided to augment the cloning program by using additional suppliers. That was a mistake. The Spaarti project was where the growth-rate rumors started, because those cloners were inexperienced and couldn't get the acceleration right. But none of the Spaarti clones ever left the facility.

I know this because I'm the one who terminated them.

I don't feel guilty about this. The clones were imbalanced, and therefore completely useless to the Republic. They were flawed product. A few of the supervisors at the Spaarti facility were concerned at first that I might have too much compassion on the failed clones, that I wouldn't be able to terminate them.

Because I'm a clone too.

I wasn't bred for compassion, I was bred for war. In many ways, ending those clones was an act of mercy for them, because they wouldn't have survived anyway. I explained all this to them, but they still weren't convinced. So I reminded them that I was a Kamino clone, and said I felt absolutely no kinship with these Spaarti clones. When some still doubted, I said I was born to kill. I was trained to kill efficiently. Then they finally let me have the job when I told them I don't have the capacity to shirk my duty, however unpleasant.

I didn't tell them that was a lie.

I did shirk my duty once, long before the Spaarti project was ever initiated. Actually, that was the reason why I volunteered for the position. I knew how it felt to be a failure, and I couldn't let any other clones go through what I did. So I failed every single clone. The reason I cited - mental instability due to overacceleration of the growth process - was valid. But in reality I just couldn't let a guaranteed failure live with that kind of misery.

Because we're not capable of suicide.

I couldn't end my own misery, so the least I could do was to prevent those Spaarti clones from experiencing it. From lying awake every single night, reliving the great moment when you enter your first battle, and wishing you have done it right.

A soldier's job is to take down the enemy. I had a direct order to do just that from Anakin Skywalker himself, and I failed. I should have done everything in my power to comply, even if my first option wasn't available. But instead of coming up with a Plan B, I made an excuse.

That excuse haunts my dreams every night.

"We're out of rockets, sir."

Impressions of the Force

"Through the Force, things you will see. Other places. The future...the past. Old friends long gone."- Yoda, Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Described in his fanboy mentality as a chronicle about "the true birth of Luke Skywalker", Kenobi-fan (author of the Star Wars weblog: The Jundland Wastes Journal) asks you to join him in his first fan-fiction foray. What started as a potential blog entry gradually grew into the fictional narrative you see here. He audaciously attempts to connect the saga's two trilogies by considering what might have occurred to Luke just days after hearing Darth Vader's immortal words: I AM YOUR FATHER! Imagining Luke is still recovering from his physical scars, Kenobi-fan reflects on the wounds still impacting the young Jedi's soul. No longer able to communicate with his teachers, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Master Yoda, Luke discovers he is still receiving messages - messages from The Force itself.

Star Wars: Impressions of the Force
by Kenobi-fan

"Obi-wan never told you what happened to your father."

"He told me enough. He told me you killed him."

"No, Luke - I am your father!"

"No, that's not true; that's impossible!"

"Search your feelings; you know it to be true."

Barely visible from a distance, a tiny figure dangled from a thin antenna hanging just below the huge white belly of Cloud City. Still bleeding after allowing himself to fall away from Darth Vader, Luke tried to regain his breath as he attempted to sit upright. His agonized cries could barely be heard above the roar of the winds around him as he attempted to use his remaining hand to lift himself. The winds of Bespin tore at Luke's grip as he tried to remain conscious. Though he was rapidly losing feeling in his legs, and despite the loss of his right hand, Luke managed to pull himself into a sitting position.

"What am I holding on for? It's over. I've failed."

Despite hanging miles above the planetary surface, Luke couldn't keep his mind off of the battle he just escaped - or fled. His muscles and mind blistered trying to keep up with Vader's relentless attack. Tired, he failed to parry Vader's last lightsaber swing. He screamed as his right hand was sent falling into the abyss along with his saber - his father's saber. Clutching the burning wrist, Luke stood at the edge of an exhaust port within the massive structure waiting for the final strike.

