Someday... -- Part I: Dooku and Cerulian

My second, more abitious undertaking, is a 6-part saga covering the apprenticeship of several generations of Jedi, whose experiences during the early stages of their lives will someday influence the balance of the Force...and the destiny of a galaxy. Enjoy!


Somewhere, in a vast universe, in the center of a galaxy, near the heart of a world, a large, thin, domed structure stood overlooking the cradle of a civilization. Its architecture was relatively simple, disclosing a certain, nearly obsessive infatuation with functionality. The casual pedestrian might say that the structure was attractive, perhaps beautiful, depending upon the rays of light reflecting and refracting on the translucent surface of the building. The more observant citizen might even indicate that the beauty was not in the structure itself, but in its obvious sense of purpose. It looked as if it was meant to rest there, as if it was engraved in the soil. But those who called the structure home, who lived there, who learned there, who loved there, and, in some cases, who died there, knew exactly where the beauty of this structure lay.

It was alive.

The silent figure quickly strode through the hallways of the Jedi Temple, his stride barely containing a touch of impatience. His right hand, calloused from years of combat with the weapon of a Jedi Knight, rested instinctively near the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

The halls were not quite dark, but not fully illuminated, pulsated glow-rods imbedded in the walls and ceiling. Glowing a slight, pale blue, the polished walls were painted with subtle curves and flowing lines. The effect was one of peace, of gentle strength. The intricate threads of the Force flowed freely in this place.

Pausing suddenly in front of two large doors leading to a training room, the Jedi Master closed his eyes, feeling an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension. Breathing deeply in order to embrace the fullness of the Force, he rested one hand lightly on his lightsaber for comfort, the other hooked loosely in his tattered leather belt.

Waving his fingers slightly, he watched as the doors responded to his mild exertion through the Force. As they parted smoothly through a diagonal perforation, the Jedi Master strode into the room.

He was ambushed instantly by the formidable effects of a large number of low voices in a relatively small area. In the furthest corner of the training room, a cluster of younglings stood knotted together in obvious tension. A few attempted to meditate, sitting cross-legged on the smooth floor, their small hands clutching their lightsabers or resting lightly on their thighs. Some stood near the sides, passing their lightsabers from hand to hand behind their backs, or tossing them lightly in the air, and catching them in one fist. But most chatted in low voices, chuckling nervously, their fingers winding around and around their padawan braids.

A large, illuminated ring had been painted in the center of the room to create a simulation of a combat arena. Various instruments used in training, such as punching bags, balance beams, training remotes, and materials for obstacle courses, had been pushed to the rear of the room. To Thame’s right stood a fairly large assortment of Jedi Masters, speaking softly to one another or intently observing the prospective padawans near the edge of the room.

“Master Cerulian. Late are you.”

Thame Cerulian glanced downward distractedly, glimpsing the inevitable presence of Master Yoda.

“I’m sorry, my Master,” he said, again directing his gaze toward the younglings. “I was occupied with some work. But I did want to come to the exhibition this time. I feel that the Force is with me this day.”

“Ahhh, find a padawan you will, then, Master Cerulian. Very strong in the Force, these younglings are.” Yoda cast his large, unblinking eyes knowingly at the throngs of small children. “Powerful Jedi, they will become.”

Thame lowered his head sharply, seeing Master Yoda’s appearance soften to an unusual neutrality as he cast his inner gaze toward the strands of the Force.

“Hmmm, strange, this vision of the Force is…” he mumbled under his breath.

“You received a vision, Master?” asked Thame.

Yoda looked up as if just realizing that there were other beings present in the room. He blinked slowly, then leaned heavily on his small, twisted cane.

“Changing, the Force always is. Expanding, moving, touching…constant, the ways of the Force never are. But such change…strange it is. Different. In motion, large events are in the galaxy, and altered, the basic strands of the Force will be.” Yoda turned toward the padawans.

“Meditate on this, I must.”

As Yoda assembled the younglings in three straight, silent lines, Thame Cerulian tried to observe each of them individually. Of course, all were perfectly disciplined, their faces as impassive as possible for Force-sensitive eleven and twelve-year-olds, some already resting their hands on the cylindrical training lightsabers on their belts.

In the front row, third from the left, stood a small, slight, but outwardly confident, female Togruta. Her outward appearance was nearly as calm as the others, but she practically brimmed with Force energy and the idealistic exhilaration of youth. When he caught her eye, she flashed a charming little smile at him, and he couldn’t help but smile in return.

“She’s a feisty little thing, isn’t she? Ha, already she can rip two tons of steel out from under five tons of durracrete. And she’ll charm the vibro-knife right out of the hands of the meanest of Weequays!”

Thame turned sharply toward the voice of his friend and fellow master, T’yll Fraam, laughing faintly as he clapped him on the shoulder.

“T’yll! I should’ve known you’d have already picked your padawan.”

“Picked her? No, no, dear friend, she picked me! About a year ago, she saw me in the west gardens, and asked if she could have one of the Proon fruits, you know, way up in the branches of those huge trees.”

Thame’s brow furrowed. “What in the name of the Force could she want with one of those?”

“Are you joking? The taste is like nothing else! Don’t you remember when we tried them when we were younglings?”

“Yes, and spent three days in the med clinic spewing waste from every centimeter of our bowels and every deciliter of acid in our guts for our trouble.”

“Well, I asked her what she wanted the fruit for. She said she wanted it for Master Yoda.”

“Master Yoda?”

T’yll laughed, throwing his head back just as he had as a padawan.

“Yes, Master Yoda. I told her our story about what happened with the fruit, and she said Yoda needs some fiber!”

“Fiber?” Thame felt his face grow hot. “What for?”

“She said he was constipated, and he needed to loosen up for Master Yaddle!” T’yll threw his head back again, and laughed, probably a bit too loudly. Thame chuckled lightly, his chest constricted in embarrassment, until, suddenly, deep within his soul, the Force convulsed.

Thame’s hand immediately dropped to the hilt of his lightsaber as his dark eyes pierced his surroundings, layer by layer. Time seemed to slow with the beating of his heart as he analyzed a section of the room with each breath, as smoothly as if reading from a holo-chart, every movement enhanced by the enigmatic influence of the Force.

His eyes dropped to the rows of younglings, now preparing to break off into pairs for the beginning of the first duel. Each face was oddly familiar, perplexingly well-known, consistent through the Force. But there was one aura, burning tightly through the Force, that he simply had not noticed before now. The solid emotions he was receiving through the Force were that of a young boy, probably one of the older ones in the group, confident and tranquil. He clearly radiated a rigid sense of control, keeping the Force in check…no…keeping himself in check.

Thame slowly shut his eyes, giving himself fully to the warm embrace of the Force. This boy was powerful, that much was certain, yet possessing of an inner conflict as inherent as that of the light and the darkness within the Force. As Thame permitted his soul to slip deeper and deeper into the Force, he forged through the sheer complexity of this young boy, sweat beginning to bead upon his forehead.

Defiant…yet so willing to immerse himself in another being’s will. Powerful…yet weakening at a moment’s uncertainty. A true servant of the light, yet holding a morbid fascination with the dark side of the Force.

