Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or Darths & Droids. Sorry.


"Come on, sis, you've gotta be kidding me! I'm completely unqualified for this kind of job!" According to my mom, this is my uncle, Flash Bandit, though he looks nothing like me. Dad says he's pretty smart, if somewhat unorthodox (I don't know what that means, but I'm only four years old!). Mom says he's a complete idiot. I trust dad's word more.

"Flash, bro, I'm just asking you to take care of Deppa for me. That shouldn't be too hard for the flaming Jedi in the family, should it?" Of course, this is my mom, Valara Contrial.

Maybe I should introduce myself. My name is Deppa Contrial. I have black hair and amber eyes. My dad's name is Black (strange name, I know). My grampa's name was Jango Fett (don't know what happened to him). I was born on Naboo four years ago.

"I happen to be in the middle of a very dangerous experiment involving two very volatile chemicals." Once again, my uncle is speaking. And I have no idea what volatile means. Or chemicals, either.

At this, my mom starts talking. "And what chemicals would those be?"

"Tibanna gas and baradium. The results should be...intriguing." Baradium? What's that? And what's tibanna gas? And why does 'intriguing' sound so bad?

One hour, one explosion, and one rushed contract-signing later, my uncle was stuck raising me.

"All right, your Jedi training starts on your fifth birthday. Any questions?"

"Yeah, what's a Jedi? Some kind of cheese?"


Stay tuned for my next story, Lessons: Jedi Training.