"I am your father." Luke found Vader's words were more devastating than any sword blow.

He couldn't believe anything Vader had to say - or could he? It was only meant to confuse him, distract him. Ben would have told him. Or Yoda. It was all a trick to trap him. Why? It didn't matter now. Leia, Han, and Chewie had been captured. The Rebellion was on the run. And having allowed himself to fall, he was about to die too. He attempted to calm himself but the pain and numbness that came with sitting on the thin metal appendage was spreading throughout his body. He could feel himself losing consciousness. Luke tried one last time to call out to Obi-Wan Kenobi for help. He did not recognize the voices that returned.

"No one can kill a Jedi."

"Ah. I wish that were true."

Ben! Ben! Luke's mind screamed. But it was too late. The hazy red atmosphere of Bespin had turned to gray, then black in Luke's eyes. Having lost feeling in his legs, the fingers of his left hand began to tingle now too. His grip loosening, the next gust of wind pulled Luke from the antenna. He fell. The gust had turned into a roar of wind and light as his body plummeted through miles of gas and cloud toward the ground. His consciousness failing, another voice reached out to him...

"Luke - there is still good in him."

Its echo faded as his body raced to meet the planet surface.

Luke Skywalker woke with a start. Sweat seemed to be pouring from every point on his body. His head ached. He looked expecting to see the gasses of Bespin whipping about him as he flew with ever increasing speed towards his destined meeting with Bespin's surface. The air was still. No sound could be heard outside of his own breathing, and the hum of the medical frigate's engines. He was not falling; he was not dying. He was still in his bed, having fallen asleep just a few hours earlier. Pulling at the sheets still clinging to him, he sat up and moved his legs onto the floor. As he stood up, he noticed his right hand still clutching the sheet.

His right hand. He was still getting used to its power, its strength. He was still adjusting to the strength of the servos humming just underneath the new flesh that was applied there. Despite its look and feel, Luke despised his hand. It appeared to save the moment like a bookmark, holding a place Luke did not want to revisit. He quickly released the sheet and walked over to the window looking out into space.

It had only been a few days since he looked out from another window as the Millennium Falcon, with Lando and Chewbacca aboard, departed towards Tatooine. The sight before him now included large cruisers and several snub fighters, including the venerated X-wing, moving in front of a bright sun. The fleet was moving towards another rendezvous point, where Leia and another fleet were waiting for them.

Sunlight poured over the passing ships. Barely visible against the brilliant halo millions of miles away, the Rebels chose a course that kept them as far from Imperial eyes as possible. Each ship shimmered in the red, orange, and yellow burst of fire emanating from the nearest suns. The group of them looking like a brilliant cascade of light like that emanating from a blast furnace from which a fresh batch of molten steel has just been spilt.

I should be out there, he thought. Luke's hands clenched reflexively. Having grounded himself until he felt he could control the gears in his hand, he wanted to be sure he wasn't going to have another spasm which might put one of the Rebellion's precious fighters at risk. He didnt know when he would fly again. Another x-wing flew past Luke's window, the whine of its engines still echoing as it passed by. Luke smiled.

He recalled his first flight aboard the now famous rebel fighter. Cocky and brash, Luke boarded the craft as if he were born in it, jumping upon the seat like a child would on his father's lap.
The tightness of the cockpit comforted him, even if it was snug. After snapping his helmet down, his hands gripped the controls. Like all veteran pilots, Luke became a part of his ship. It's snugness added to the sense that he was the beating heart of a living organism, one of metal, wires, and lights. He recalled the sense of excitement as the engines began their now familiar high-pitched whine. Having asked R2 to monitor some strange readings from the rear stabilizer, he pushed the ship into flight. Luke peered through his tinted goggles as they flew beyond the atmosphere. The halo of light quickly diminished behind him. Following the ships ahead of him, the fighters raced towards the approaching battle station, the Emperor's new weapon, the Imperial Death Star.