Thame’s eyes snapped open and rested upon the face of a young boy near the end of the third row. He was taller than average, his face long and pale, his hair golden-bronze and meticulously arranged. As he faced his dueling opponent, Thame was surprised to see the boy grasp his lightsaber in a skillful, one-handed Makashi grip, and salute in a flourish both impressive and intimidating.

The duel began.

Three hours later, the younglings began to file out of the room, their chatter and laughter now louder with exhaustion and a newfound sense of freedom. As the masters clustered gradually toward the entrance, leaning toward one another in intent discussion, or finding their prospective apprentices and discreetly congratulating them, Thame floated anonymously toward the end of the disheveled mass, earnestly seeking this conflicted young boy.

Thame found him walking silently at the very end of what remained of the third line of padawans. Approaching him uncertainly, Thame laid his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder, stopping him as the other Jedi continued to exit the training room.

“What’s your name, padawan?”

“Dooku, Master,” he replied, his tone self-possessed, and accentuated by a slight Coruscanti accent.

“Well, Dooku Master,” said Thame, cracking a slight smile. He inwardly cursed himself when Dooku refused to smile at his dull joke, wondering if he sounded as bad a T’yll. “You appear to have been studying the arts of Makashi.”

“Yes, Master,” Dooku said, still impervious.

“Do you…enjoy being a member of the Jedi Order?” asked Thame, gesturing innocently with one hand, and tucking the other into the folds of his robe.

“My duty is to the balance of the Force, Master.”

“Really?” asked Thame, cocking an eyebrow. “Then do you know what it is to serve the balance of the Force?”

“To preserve peace and justice in the Republic,” he said, answering smoothly what every youngling was taught from birth. “What if that peace and justice was preserved at the cost of an innocent life, Dooku?”

“That life will be returned to existence through the power of the Force.”

He’s good, thought Thame, jostling for the right words.

“What if you’re forced to take an innocent life, and then you find out that this was not done in service to the Force? What would you say to that individual’s family? What would you do?”

Sensing Dooku’s discomfort, he leaned closer. “What if you had to take the life of your own master? Would you trust yourself to do such a thing?”

Trust. Apparently, Thame had struck a nerve. To his credit, Dooku recovered well, but Thame had sensed that momentary insecurity that was so dangerous in this boy. Suddenly feeling guilty, Thame placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders.

Dooku looked up at him, his eyes dark and penetrating, questioning, and coldly defiant.

“Dooku, with time, and with a greater understanding of the Force, you will learn, truly, what it is to be a Jedi Knight. Someday, my padawan, you will find yourself thrust in a position in which the mind refuses to function, and a Jedi must release his thoughts, and permit the Force to guide and transport him. When this happens, you will know what is right. But not now, young apprentice. Not today. Today, you are not alone. Someday. Someday…”

What Makes a Jedi

This is my first attempt at fan fiction! I really hope you like it, and it turned out much better than I expected. I'm an aspiring author, and I'm experimenting with different styles to try and find one that fits my preferences. The title has multiple meanings, by the way. Enjoy!



Qui-Gon Jinn lived the ways of the Force.

That didn’t merely imply that he was a Jedi, although he was supremely dedicated to the of the balance of the Force. That didn’t just suggest that he knew what it was to wield a lightsaber, although his own master had regarded him the most skilled swordmaster he had ever trained. That didn’t justly insinuate that he adhered to the Code of the Jedi with his every action, for Qui-Gon Jinn knew no code of direction but his heart.

And he listened to the Force.

The Force was flowing freely within him now. He heard it, felt it, quickening his heart, bringing renewed energy to his tired limbs, whispering softly through his soul.

Qui-Gon nervously paced the hall of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. His mind was troubled, although none of his hidden apprehension was betrayed by his tranquil features, nor by the mild, deliberately neutral aura he projected through the Force. The sounds of his boots resounding through the soft, pale blue of the floor was determined and sure, and his sharp, piercing blue eyes confidently penetrated his surroundings.

Instinctively seeking to quiet his mind, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and slowly permitted the Force to reveal to him his immediate surroundings. Through the multifaceted strands of the Force, he felt the slight, simply elegant tendrils of exotic plant life that surrounded the largest of the fountains, each of their tiniest of molecules both brilliantly effortless and strangely complex. The nourishing sweetness of the water gently begged to purify the harder stems of the Force.

His attention piqued, Qui-Gon allowed his heightened awareness to extend to the quiet confines of the Jedi Temple. The peaceful, dispassionate well of Force energy was sporadically punctuated by excitement, or tension, of dreams unanswered, or of destinies unfolding through themselves. The lively calm of a Jedi Master in deep meditation. The uneasy energies of a padawan about to embark on a mission.

And the Jedi Temple slept.

Qui-Gon remained perfectly still, his broad chest hardly rising and falling, caught in the embrace of the Force. He began to search for familiar presences that the Force chose to reveal to him. There was the sharp, precise presence of Master Yoda, as unbending and as filled with rigid certainty in sleep as he was in verbal debate. There was the sweet presence of his young padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, young and kind, idealistically caring, untouched by the evils of the galaxy. Qui-Gon felt his padawan stir slightly in the Force, his consciousness brushed by his master’s touch, but his aura relaxed completely, and returned a brief, warm reassurance.

A smile slowly played across Master Qui-Gon’s lips as he permitted the Force to guide him further away from the Temple. His eyes fluttered from behind hooded lids as he sensed a small shuttle, which had just touched ground near the edge of the Temple grounds. Three presences exited the shuttle, all brimming with energy and strong in the Force. An older Jedi, probably a master, a younger padawan, his excitement barely concealed by his exhaustion, and a female presence, strong and gentle, yet oddly memorable--

Qui-Gon’s eyes snapped open. Tahl. Of course. He had been so deeply engrossed in meditation that he hadn’t sensed her immediately. But it had to be Tahl. No other presence shone so brightly in the Force. No other presence resonated so deeply in his heart.
She’ll notice immediately. I can’t hide anything from her. Not even a matter of vanity--

I’m not vain. It’s more than that. It’s…

Qui-Gon’s mind clouded as Tahl’s presence grew near. Hesitantly, he sat on a cold, stone bench near one of the smaller fountains, willing his tattered senses to be distracted by the almost physical clamor of rushing water. He breathed in the cloying aroma of the gold Ty’renn flower, its sweetness undimmed in the gray darkness.

“Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon started, his composure suddenly ruffled by Tahl’s entrance. But only briefly.
She danced across the room and into his arms, resting her head on his broad shoulder and stroking his hair. Her soft cheek brushed against the thick fullness of his beard, and he pressed her closer, feeling her fit perfectly against his body. He reached down and took her hand into his. It was calloused from years of lightsaber training, but warm, and he closed his large, war-scarred fist tightly over hers.

Tightening her grip on his back, she leaned in and kissed him on his lips, full and sweet as she remembered. His Force aura enflamed, Qui-Gon breathed in the pleasant pureness of her hair, gently stroking it until she slowly pulled away.

“There’s something different about you.”

Oh no. Here it goes.

He forced a laugh. “What could that be, my sweet?”

“You broke it,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Broke it?” he asked, forming a shaky smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She laughed, a soft, melodious sound that warmed his heart. “Oh, Qui-Gon. You needn’t be so embarrassed, you know. It looks…becoming.”

