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!

Lari's Code

"If you cut off his leg, he'll give you butter?" That doesn't mean anything, Lari!

"Yes it does, it is a code!"

"How do you know?" Jeana sighed. Lari could be so weird. Both were twelve and been friends ever since the first day of grade school. Lari's father was a member of the NRI, and it was Lari's greatest hope to be just like him. Hence, her fascination with codes, detective stories and everything that remotely resembled her father's stories of different missions/situations. Jeana's father was the manager of a grocery, a profession Jeana had no intention of following.

"Wotcha doin?" Both girls turned and looked at the boy standing there.

"Hi, Keegan, I'm trying to convince Lari that that paper is a joke or something."

"What paper?"

"That one" Jeana pointed to the paper in Lari's hand.

"If it's a code, let's crack it" suggested Keegan. "I'm bored anyway. Where did you get it?"

Jeana growled as Lari retold her story.

"We were at the landing pad picking up my dad yesterday when this man walked next to me. He grabbed my hand. I was scared. He handed me this and was going to say something and then ran off. I think it's a code and I want to know what it means!"

"Why don't you give it to your dad?" asked Keegan.

"Because he won't believe me that it is a code. Will you help me? Please." Lari looked around at her two friends.

"Ok". "I guess.."

The three sat and thought. Jeana doodled on her writing pad. Keegan did a handstand.

"I think better upside down" "Ohh"

"I think I know what butter means!"

"What does it mean, then?"Jeana played along.

Lari's face was bright. "It means that little senator girl from Chad!"

"Her names not butter", Keegan looked confused and a bit superior.

"No, it's not. Her name is um, Margareene", said Jeana.

"Right, but in code, Margareene in close to margarine, which is kinda like butter. SEE?"

"Maybe", Jeana still was doubtful.

"His", "must be the man who took her", added Keegan.

"Right!" Exclaimed Lari.

"What's if you cut off his leg mean then?" wondered Jeana, in spite of herself.

"It must mean," Keegan thought out loud, "if you do something to cut off his something, then he won't have any choice, but to give up Margareene."

"We oughta give it to your dad now", Jeana said again.

"Maybe you really have to cut off his real leg", Keegan was still thinking aloud.

"Ewwwww!", both girls yelled.

"But my dad doesn't get home for two hours," said Lari.

"Then let's go swim or something, while we think about the code", suggested Jeana.

"Ok", said Keegan as he got up and headed for the door.

"I guess", said Lari. Jeana grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door.

Two hours later the three kids reentered Lari's room.

"Is your dad home yet?" asked Jeana.

"I think so, get dressed again and we'll go see."

"I've gotta go home, tell me how it goes, k? Keegan waved as he left.

"I will," Lari called after him.

The two girls entered Mr. Krede's home office, paper in Lari's hand.

"Hi there, Lari. Were you good today? And how are you, miss Jeana?" He smiled at them.

"I'm good daddy, and we have a code for you!" Lari beamed.

"I'm listening", her father grinned at her. Lari and Jeana shared everything with Lari's father, including what they thought the code meant. Lari's father look interested and when they had finished he took the piece of paper and told them he'd look into it.

"Tell me if it helps you find Margareene, won't you?" asked Lari.

"Of course", her father nodded.

Two standard days later, a holo-news special aired, giving the details of the senator's daughter's rescue. The NRI had received that last clue they needed and by tracking down its origin they had found the girl's kidnapper's hideout.
The head of the gang relied on something very peculiar, his cybernetic leg; into which was built several weapons and a communication nodule, along with a recording device. In the rescue, one of the task force cut off his leg, forcing him to either surrender or be killed.
Lari and Jeana and Keegan were very proud of their part in the little girl's rescue, though they didn't receive any public credit.

"See, I told you it was a code!"

"All right I'm sorry."

"I was right, they really had to cut off his real leg to get "butter"".

"I want another code!"

"Lari!"

Another challenge...with butter!

I recently received an email from Luuke, suggesting another writing challenge around here. I thought it was a great idea, so (with minimal effort) I re-posted his words here.

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I was talking to an old friend recently, and we were talking about somniloquy - sleep talking. He mentioned that another friend had once caught him sleeptalking... and apparently what he said was "If you cut off his leg he'll give you butter."

Suddenly I challenged him to write a short story around that sentence (he's an aspiring writer as well), and I agreed to take the challenge on myself as well. I wonder if any others would be interested. No rules as to length, genre, or even what 'verse it takes place in, only that it incorporate the sentence "If you cut off his leg, he'll give you butter." Oh, and the sentence has to mean something to the story, not a throwaway line like, "Suddenly, a drunk ran by yelling, 'If you cut off..." No other rules. It's challenging enough as it is.

No, I haven't already got mine written, even though we issued this challenge to each other three solid weeks ago. But I have finally found the direction I want to go with it.

So what do you think? Will you, or anyone else, write a butter story with me?____________________________________________________

Yes, Luuke. I will write a butter story with you, or at least make a valient attempt at doing so.

Who else is with me?

No rules other than those in the email above. Deadline is August 29th.