With R2 feeding him data about his surroundings, Luke shifted his fighter to the left, then to the right. Avoiding fire from virtually every sector of the massive hull, he sped around turret after turret, the metallic dunes, raced past in blur of dark shadows. A splash of fire ignited to his lower left side, as another x-wing disintegrated, its debris field bounced off Luke's shield causing him to reflexively duck. He sent his ship into a nosedive, firing as he went, hoping to disrupt another burst of concentrated energy from killing his friends and destroying his ship. It was then that Ben's voice reached out to him.

"Remember, concentrate on the moment."

Luke eyes opened as another fighter flew past. Ben? The voice continued.

"Feel. Don't think."

It sounded different now; the phrasing was off. Although it had been three years ago, Luke was sure he remembered the moment. Or did he? He recalled the calming effect Ben's voice had on him as he raced above the Death Star. At the time, he wasn't sure he actually believed it was his dead master, but he didn't question its effect. The voice provided him peace and focus.

The dark crevices that sped beneath him had transformed in his mind. Instead of searching among a collage of metal and fire, he envisioned several critical arteries of energy leading to a line of turrets now ejaculating blast after blast at his comrades. He remembered releasing a volley of laser fire towards the conduits severing the connections to some turrets and causing devastating explosions in others. As he raced along the battle station hull, he repeated his actions, knocking several other cannons out of commission as well.

He remembered boasting to Wedge that he could hit the thermal exhaust port with ease. The computer combined with his abilities practically made it a sure thing. Now that he was in the trench, he also recalled how wrong he was. Luke shuddered as he remembered the trench walls rushing past him. The sense of encroaching enemy fighters combined with R2s alarming beeps and whistles, added to the madness of the moment. He had never experienced a flight that fast or with so much depending on it. He monitored the computer as it tried to lock on watching with growing apprehension as he approached his final target. Having lost both Biggs and Wedge, the situation was as desperate as it could get. It wasnt going to work. As he looked into the targeting screen, his fear began to grow. "I'm not going to make it." It was then that he heard the voice that reminded him that he had something more to rely on than his error-prone instruments.

"Trust your instincts."

There it was again, Ben's voice - except it wasn't Ben. He was sure of it. The voice sounded different, more experienced. Meditating on the Force, he knew the exact moment and angle to guide his ship as he released his proton volley. Moments later the battle station exploded. Racing from the fiery scene, Ben's voice echoed in his mind once more.

"He is the chosen one."

Again, Luke was confused by what he remembered. It had been three years ago in the middle of one of the most intense periods of his life - at least until recently. It's stupid to think I can remember something from so long ago. What I miss was the calm, he thought. Even amidst the chaos of exploding fighters, he was able to use the Force to temper his feelings, but not now. Ben. Where are you? Luke reached out just as he did to Leia while still hanging onto the tiny metal vane below Cloud City.

"I still can't believe she heard me. How did I even know she had escaped?" he whispered. The Force, he thought. You were right, Ben. I can feel it, but I can't control it. Not like you. Not like Vader.

Luke continued staring at the passing ships before him. Their silhouettes disappeared within the glow of a sun that reminded him of home. Tatooine, he whispered. He imagined the heat of the twin suns warming his face as he worked his uncle's moisture farm. It was there that he first learned how to fix the various machines and devices used to gather water from the wastes. It was a tough life but not impossible. At times, Luke even enjoyed it. It was simple, not like now. Working on the vaporators led to him learning about the mechanics of speeders and of speed. Luke smiled as he recalled the flights above Beggar's Canyon in his T-16 Skyhopper. A stunted chuckle escaped Luke. The Death Star made Beggar's Canyon look like child's play. Sure, he had a few scrapes from time to time but nothing he couldn't survive or fix and he certainly didn't have to worry about people trying to shoot him down in ever increasing waves. Luke stared into space as a voice spoke.

"I'm good at fixing things."