“Becoming?” he asked, willing his face not to flush.

“Yes,” she whispered, pulling closer to him, and kissing him lightly on the nose. “It’s very becoming.”

Tahl stepped back lightly as Qui-Gon rubbed his nose, self-consciously remembering the day he returned from the mission to Yrrrl V with Obi-Wan.


“Master?” Obi-Wan asked, tentatively entering the Med Clinic.

“Come in, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, sitting erect on a blue sleep couch, barely large enough to contain his massive frame. Med droids silently buzzed around the couch and the adjoining bacta tanks, ministering to the needs of the clinic’s various patients.

That, of course, included Qui-Gon.

“Does it hurt, Master?” Obi-Wan asked, his small brow furrowed in concern. Qui-Gon’s padawan was nearly fifteen at the time, and somewhat small for his age. But he was quick, and agile, and extremely intelligent. And his heart contained such kindness that he could hardly suppress it. Nor did he have any desire to hamper this unusual care and sensitivity.

“A little, my young padawan, but it is better than yesterday.”

Obi-Wan struggled to tear his eyes away from the thick bacta patch attached to his master’s permanently misshapen nose. Yrrrl V was very far from Coruscant, and it had taken far too long for Obi-Wan and his master to reach the Jedi Temple, undetected by their attackers, as ordered. There had been numerous opportunities to stop at a nearby system and use a bacta tank, but Qui-Gon had refused to compromise the mission, deciding instead to rely upon Force healing and the Jedi’s standard issue of bacta patches. Obviously, it hadn’t been enough. Qui-Gon’s nose had simply been…smashed. Irrevocably, it seemed.

But as Obi-Wan glanced Qui-Gon’s nose, he couldn’t help but cock a slight smile, remembering his master’s exact words upon realizing that the Gamorrean had succeeded in smashing his meaty elbow into Qui-Gon’s ruggedly handsome features. He hadn’t realized it until after the rush of adrenaline and blinding sight of the Force had washed over him, and he turned to check on his apprentice.

Seeing the blood all over his master’s face, Obi-Wan had asked him what happened, and he had replied, “I boke by node!”

Obi-Wan laughed, forgetting where he was.

“And what is so funny, my young apprentice?” Qui-Gon asked.

Embarrassed, Obi-Wan was forced abruptly into the present.

“Ummm, nothing, Master. I was just thinking how well your nose goes with your…other attributes.”

“Other attributes, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon pressed. “Such as?”

“Your hair, for example, Master. I’m sort of glad you didn’t cut it.”

“I thought you considered it…oh, what was the word you used?…dysfunctional, Obi-Wan?”

“No, Master. I find the streaks of less-than-brown are probably most appealing.”

“Less-than-brown?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and shut it, just as rapidly, wondering why in the name of this Force-forsaken galaxy he had said that.

“Well, what I mean is, err, gray, Master,” Obi-Wan replied bravely.

“Gray?”

“Ummmm, more like silver, I suppose.”

“Silver?” Qui-Gon asked, cocking his head to one side.

Obi-Wan turned red.

“You know, Master, when things start, um, changing--”

“Changing?” Qui-Gon’s voice suddenly deepened as he arched his left eyebrow. “No, I don’t know, Obi-Wan. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“I mean, Master, you know, when things start to slow down--”

“Slow down, Obi-Wan? Perhaps we should take a trip to the training rooms later today, so we can see if this Jedi Master has slowed down.”

“No, Master, I don’t think--”



Qui-Gon grinned as he considered this, thinking suddenly of Tahl.

His eyes brushed over her uncertainly, taking in her slim, muscular form, her gentle beauty. The slightness of her features and thick, fullness of her hair was most attractive, and comfortably familiar.

Most becoming.

She chuckled.

“Taking inventory?” she asked, placing her hand firmly against his chest and shoving lightly.

“Ha, not so thoroughly this time, my love,” he teased. “I was wondering if you were alright. How was the mission?”

“Oh, Qui-Gon,” she said loudly, shoving him, this time more forcefully. “Why do you think of the Order at a time like this?”

“I once thought that the Order was my life,” he said, suddenly all business. His brow furrowed deeply as he began pacing the supple, reflective floor. “But I now know that my duty is to the Force, itself, not to any physical entity.”

“So the Force is your life,” Tahl replied flatly.

“Not tonight, my love,” he moved closer to her once more, and she was instantly in his arms. Tahl reached up, her thin arm lithe against his muscular form, and traced along the edge of his strong jaw. Her smooth finger followed the confines of his face, outlining his high, regal forehead, and resting on the tip of his twisted nose.

“You know, the nose doesn’t make the Jedi,” she laughed, swiftly pulling her hand away from his face. He caught it mechanically, reflexes enhanced by the Force, and kissed her index finger lightly.

“Of course not. The Force does,” he replied, blue eyes twinkling.

“No, you silly. Not the Force!”

His forehead crinkled in mock puzzlement.

“Not the Force?” he asked. “No! Never,” she giggled.

“Then the Temple makes the Jedi. In the sense that it molds them into a being in service to the will of the Force.”

“No, Qui-Gon, not the Temple,” she stepped away from him, her light, golden-bronze hair shimmering in the dim light.

“Alright, then the success of the Jedi’s padawan,” Qui-Gon suggested, now genuinely confused.

“Oh, Qui-Gon,” Tahl said in fake exasperation. “Do you give up?”

“My love, you know very well that I never give up,” he laughed, a touch of sadness in his voice. Qui-Gon’s dedication to justice was unshakable.

“Then can I give you a hint?”

He grinned.

“Of course.”
“Master Fisto has a green one, Queen Breha doesn’t have one, you have a larger one, and Yoda rarely uses his.”

Now Qui-Gon was sincerely confused. His face must have betrayed his surprise, because Tahl laughed.

“Why, you silly, a lightsaber!”

Qui-Gon laughed, long and hard, until tears filled his eyes and brimmed over onto his cheeks. Then, taking Tahl in his arms, the two Jedi strode swiftly from the illuminated confines of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, laughing with carefree ease as they went.


Twenty-three years later, silence had fallen upon the Room of a Thousand Fountains once more. A solitary figure stood near the largest of the fountains, now extinguished, the room unnaturally quiet and filled with a surreal darkness.

The figure was of a slightly shorter-than-average height, his hair sandy and cut short in a practical style, his beard rugged and full. Although he was undoubtedly young, his hair was tinged with patches of gray, and his eyes brimmed with a sense of deep, incurable sorrow, unquestionably haunted by visions invisible to other men.

He sat down heavily on of the benches near one of the smaller fountains, slumped over slightly, as if weighed down by some incredible burden. The bench was cracked and its exquisite, unpolished gray electrum scorched by blaster fire. The fountains were all but destroyed, the ornately decorated, reddish brown pillars fallen and smashed. The ostentatious trim surrounding the rather small entrances to the room, which this young Jedi used to joke that his master would never fit through, were crumbling and lay in pieces on the scorched and decimated floor, dulled and scuffed. Suddenly unable to contain his grief, the young Jedi balled his hands into fists, clutching futilely at his chest, and let out a muffled cry, the pale blue of his eyes blurred by a rapid rush of tears.

“Obi-Wan.”