Luke closed his eyes. He remembered saying that - or had he? Like his memory a few moments ago, he was familiar with the phrase but not with voice saying it. He thought again of the moisture farm, how alone he was, his friends disappearing one after another, going off to become something more than just another poor Tatooine sand rat. His heart suddenly filled with longing. Hoping to end his own slavery to the sands of Tatooine, he thought of nothing but the adventures that existed just out of sight. Despite the obvious dangers of the planet, Luke smiled to himself remembering the many nights he snuck outside to view the stars.

"I'm going to see them all."

The voice boomed in his head. The sound seemed so real Luke turned around to see if anyone had walked in. Peering into his cabin, his eyes traced the shadowy outlines of his sparse living space. There was no one in the room. He would have heard C3PO or R2-D2. It wasn't Leia either. She was still visiting with fleet staff ahead. Luke knew there was no one there, yet the voices he was hearing sounded real enough. "I'm going to see them all." It reverberated in his mind. The child who said it, and it was a child, voiced the feeling that echoed in his own heart for years on the desert planet. It's something he might have said. It's something he surely wished for, except those words never left his mouth. And he knew it.

"The Force," Luke whispered. "Through the Force, things you will see. Other places. The future...the past. Old friends long gone," Master Yoda had said before he left Dagobah to rescue his friends. Luke smirked. How wonderful it all was - at first. Through Ben Kenobi, the Force guided him through the battle above the Death Star. He felt its power flow through him, controlling his fear, and tempering his excitement. Luke was anxious to continue down this path. Believing Vader had found him on Dagobah, he attacked him until he severed the Dark Lord's head from his body. Looking at the false helmet resting beneath him, it had exploded apart revealing Luke's face. "What could it mean? My father? He couldn't be. He's dead."

"This baby is a blessing," a voice responded.

The mass of voices appeared to be growing both in number and volume. It was confusing. Luke closed his eyes as he did on Hoth, and tried to regain control. Like so many times before, he reached out to the Force, releasing his fear. He was amazed at how powerful he felt at those times, almost invincible. Energy swelled around him. It coursed through him, liberating him from the fear and doubt he experienced on Dagobah under Master Yoda.
It was different now. After what happened, after Vader, he no longer felt impervious as he once did. The Force's embrace had changed; he felt the change as he was leaving Dagobah. He didn't acknowledge it then. All that mattered at the time was Han and Leia trapped on a city in the clouds. They were suffering and Luke felt it sure as it was happening to him. The pain, the fear. He had to save them.

Luke tried to push these thoughts from his mind, but he was having trouble meditating on anything else. His attempt to connect to the Force wasn't relieving him of his doubts as it had before. Images and voices still swirled in his mind. He attempted to shut them out. Beads of sweat began to pop from his forehead once again. Luke pushed with renewed energy, attempting to blot out the feelings and images. Though he was healing from his injuries just a few weeks earlier, he still felt drained. The emotions were too powerful to ignore. His mind retuned to Cloud City.

Despite its massive expanse, it hung easily among the surrounding swirls of gas it was collecting. The visions of suffering and pain compelled him onward. His confidence in the Force swelled within him then. He would save them. He would not let them down as he had Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. The sense of foreboding, of the eminent approach of darkness was palpable as he landed on the dark and empty pad.

With R2D2 at his side, Luke preceded into the urban sprawl. "Han, Leia." Using the Force, Luke sent out an echo hoping to locate them. His call returned to him, informing Luke exactly where Leia was. Han was there too. It brought something else back as well - a darkness. Like a looming shadow in the Force, the shroud enveloped Luke. It was as if someone was calling him. The strength of it nearly blotted out Han and Leia's presence. Luke thought it was Ben at first, then Yoda; perhaps they were working together to aid him in their search after all. He reached out again. Han and Leia's signal grew fainter this time, with the darkness growing in intensity, beckoning him forward, calling him. "Luke. Come to me, son." He wasted no time trying to locate his friends for fear he would lose them amidst the background of darkness.

Hiding behind a corner of a sterile corridor, he spied the princess and her procession. With stormtroopers flanking her front and back, along with what looked to be a bounty hunter, Luke prepared to attack. Luke sensed Han's presence as well, but he was nowhere to be seen. Luke hesitated. The voice, the presence, compelled him further into the city. The voice was soothing and seductive. Rather than bolstering his confidence, it shook it. Perhaps they would be all right; he needed to find out from where this voice spoke. More powerful than either Ben or Yoda, it called his name again and again. "Luke. Come to me. It is the only way to save your friends." The bounty hunter's sudden blast and Leia's scream, snapped him into action. He raced ahead. Red bolts singed the walls around him as he tried to keep up, his lightsaber bouncing beneath his belt.

Unable to keep up, he reached out with the Force again, calling to all of them: Han, Leia, and Chewie. They were gone, swallowed by the power that called his name. "Luke. Join me." If he could locate the voice, perhaps it could aid him. He wasn't sure but it was the only chance he had to locate his friends. Using the Force to open previously sealed doorway, he finally located the source of the voice - and the breath.

"I sense great fear in you, Skywalker. You have unusual powers, young Padawan. But not enough to save you this time."

Darth Vader? Father? Again, what he remembered and what was said differed now. Reminded of the false encounter on Dagobah, he now faced the actual killer of his teacher, the torturer of his friends, and the dark beacon calling to him. Recalling the battle with the Dark Lord of the Sith, Luke closed his eyes again as more voices, male and female, spoke out.

"Anakin, don't do this. You're a good person."

"I'm not the Jedi I should be - I want more, and I know I shouldn't."

"Anakin! Anakin! Nooooooo!"

The voices that echoed were not those of Ben Kenobi as Luke had first hoped. Full of concern and distress, they called out the name of his father, Anakin Skywalker.

"Who are you? What do you want? Answer me!" Luke slammed his right fist against the glass. A tear slid down Luke's cheek, glistening fiery gold before the rays of another passing star. Although the punch should have hurt him, it didn't. Despite the superior connections in his new hand, he felt nothing. Yes, it collected data about the collision, notifying his brain that it had come into contact with something hard and inflexible. He felt nothing. It would protect him in his next fight - with Vader. Despite its protective feature, the lack of physical pain made him feel empty and cold inside.

Luke looked at his right hand, still balled up and pressed against the glass. It was an alien feature, more like a parasite than anything else. Where the Force once flowed around him like a billowing cape of energy, caressing his body, penetrating his being, and empowering his spirit, it now faded and died at the wrist of his right hand. Somewhere both his detached limb and his lightsaber, his father's lightsaber, had fallen (were they still falling?) into Bespin's gaseous depths never to be retrieved. "I hate you." Luke said to no one.

Luke turned at the crackling of the room's intercom. "Commander Skywalker?"

"Yes."

"Princess Leia asked that I notify you she would be returning from fleet headquarters within the hour."

Princess Leia. I would be dead if it wasn't for her, Luke thought.

"I thought she wasn't due back for a few days?"

"That's correct, sir. She said she was returning early and asked that we notify you."

"Fine. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Still resting his right hand against the glass, he thought about the moment his battered body hung beneath the city in the clouds.

The pain was unbearable but Vader's words were worse. Standing above an exhaust port within Cloud City, still clutching his burning wrist, he had let himself fall away from Vader. Why did he not let himself fall away completely after his legs caught the antenna? He could have ended it then. He only had to release himself and all of the fears and doubts would be gone forever.
His instincts took over as they had above the Death Star. The Force had not left him completely. Though weakened, he reached out for help, for his friends. A vision of Leia appeared in his mind. He recalled the twists of dark hair framing her face. "Leia." She was no longer dressed in white. Her clothes appeared much more regal than he remembered ever seeing her. He could not see her face. A man was standing in front of her. His face was familiar. The robes he was wearing draped his body in marked splendor unlike the coarse fabric Luke had last seen him in when he too fell to Vader's blade. Ben Kenobi. The wrinkles Luke remembered in the old man's face had just begun to appear in this version. And although he couldn't see her face, the image comforted him as he hung in the roaring atmosphere. The loneliness left him. He felt her presence and her love begging him to hold on. She was coming. Luke reached out.