Abruptly, the Jedi lifted his head, his face stricken in a grimace of pain, wondering if his sorrow had finally driven him to madness. If so, he would welcome it.

But there was something there. His grief suddenly driven into another existence, the Jedi cleared his mind and opened his heart.

What he saw nearly broke it once more.

It was his old master, his face betraying the same sincere, rugged kindness and profound wisdom. Obi-Wan sobbed, this time with joy.

“Master! Oh, Master, I’ve missed you! You left me, Master, and I wasn’t ready, and Anakin,” he stopped, suddenly confused by his own words, “Master, Anakin…he wasn’t the Chosen One.”

Qui-Gon smiled, that same, caring, lopsided grin that his apprentice remembered, greeting him, admonishing him, praising him, teaching him.

“No, my young padawan.”

By the Force. Even his voice is the same.

“He is the Chosen One.”

“Master, I don’t understand. He slaughtered Jedi! He used the Force to choke his own wife! He--” Obi-Wan broke off, his voice choked with emotion, “He…he killed…younglings--”

“The Force will be brought into balance, Obi-Wan. You must listen to what I will teach you.”

“Teach me?!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, suddenly as exasperated with his master as he had been as a young boy. “Master, the galaxy has been plunged in darkness! Anakin is of the dark side now, and he is not the Chosen One.”

Qui-Gon sighed, turned his head to one side and raised his eyes, just as he had done a lifetime ago.

“I see you are as headstrong as always, my young padawan. And you still have much to learn. But I can help you. I can teach you. And, I promise you, the Force will be brought into balance.”

Obi-Wan prepared to retort once more, but there was something about the manner of his old master that stopped him. He was as stubborn as a bantha, as always, but there was something else, something more, and he could see it but not quite accept it.

Then he felt it. The enveloping currents of the Force rippled around him, and, rather than resisting, he opened himself, closing his eyes, feeling the undercurrents ebb and flow around him. The Force was vibrant, alive, intricate and beautiful in its scope, and it filled him with purpose and being.

Yes, the Force could be brought into balance. For even the tiniest of candles, alone in the darkness, can penetrate the shadows. The Force would be brought into balance. But not after much pain, and much sacrifice, and much sorrow. But Obi-Wan Kenobi was used to that, and he could endure. He would endure.

“I am ready to learn, Master.”

And Obi-Wan listened.

For, even in death, Qui-Gon Jinn lived the ways of the Force.

And he knew how to love.

PART 8 - MISADVENTURES

PART I - PART II - PART III - PART IV - PART V - PART VI - PART VII

ONE YEAR LATER

It was cold and rainy, as it had been almost every day since she arrived, and inside her room the fire had gone out again. She sighed as she relit the ancient gas burner and tossed aside her wet cloak.

Locaria had a strange, ovoid shaped orbit, which gave it a long, wet winter and a short but wonderful summer. But the winter lasted longer than a standard year and Traelyn had barely seen the sun since she arrived.

Pausing at the tiny holoterminal, she checked for messages from Master Jeran, or from anyone, but found nothing. After sending many messages over the last quarter year, she was not even certain that her letters were going anywhere.

For the first half-year of her stay, things had gone as expected. The Locarians were mistrustful of her as a Jedi, but the doctors had promised to teach her and they tried, but after it became evident that she was not able to learn their empathic procedures their attitude towards her changed dramatically.

As quickly as she mentioned asking for reassignment, her flow of communications with Coruscant dwindled to nothing. It was almost as if they wanted to keep her there, even though they didn't want her. It was puzzling, as she could sense their feelings of animosity, and she also got a sense of betrayal from them, as if she'd let them down in some way. It's not my fault my empathy isn't strong enough, she thought. Many of you are not empathic at all, so there's no need to be ashamed of me.

* * *

With the fire warming up her room and changed into sleeping clothes and warm, dry socks, Traelyn curled up in her bed and reached into her night table drawer. Once again she pulled out the handwritten letter she'd received from Obi-Wan, hand delivered to her at the Medcenter by way of a diplomatic pouch.

Obi-Wan must have made a friend in the Senate, she thought. Clever of him, although I hope he isn't waiting for an answer.

A tear ran down her cheek. She wanted to go home. Not just because of Obi-Wan, but because she needed to go home for her own sanity. The Locarians were keeping her there against her will, although covertly, it had become obvious. She closed her eyes and sought the Force. Its soothing touch calmed her, cleared her mind, and made her decision easy.

She slipped from her warm bed and went to the tiny closet, where she rummaged through her travel bag, accessing the hidden compartment in the bottom. Pulling a small device from the pocket, she activated the distress call on her homing beacon.

* * *

Four days later, a sense of urgency from the Force compelled her to go out and head for the spaceport. A brief respite from the rain allowed her to stand near the exit where she could see everyone leaving the building.

Before she saw him, she felt his presence in the Force, and the sense of relief and joy that flooded through her brought a smile to her face. Obi-Wan. He strode out of the spaceport, his cloak flowing out behind, his lightsaber gleaming, he had the look of a man on a mission, and indeed he was. He was there to rescue the woman he loved.

She pictured herself standing beneath the trees, and sent a Force touch to brush the left side of his face. He turned towards her and his eyes lit up with happiness and relief. She gave the hand signal that meant they might be observed, and walked slowly towards him, her hands up her sleeves while picturing herself running to him and wrapping him up in a wampa hug.

He nodded, and they began to walk away from the spaceport together. He pulled an electronic jammer from his utility belt, and activated it.

"That's good," she said, "But keep your shields up."

"It's good to see you safe," he said. "Why were you hiding in the trees?"

"I've been barred from the spaceport!"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" He asked with a hint of amusement. "You only sent a level one distress call, so we thought it must be something diplomatic."

"You assumed that based on my record of diplomacy, no doubt," she chuckled. "Let's go to dinner, there's a place we can speak freely."

They walked several blocks before taking a series of detours through shops and alleys, until they came to a seedier part of the city and warm, inviting looking diner called Chez Charlee.

Charlee herself greeted them at the door with a cool, offhand look. "Ah, Doctor Jedi," she said. "And a friend. Take booth twenty." She walked away, and Traelyn led the way to the designated table.

"Is everyone here that unfriendly?" Obi-Wan asked.

"She actually likes me," Traelyn replied. "I delivered her granddaughter. I've been working at that free clinic across the street." He looked at her questioningly. "Since I was barred from the Medcenter," she finished with a grim smile.

"Perhaps you should tell me the whole story!"

"The short version? I don't understand these people, they don't want me here, but they won't let me leave. They won't let me work at the Medcenter, but I still have my room there. My credit chip is good anywhere except for a ticket off the planet, I can go anywhere in the city I like except the spaceport, my holoterminal works as long as I don't try to contact Coruscant."

"How long have you been trying to leave?" He asked.

"A few months. I tried to buy a ticket, I tried to sneak onto a liner, then a freighter, I tried mind tricks on the ticket agents. Finally I was barred from the spaceport. I just want to go home to the Temple."

She sat back and let a breath out. Obi-Wan sent soothing Force touches her way. A young woman with a datapad approached the table. "Charlee said to tell you we have the special tonight, roast duck. She saved you some."

"We'll have that," Traelyn replied, shooting Obi-Wan a look that said trust me. "And some melonberry wine."