"Leia." He moaned. "Hear me."

Luke felt his strength waning. "I can't hold on. Help me."

The thin rod of metal pressed into his legs as the tingling pulse of lost sensation began to grow, fanning out from his thighs and reaching into his arms and his mind. The pain relentlessly assaulted his concentration. As had happened on Dagobah, a wave of voices and images cascaded over Luke as he reached out.

"Obi-Wan? You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"He has become a very grave threat."

The woman's voice trembled as she turned from Ben. "No. I don't believe you."

Leia?

Obi-Wan replied, "Anakin is the father, isn't he?" Both figures faded from Luke's mind.

Ben! Leia! Please, help me! Luke's mind was wavering. Still clinging to the spire, his attempts to concentrate on his rescuers were weakening. He called out again. "Leia. Hear me." New images flashed before him: A woman lying on a table, her face twisted in pain, Ben standing over her. His mind screamed to each but neither image turned toward him despite hearing both his name and then Leia's.

A roar began in Luke's ears, growing in intensity. The wind had picked up. A fiery warmth began to whip around him. The altitude appeared to be conspiring with the metal still pressing into his flesh. He felt his throat begin to constrict. This time there would be nothing to catch him. As he felt his left hand loosen, a light appeared beneath him as an image arose from it. At the time, he was sure he saw a woman standing there, arms outstretched. Another voice spoke, soft and full of warmth:

"Luke."

The light surrounding her was blinding; he couldn't see her face. It didn't matter; she had come for him. Allowing himself to fall once more, he found himself within a spectral embrace. The woman's voice continued to speak to him as he was lowered to safety.

"Luke. There is still good in him. I know it."

Barely conscious, he fell from the hands of Lando Calrissian and into the arms of Leia. Wrapping a blanket around his body, she led him away. Images of Vader, Leia, and Ben Kenobi swam about him. Dropping onto a cabin bed, he felt the powerful call from within the Force again, the call of Vader. He still felt the urge to follow it, to take control of the cockpit, and fly towards the voice, towards his father. "Ben, why didn't you tell me?" With the Millennium Falcon's jump into hyperspace, Luke felt the urge recede quickly allowing him to slip back into darkness and the peace of oblivion.

Luke turned away from the window. None of this is important now, he thought. All that matters is finding Han. Another enflamed star had passed from view. He returned to the table at the far side of the room. Slumping into a chair, Luke considered calling out to Kenobi again then decided against it. Ben wasn't there or, at least, he wasn't strong enough to reach him. Although the fear of losing contact with Ben crept into his mind, he knew he would hear from his master again. He felt it. He just wasn't ready yet. "Yoda was right. Much to learn, have I." Luke smiled at the thought of the little green master's speech. Master Yoda was waiting for him to return. And When he had a chance to meditate on his battle with Vader and on his mistakes, he would return.

Walking back over to his bed, he brushed against some plants Leia had brought him the day before. She said the small cluster of ferns were part of a gift from the people of Naboo to the people of Alderaan. The gift had been presented to her father; she couldn't remember why. She kept them with her as reminder of her parents while she was racing across the galaxy. It was the only thing she had left after they were killed by the Empire, along with the rest of her people. She said they reminded her of hope in a way. Though her parents were dead, the plants stood as a testament that life continues on. She thought it would brighten his room and maybe his mood too. He stared at the lush shiny green leaves reaching out. Luke sat next to them and held one of the leaves in his new hand. For the first time, he thought he could feel something beyond the dull electric impulses emanating there. A slight smile spread across his face.
Luke sensed an incoming call informing him Leia was back aboard the ship before his intercom sounded.