The woman nodded and left. "What's a duck?" Obi-Wan asked.

"It's a bird that swims," she replied. "Although it must be taught how."

"Ah, a waterfowl," he said.

"It's a delicacy, don't worry, you'll like it."

Obi-Wan observed the crowd at the dimly lit bar while they waited for their dinner. The spicy wine warmed them and Traelyn began to relax. Obi-Wan looked thoughtful.

"I'll be right back," he said, rising from the table.

Traelyn watched as he approached the bar with a credit coin in his hand. Casually, he placed it on the bar while he spoke with the bartender, who nodded towards Albiee, the groundcab driver.

Obi-Wan and Albiee exchanged a hushed and brief conversation, including glances Traelyn's way, and then Albiee left the restaurant.

Obi-Wan returned to the table just as dinner arrived.

"Oh, this is good," he said, taking a bite of the roast fowl. Traelyn eyed him suspiciously, and waited for him to explain, but he said nothing.

Annoyed, Traelyn decided to wait him out. They finished their dinner while chatting about Temple matters and gossiping about their mutual friends. Traelyn told him of the latest holonovel she'd read, and he told her about his trip to Ryloth.

Traelyn was anxious to leave, anxious to get Obi-Wan back to her room and she wondered why he was stalling. But he ordered some more wine and a dessert, and sat back to savor them.

She sighed. "Be patient," he said with a smile.

Albiee approached the booth and sat down beside Traelyn. "Doc, you should have told me you were in trouble," he said. He placed a packet on the table and Obi-Wan slid its contents into his hand.

Incredibly, there were identification papers and travel documents in Traelyn's name, including two tickets to Coruscant. Obi-Wan passed a wad of credit bills to Albiee, who pocketed them discreetly.

Traelyn was stunned. "I had no idea," she said quietly. "Thank you, Albiee."

"I'm sorry to see you go, Doc, my neck has never felt better since you treated me. But I can see you want to go home, and I can't blame you. Take care." He smiled, nodded to Obi-Wan, and disappeared into the dimly lit bar.

* * *

"It's so cold and damp in here, how do you sleep here every night?" Obi-Wan shivered as his bare skin touched the sheets.

"Well, I'm not usually naked," she replied, slipping in beside him.

"And I usually don't pack sleeping clothes when I'm coming to see you," he said with a grin. "Traelyn, what's bothering you?"

She cuddled up closer to him. "I'm just tense," she said. "Distract me!"

* * *

As she lay curled in his arms, her head on his shoulder, her hair loose and her skin warm, her sexual tension eased, he still felt a disturbance in her mental presence.

"Traelyn, please tell me, what is it? You're annoyed with me?"

She sighed. "How did you know how to do that?"

He rose up on one elbow. "Excuse me?"

"Oh!" She flushed pinkly. "Not that!" She chuckled. "How did you know how to untangle this travel mess? You certainly didn't go through official channels."

"We tried official channels from Coruscant. Didn't work, so we thought someone on the ground would be more effective."

"But, how did you know..."

"Bartenders and cab drivers are the richest sort of information on almost every planet," he said with a yawn. "And they all appreciate a few extra credits coming their way."

She sighed. "I've known Albiee for months, I had no idea..."

"It's experience, Traelyn. You traveled the galaxy for a year. I spent twelve years with Qui-Gon, we got out of a lot of scrapes and sticky situations much more serious than this one!"

"That's the real reason a Healer needs an escort, isn't it?" She mused. She pulled him close. "I'm glad it was you who came to my rescue!"

"Hmmm, so am I. I'd hate to see you giving a hero's reward to anyone else!"

She laughed. "Oh, Obi-Wan, don't you know you're the only man in galaxy brave enough to take me to bed?"

* * *

The next day they boarded the small passenger liner without incident. Traelyn's forged travel documents zipped through the scanners and no one gave her a second look. She maintained a serene but haughty aura of calm, and strode through the spaceport like the Jedi she was.

Once the starliner left orbit however, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I still have so much to learn, she thought. I couldn't even get myself off a backwater planet!

After depositing their bags in their cabins, they headed for the public holoterminals and reported in. Obi-Wan filed a brief report and received an assignment on Chadrian.

Traelyn spoke directly with Master Jeran. "It's good to see you safe and well," he said with a smile.

"So," she said wryly, "How much trouble am I in?"

He laughed. "It's not you who is in trouble, my dear, it's the folks on Locaria. But that is business for the Council, not us. Take a few days off and go with Obi-Wan to Chadrian. It's lovely there, and you'll find it relaxing."

"Thank you, Master."

With the transmission ended, she turned to Obi-Wan. "He assumed that it's all right with you!"

He chuckled. "I'd never turn down your company, my love. It's just a brief investigation, and it's in the tropics. You can see the sun again."

* * *

"Come with me," Obi-Wan said as he dressed for his meeting with the local governmental council. "It'll be a lesson in diplomacy for you." He grinned.

"Ha! It's too late for that lesson!"

"Come anyway, another set of eyes and ears is always good to have on an investigation."

* * *

The seven council members welcomed them into their meeting chamber, and briefed them on the problem.

A group of off world miners had set up camp in an uninhabited area of the planet, and they were mining valuable resources without permission. Additionally, it was feared that their processes were polluting the air and water.

"We depend on tourism to support ourselves," the council leader said. "Our pristine environment is one of our strongest selling points. Animals in the immediate area are dying, and people may be next!"

Obi-Wan looked at Traelyn. "Is mining waste toxic to living things?"

"Sometimes, but I cannot be sure, not without a sample."

"We will take you to the site tomorrow," the leader said.

Suddenly, the sound of blaster fire erupted in the hallway. In an instant, Obi-Wan and Traelyn were on their feet, their lightsabers drawn and ignited. "Get down!" Obi-Wan ordered the council members, and they ducked behind the furniture.

The doors burst open, and a group of men armed with blasters rushed in, firing.

Their lightsabers were a whir of light and motion, as they deflected away the blaster bolts. Back to back they stood, fighting as a team.

"Just like practice," Obi-Wan remarked casually.

"Only easier," Traelyn replied as she deflected a blaster bolt into the hand of the man who had fired it. He dropped the blaster with a cry of pain. She sent two other men crashing into the wall with a Force push, and they went down, unconscious.

Obi-Wan knocked two of the others together, and pulled their weapons away. But the man Traelyn had disarmed pulled a vibroblade out of pocket and lunged towards her. She sliced through his hand, but he kept coming at her and with a quick jab she impaled him on her blade.

A brief shock came over her, and in that moment of distraction a blaster shot hit her in the upper arm. Yelping in pain, she turned on the man and relieved him of his shooting arm.

It was over in a matter of seconds, it seemed. Four were dead, and the rest unconscious or disabled. Local security arrived, and the councilmen came out of their hiding places.

"It's the miner's group," one of the councilmen said. "They've been terrorizing the city!"

Across the room, Traelyn was allowing one of the local medics to bandage her arm, and refusing transport to the MedCenter. "I'm a healer," she said, "I can handle this." In spite of her pain, she could sense Obi-Wan's anger.

"You should have told us about that," he said, keeping a lid on his temper. "This requires a deeper investigation than you led us to believe. I will have to consult with the Jedi Council."