"Commander Skywalker?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Luke wiped his face and walked towards his closet, preparing to change his clothes for a meeting with the former princess of Alderaan. Gone were the romantic feelings he felt when he first saw her aboard the Death Star. She was more like a sister now, tending to his needs, constantly telling him they would find Han and make things right for the galaxy.

"Princess Leia is aboard. She requested your presence as soon as you're available."

"Thank you, I'll be there shortly."

Getting dressed, Luke snapped his belt in place, briefly touching the clip where his lightsaber once hung. He smiled. "I'm going to have to build another one soon," he thought. Briefly thinking of the one Ben handed him back on Tatooine (my father's?), he resolved not to repeat the previous design. Perhaps he would make one mirroring Ben's. "I mean Obi-Wan Kenobi", Luke corrected himself. Did Master Yoda have a lightsaber? Did they make lightsabers that small? Although he had difficulty imaging the diminutive Jedi Master wielding a lightsaber, he wasn't ready to dismiss it after witnessing Yoda lift his ship out of the swamp. "Judge me by my size do you?" Luke smiled thinking of the little green master dancing about the vibrant planet with lightsaber in hand. A thought of a bright green blade pushing forth from the hilt of a new lightsaber seemed right to Luke. Looking over his shoulder as he opened his door, he looked back at the plants Leia had brought him earlier. "Yes, when I meet Vader again, I will return with a new lightsaber, one with a green blade - green like the plants, like life, and like hope."

As he walked down the corridor towards the room where Leia would be waiting, he felt peace beginning to return to him. He would thank her again for looking after him. Her presence lent him strength he sorely needed after his fight with Vader. He was supposed to rescue her, but she saved him instead. He thought of telling her what Vader said. He wanted to.

"What will she think of me? I can't tell her, not yet. I'm not ready. I'm not sure I even believe it myself - not until I know for sure."

He thought of her hazy image, as he was still hanging below Cloud City. At least, he thought it was Leia. The entire experience seemed so distant now, like something out of a dream. He nearly laughed thinking he mistook Lando for Leia. He was definitely not going to tell her or Lando about that one, and definitely not Han. The smuggler, who still referred to him as kid, would never let him live it down. Luke finally allowed himself a chuckle.

"Still, maybe I should tell her. I know I could use her help," Luke considered again. A cunning leader, she had earned his respect and those of the senior Rebel leaders. He was glad she was on their side and not the Empire's. The plan to spring Han from Jabba the Hutt had been mostly hers. It sounded crazy, but he knew it would work. He wasn't a Jedi yet, but he knew they would save Han.

Thinking of Vader's words made him wonder what Leia's parents were like. She almost never spoke of her adoptive parents, let alone her real ones. He wasn't even sure if she knew who her real parents were. They must have been strong considering how courageous she was. Given all that had happened the past three years, he just never considered asking her until now. Vader's words seemed to change everything.

"If Vader is my father, then who is my mother?" Luke wondered as he walked out of his room. He thought of his aunt and uncle. They never really discussed his mother, only saying she died in childbirth. "What really happened?" Did Vader kill her? He was at least partly responsible for Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru's death, why not hers too? Did she love Vader? Had he loved her? He just couldn't imagine anyone ever loving the Sith Lord who took his hand and destroyed the lives of so many. Still, thinking that a man actually existed beneath such dark armor, aroused a strange sympathy in Luke's heart. He clenched his right hand unconsciously.

Returning to his thoughts of Leia, he wondered if someone like her could handle being told Vader was her father. He just couldn't see her fleeing as he did. She was the strong one, not like him, always planning when others were worrying, fighting when others were running. Even in the face of her planet's total destruction, she never let her emotions overrule her reason. He thought again of the light and how she came for him as he hung below Cloud City. They might not be brother and sister, but they surely shared similar scars in the war with Empire. He loved her like family and promised himself he would never let anything happen to her as long as he lived.

Passing both C3P0 and R2D2 heading in the opposite direction, Luke decided he would wait to ask Leia about her parents. Knowing how she felt about Han, he decided not to burden her with any other memories of people she had lost. There would be time to discuss those things later, he assured himself. "And Vader too," he mumbled to himself.

Focusing on the rescue to come and his own training, he recalled Obi-Wan's voice after he destroyed the Death Star. Though just a memory now, the words rang just as strong as Vader's...

"The Force will be with you, always."

The End.

Short story review: Impressions of the Force

The story takes place just after The Empire Strikes Back, and happens entirely inside Luke's head. You can tell Kenobi-fan wrote this in the same fram of mind as his Birth of Luke Skywalker blog entry. Luke goes through several flashbacks, some his own and some his father's, as he comes to term with the startling news. K-fan described this story as an "attempt to connect the saga's two trilogies", and I believe he has done a masterful job of it. He asked us (those of us who recieved advance copies) to review everything from subject matter to grammar and layout. I have no qualms about picking someone's work apart, all in the name of constructive criticism, but all I can say is "Holy Lori Jareo, Batman! That's some good writing!" I'm not usually a big fan of the vague, twisting, flashback-in-the-head-interspersed-with-reality kind of writing, but here it's not only appropriate, it's extrememly well done.

I particularly like the stomach-churning confusion of the end of the first section "...as his body raced to meet the planet surface." Yep, you got me with that one, K-f. I think my favorite part of the entire 8-page manuscript though is the third-to-last paragraph.

"Returning his thoughts to Leia, he wondered if someone like her could handle being told Vader was her father. He just couldn't see her fleeing as he did. She was the strong one, not like him, always planning when others were worrying, fighting when others were running. Even in the face of her planet's total destruction, she never let her emotions overrule her reason. He thought again of the light and how she came for his as he hung below Cloud City. They might not be brother and sister, but they surely shared similar scars in the war with Empire. He loved her like family and promised himself he would never let anything happen to her as long as he lived."

Okay, now I found something to critique. "war with Empire." Try "war with the Empire." luuke's score: 9 out of 10. The only problem is that it was fanfic. Write your own stuff, get it published, and then get invited to do this for real!

RE: Short story review:
And this was K-f's reply to my review:

---------- Forwarded Message ----------
luuke -

WOW! Damn, man - that was some write up. THANKS!!!

I'm speechless. What do I say? Do I say 'thanks' again? It sounds so stupid repeating the same words over and over again. However, I'm serious. I've said this to some others, but I am very appreciative of the time you took to review my story and provide feedback. I mean, really, who the hell am I? Anyway, I am amazed at some of the feedback I've received over the past several days...amazed and shocked. To quote Luke: it's like something out of a dream. Jeeze!
Anyway, I would be greatly honored if you would publish it on your site - if that's possible. Darth Rex0 suggested it to me and I thought it was the perfect place - again, if you'll have it. You are welcome to place it wherever you want and promote it (or not) in whatever manner you see fit.

To that end, I apologize I don't get to your site more often. I do most of my web surfing from work...don't ask. However, your site and numerous others (to include the SW.com forum section) are blocked. As such, I can only view your site from home where I don't have much time to do very much. I hope you don't take this as a slight of any kind. Your comments on my blog and elsewhere are incredible. Also, I am pleased you pointed out your 'fan-fic'. Again, I didn't see it there but now that I have, I will be reading them.

I am perfectly fine with you pointing out the error I made. You're right - that was messed up. I was serious when I said I wanted people to pick up on these errors. Thanks, again. I told another person it's just a reminder that nothing is perfect, no matter how many times you read through it.

Again, thanks for reading my work and for the AWESOME review - really!

Take it easy, luuke!

...Kenobi-fan

P.S. that 'band' picture is freaking hilarious and I look at it often. Freakin' crazy...Ha!