* * *

Obi-Wan sent his transmission, and they returned to the hotel to await a response. They lunched on the patio of Traelyn's room, but she picked at her food without much appetite.

"Are you in pain, love?" He asked with concern.

She shook her head. "No, that's not it. I just.... well, I've never killed anyone before."

"Ah," he replied, knowingly. "They didn't give us much choice, you know that. But regret is a natural reaction, we all face it."

His commlink beeped, and went inside to answer it.

"There will be four Jedi here tomorrow," he commented as he returned to find her deep in thought. "Let's take a walk."

She nodded. "Obi-Wan? Tell me that it doesn't get easier!"

"No, it never does. And it shouldn't."

* * *

They left their Jedi clothes in the closet, and dressed like the locals. Simple clothes in light colors, perfect for the climate and very comfortable. They walked barefoot along the water's edge, and the soothing sounds of the waves and the birds overhead did much to ease their tension.

Back at the hotel, they shared a platter of shellfish and fresh fruit for dinner. "Where is Anakin?" Traelyn asked, as if she'd just noticed his absence. "You haven't had to check up on him once!"

"He's on survival training," Obi-Wan replied.

"Oh, the weekend on Hoth?"

He chuckled. "No, two weeks in the jungles of Yavin Four."

"Ah, another one of my favorites."

"Traelyn... what I said in my letter, about regretting my decision to train him, I was just frustrated when I said that."

She sighed. "Obi-Wan, you made a promise in the heat of a very emotional moment. No one would blame you for not wanting this responsibility for the next ten or twelve years of your life. As long as the boy is trained, I see no reason you have to do it personally."

"I gave Master Qui-Gon my word," he said firmly.

She looked at him thoughtfully. "You think I'm jealous!"

"Are you?"

"Possibly. But it's more than that, and you know it. I'm concerned for your welfare. And the truth is.... he annoys me."

"Well, that's a first, someone annoying you," he said with a laugh. She snickered as she popped a piece of starfruit into her mouth.

Music began to play, and he led her by the hand to the dance floor. Her long yellow dress trailed out behind her as her bare feet glided across the polished wood floor, her hair loose from its usual braids and falling down her back.

Dancing was very much like a lightsaber duel, only slower, and more sensual. It was easy to be graceful when one knew a moment beforehand what the other was about to do, and they waltzed about as if they'd done it everyday of their lives, no one knowing what a rare joy it was for them.

He pulled her into a shadowy doorway, and kissed her deeply. "We have until midday tomorrow to be alone," he whispered.

"Let's not waste a minute of it, then," she said breathlessly, taking him by the hand and leading him to the stairs.

My Latest Banned Blog

It's Always Something.... or Someone....


Apparently, Dark Moose thinks this is about him....

Little Dream Catcher (Non SW Sci-Fi Fan-Fic)

I had a weekend assignment in my english class (Sci-Fi as literature...go figure)
Anyway. The assignment was to take a 'fairy tale' and rewrite it as a sci-fi story.
I found a short and not too well know story to use and here is the result.
As always comments are welcomed.

Little Dream-Catcher
aka: The Little Match-Seller (Hans Christian Anderson)

As she wandered the snowy, darkened, streets of the village she knew it was time to leave. They had all turned against her. Some called her ‘bewitched’ while others said she was one of the predatory gods who demanded such tribute as to keep them in perpetual need. It amounted to the same thing for it meant she was unwelcomed except by night when she might find a morsel of bread or cold stew left for her by one of the few kind hearted old women in the village. They weren’t brave enough to take her in, after all what was said about her might be true, but they did what little they could.

She had been outcast since reaching puberty three years ago. It had started with the visions of people’s secrets and dreams of the future. She made the mistake of telling people about them and at first they laughed. They called her "Dream-Catcher" but soon became afraid as her visions proved to be true and her dreams became reality. No one wanted to be near her for fear she would "steal their futures". She didn’t understand their fear; all she wanted to do was help them. Their fear of her was too strong though and they had driven her out.

She shivered in the bitter cold, soaked from a fall into a partially frozen watering trough. She was dressed in a grimy spring dress, ill-fitting slippers, and an open knit shawl. It was all she had. Light and warmth spilled out of windows around her and smoke rose from chimneys along with the smell of foods she could only remember dimly. She spent a more or less peaceful hour crouched in the lee of a large woodpile seeking some shelter but ran off when someone came for more firewood. Making the rounds she collected what she could still find under the deepening snow and made for the clearing.

She stumbled through the bitter storm toward the Sky-Ring at the outskirts of the village. It was used by the gods to come and go, but recently others had come. They said that they were friends and that they fought the cruel ones who pretended to be gods. Some of their weapons were like those of the gods and some were more fearsome. They called the gods evil and had a name for them. She hadn’t heard it clearly from her hiding place, but it sounded like G’old. She didn’t understand how the yellow rock could be evil, but the strangers had spoken truth. She could sense it...

The villagers had been afraid that the strangers were sent to test their loyalty and told them to leave. One of the old women who left her food, however, had spoken to the yellow-haired one about her. She could see it in the old woman’s mind and she recalled a dream she had last night about that particular stranger. She could tell from his reaction that he wanted to help her. She could feel that he wanted to, but the others frightened her so much that she hid from him. He came into the woods and called to her saying that they had to leave soon. He told her he understood and could help her, wanted to help her. She remained hidden, though she was close enough to see things in his mind as he spoke. Horrible things and beautiful things swirled there. She did not understand them all, but she knew he spoke truth.

The next morning she had almost decided to go to him when she heard the sounds of the Sky-Ring Altar and knew she was too late. She rushed to the clearing that held the god’s gateway and watched as the strangers stood at the altar and touched certain parts. She could see pieces of the alter glow with power and how the last thing they did was touch the red stone at the center. Once the Sky-Ring had stopped moving the doorway to the god’s realm opened and the strangers began step through. Before leaving though, the yellow-haired one had wrapped something around one of the light sticks he carried and placed it under a rock near the altar. He had looked around before doing it and she thought he might have seen her.

...She had to look under that rock. She knew whatever was there was meant for her, to help her leave and follow him. He must have known she had been watching from her hiding place, though he didn’t reveal her to the others. She was glad because the others were warriors, and the big, dark one even bore a mark of the gods upon his brow and carried one of their judgment staffs. Though still afraid her courage had finally risen to match her desperation and she was ready. She kept thinking of the things she’d seen in the stranger’s mind. There was warmth where he was, and food…and acceptance. Once more she resolved to leave and follow him. She stumbled and fell in the snow just then; spilling the food she had collected from the village. Rising slowly it took her several minutes to master her shivering and stumble across the clearing to the Altar.

Her hands were stiffening as she turned over the rock and found the light stick. A piece of paper with markings on it had been wrapped around it. There was only one control on the light stick so she was able to turn it on easily. Using it to look at the paper she saw it had symbols written on it that matched those on the Altar. Standing was both difficult and painful, but she managed it. Using the light to compare the paper with the Altar’s symbols she pressed the first one and it sank beneath her hand. She heard the Sky-Ring move in response though in the storm she could not see it. The symbol glowed and she imagined it was giving off heat to warm her by. Quickly she pressed the next few symbols, each lighting up and moving the Sky-Ring as before. It took all she had left to press the final symbol and then the center stone as she had seen them do. Collapsing into the snow beside the Altar she heard the Sky-Gate open.

She had stopped shivering now. The storm didn’t matter anymore. She saw a light come from the doorway and fly over to her. She knew she would be safe, that he had come for her.

"Little Dream-Catcher they call you. How little they know." Said a voice from the light, a female voice.

She struggled to speak, confused, but words would not come.

"Oh, do not worry little one. I have come to take you where none of this matters, if you want to go."

All she wanted was to be with the stranger who’d left her the Altar’s key.

"My child. Where I will take you he will be one day as well."

She wanted that. She liked the voice in the light. She knew it was time to leave and wanted to go where he would be. Slowly the light faded and a woman knelt next to her in the snow.

"My name is Oma and I have come to guide you onward. They fear you because they are not ready to understand you. Soon you will understand everything." Gently Oma lifted Little Dream-Catcher in her arms and stood. Glancing at the Stargate she shut it down with a thought. Then both of them were engulfed in light and they ascended far above the stormy night.

The next morning a woman found the food lying at the edge of the clearing and saw only an outline left in the snow beside the Altar. It showed the shape of a girl reaching toward the Sky-Ring. She ran back to the village and told what she had seen and all were afraid. Little Dream-Catcher had gone to the gods…and the villagers had mistreated her.
FINIS

It's My Party . . .

It’s hotter than . . .
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a boiling Mustafarian lava pit,
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a blistering Tatooine afternoon under the scorching twin suns . . .
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and, while I’m not in favor of the climate resembling Hoth’s frozen tundra, it would be nice if it was a tad bit cooler.

So, what’s the answer to my dilemma? Well, I’m just going to have to adopt a Jedi frame of mind, and "think" (in other words, fool myself) it isn’t as hot as it is. That usually involves concentrating on something else to get my mind off this blasted heat!

I’ve got it!!!

July is my birthday month. I love, love, love birthdays! Not for what I can reap, but rather for what I can sow. The best present I can give myself is to do something for YOU, my special friends here in Blogsville.

Can you tell where this is going?
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Have you guessed yet?
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Let me explain . . . in my usual, long-winded way . . .

I was going through a purge period recently, and I came across my bulging stash of Star Wars raffle goodies.

(Now, do you see where this is going?)

"Self," I said to myself. "It’s been far too long since I held a raffle (thus the burgeoning, busting-at-the-seams box of toys and collectibles I stow for upcoming raffles). Hmmm, what to do?" A light came on (literally). "My birthday month is here, so why not do something for the people who – whether they know it or not – do so much for me – inviting me into their lives, sharing their thoughts, ideas and humor with me. I can give THEM a present for the gift they give to me. What better time than my birthday month!"

And there you have it – it’s JMW’s Big Birthday Bash Raffle. I really don’t know how many recipients there will be. It all depends on how I decide to divvy up my stash. I can tell you this – your odds of being a lucky winner are pretty darn good because I have A LOT of stuff! As usual, everything is Star Wars related. Rest assured – there is absolutely NO cost to you. (I pay shipping and handling.) Before I give you the detailed directions, I’d just like to point out that – IF YOU ARE A MINOR, you must first check with one of your parents to make sure it is okay to participate because winners will have to provide me with their mailing addresses.

My, I am getting long-winded, aren’t I?! Well, I did warn you I would.

So, without further ado, here are the Simple Rules:
* Email me at mwolf12@wi.rr.com, stating simply, "Throw My Name Into The Hat."
* Be sure to include your email address and either your real or blog name.
* The deadline is midnight tomorrow, Friday, July 18.
* On Saturday, July 19, I will have my 2 padawans pull the winners’ names out of my Star Wars hat.
* Later that morning, I will begin notifying the winners. It is imperative that you check your email at some point during the day for further instructions.

So, there you have it. . . my effort to make this my best birthday month ever! Ahhh, I’m beginning to feel more comfortable already. Those Jedi mind tricks really do work!
Before I sign off and let you throw your name into the hat, I’ll leave you with this final thought. . .
Some people think I’m nuts
Others say I’ve got lots of guts
To hold a raffle or two
Meant just for YOU
C’mon – join the fun! Try your luck.

MTFBWY,
JMW

The Word of Star Wars

Have you ever grappled with a conundrum that has hooked you and won’t let go?
I have, and I’m going to need more than a fancy escape hatch or grappling hook to wriggle out of this one. Let me transport you briefly to a moderately windy chasm in the bowels of the Death Star, where a naïve young farm boy and a tough as nails princess are going to get a lot closer via a grappling hook. As they prepared to swing across and out of harm’s way, he grappled the end of the cord as she hooked her arm around him, and some storm troopers attempted a lackluster limbo under the jammed door behind them.
The quick kiss they share is nothing compared to the saliva extravaganza from ESB, so I will not analyze it, but rather turn my attention to the grappling hook Luke uses.
Why would a storm trooper have a hook on his belt, let alone one of the grappling variety? Are they really so dense that they sometimes forget how to operate the bridges, and then have to use their grappling hooks to get from the detention block to the washroom?
Perhaps they use them in the canteen, hooking the salt at one end of the table and dragging it down into their frantically grappling hands.
Maybe they take them with them when they have shore leave on Naboo; they would certainly come in handy when grappling with a shaak or trying to hook a goober fish for breakfast.
I was discussing this question with my Chinese friend, Ling, over fruit salad the other day, when she suddenly started choking as if she had swallowed a tiny grappling hook.
I quickly ran around and thumped her solar plexus, causing the offending piece of fruit to fly out onto the table, which prompted my exclamation “It’s a grape, Ling, who could have seen that coming?”
“That’s a terribly tenuous attempt to insert the word grappling hook into a sentence,” she replied…

THE WORD OF STAR WARS: Ion Blasters!

As I slipped my utility belt around my waist, I realized I needed an extra weapon for where I was going; I needed an ion blaster.

I added the holster, and the ion blaster slapped comfortingly against my hip, but when I tried to secure my belt, the buckle came apart.

A quick reach into my emergency pouch and I came up with a zip tie, secured the buckle and my belt, leaving my ion blaster in easy reach.

I strode down the main street of Mos Eisley, my cloak billowing out behind, my lightsaber on one hip and the ion blaster on the other, both weapons in plain sight. I could be intimidating when I needed to, and going into the Blasted Ion Cantina required me to be so.

I was sure my contact would find me at the bar, how many red-haired Jedi sporting ion blasters could there be?

"I assume the Ion Blaster is the house specialty?" I asked the bartender.

He pushed the frothy cold drink across the bar, "One Ion Blaster," he said, "Blended, not pulverized."

I felt a presence behind me, and turned to face my mysterious contact, my right hand instinctively reaching for my lightsaber while my left pulled back my cloak to show my ion blaster.

He inclined his head towards a table in the corner of the Blasted Ion's dark interior, and we sat down across the table from each other.

"I have information for you, Jedi," he said, "But I prefer to be paid in credits instead of having my ions blasted into oblivion."

"You'll get your credits," I said, in my most persuasive voice, "as long as you don't cause me to use this ion blaster."

He snorted, and I caught sight of his right hand edging its way towards his Blastech pistol, and I ignited my lightsaber while pulling the ion blaster from its holster.

"Don't try it," I said, "As a Jedi, I always have my eye on blasters."

"Don't shoot me with that ion blaster," he begged, not realizing he was about to lose a hand to my lightsaber.

"Tell me where to find the gunrunners who are supplying ion blasters to the pirates on the Perleman Trade Route," I said, as I extinguished my lightsaber but kept it in my hand.

"If I tell you, will you put that ion blaster away?" He asked desperately.

"Tell me first, and then I'll think about holstering the ion blaster."

"It's the notorious pirate gang Kaldo who's supplying the ion blasters," he said. "They're holed up on Wayland, in a fortified ion blaster factory."

As I rose from the table, I holstered my ion blaster and tossed him a sack of credits. "Don't try to follow me unless you want the taste of blasted ions on your tongue."

With his information, Republic Intelligence was able to take out the gang of gun runners, and shut down the ion blaster factory on Wayland.

The true hero of this tale of lightsabers and ion blasters is the zip tie. Without it, my utility belt would have gone flying off in the streets of Mos Eisley, not only losing my ion blaster, but embarrassing me as well.

So I've added zip ties to my emergency supplies, along with hairpins, Velcro and extra ions for my blaster. You just never know when you need to keep something together long enough to vaporize it with your ion blaster.

Where's my Hydrospanner; The Word of Star Wars

"Horizontal boosters...! Alluvial damper...! Ow! That's not it. Bring me the hydrospanner!" ―Han Solo

Welcome to a geek’s guide using the hydrospanner for changing the Millennium Falcon’s hydraulic fluid within the vectorable thrust baffles (engine). The steps described hereunder to perform this procedure with a hydrospanner are offered by the Smuggling for Solo Foundation in an effort to prohibit Imperial entanglements:

STEP ONE: Before you do anything with your hydrospanner, pick out a flat spot on the docking bay, making sure it’s clear of any droids. Droids don't understand creative engineering or how to use a hydrospanner. Now, put the hydrospanner in a safe place, and take the Falcon out for a short spin around the galaxy. This will heat the hydraulic fluid in the vectorable thrust baffles and make it nice and thin for the hydrospanner to slip into the joints, so it will drain more completely from the vectorable thrust baffles.

STEP TWO: Return back to the docking bay, turn off the engines of the Falcon, park it, and retrieve the hydrospanner. Line up your tools including the hydrospanner. Now slide under the sub-compartment near the vectorable thrust baffles (with the hydrospanner in hand) of the Falcon and locate the hydraulic drain plug. If there isn't enough room to maneuver in the sub-compartment with the hydrospanner, you may have to jack up the sub-compartment to get beneath it.

O.K., now initiate the internal power source of the hydrospanner and locate the hydraulic drain plug. Find the Socket Driver on the hydrospanner and pull out several sockets that look about the same size as the access bolt on the hydraulic drain plug. The FastTurn-3 hydrospanner fits different sized access bolts ranging from 2mm to 250mm in diameter.

STEP THREE: Grab the hydrospanner and position the correct-sized socket driver on it. Place it over the access bolt and turn it counter-clockwise. After you get the access bolt cracked, slowly continue to work it loose with the hydrospanner. Not too loose, though -- you don't want hydraulic fluid all over the hydrospanner or yourself for that fact. Put the hydrospanner down, grab a drain pan and slide it under the hydraulic drain plug for proper drainage of the hydraulic fluid.

STEP FOUR: We recommend using a new Data Port on the hydrospanner after sealing the hydraulic drain plug. While using the hydrospanner, put the access bolt in place and gently thread the hydraulic drain plug back into its hole. Scooch it up tight with the hydrospanner, but not so tight that you can't get it off the next time.

STEP FIVE: Attach a funnel via the hydrospanner into the hydraulic filler hole and pour in as many quarts as the manufacturer recommends (see owner’s manual for hydraulic fluid specifications).

STEP SIX: Return the hydrospanner back to its holding case, make your way to the cockpit of the Falcon and start the vectorable thrust baffles, letting them idle for about five minutes, looking for leaks. Remember, using a hydrospanner to change the hydraulic fluid on a regular basis is the single most important thing you can do to extend the life of the vectorable thrust baffles.

Just think you too could join the Han Solo cause and be a proud owner of the FastTurn-3 hydrospanner. We are offering this new state-of-the-art limited edition hydrospanner to geeks like you for just 99 Republic credits. The FastTurn-3 limited edition hydrospanner comes with a Data Port, Access Panel for Spare Drive Bit Compartment, Spare Drive Bit Compartment, Control Computer, Variable Size Socket and Extendable Drive Bits. Hurry, this offer for the FastTurn-3 hydrospanner won’t last, so dial (555) HYDOSPAN and it could be yours for just 99 Republic credits.

*Offer valid while supplies last.

*Other resources:

Hydrospanners for Dummies
Everything you wanted to know about Hydrospanners and more
Han Solo’s Guide to the Hydrospanner
The Expanded Universe of the Hydrospanner
Fix Everything with a Hydrospanner
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Feeling Hoth Hoth Hoth: The word of Star Wars

You may, or you may not, have heard about this new blog challenge, which promises to be a hot(h)shot performance yet again. That's right: it's the word of Star Wars, and the word is Hoth.

Well, in my case, the word is Hoth; in other cases, they can be such simple or unimaginable words like clones or rebreather or datapad. I am the lucky guy, getting "Hoth" instead of other, more complicated words.

The point of this blog about Hoth, is to make a blog in which a given word (i.e. "Hoth") is used, in any way, in every sentence of said blog. You may have noticed I have used the word "Hoth" in every sentence up till now. And I'm going to put Hoth in every sentence still to come. If Hoth is not your thing, you'd better stop reading now -- seriously.

What, you may or may not ask, is Hoth again? Within the Star Wars universe ("In a galaxy far, far away...") Hoth is the sixth planet of the distant Hoth system. It's the planet where the aptly named Battle of Hoth raged, when the fearsome AT-AT walkers attacked the Rebels' Echo Base (pictured). The Battle of Hoth was portrayed to near-perfection in the now classic film The Empire Strikes Back. Of course, Luke Skywalker saved the day (along with some major and minor characters) and the Rebels, having found their base under attack by the very Empire they were plotting to undermine, evacuated from Hoth to find solace elsewhere.

Hoth, despite the sound of its name, is a cold and forever snow-covered planet, which seems mostly lifeless. Looks are deceptive, though, since Hoth was also the place where Luke was attacked by a huge wampa creature. This great predator, which kind of looks like an angry white Bigfoot, fed on large animals like tauntauns, and basically everything else they encountered on the icy planes of Hoth. Despite its ferociousness -- and exactly because of it -- powerful and rich criminals paid large sums to take one of the legendary wampas from Hoth to illegal arenas of bloodshed and personal vendettas, and so spreading the reputation of one of the most aggressive creatures in the galaxy.

Anything else on Hoth? Not much -- and I'm not sure if Hoth, or variations of it, is interesting enough to fill a blog longer than this. Therefore I will say adieu and end this pitiful little attempt at blogging about a pretty dull place like Hoth.

Some like it hoth -- but I prefer Naboo in summertime.