Star Wars ain't mine. Not episode 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, or 23,000,000.

Well this was based on a discussion between my friend and I over how a Jedi got paid. Those trailers for ep 2 were playing and the occupation was Jedi knight so my friend says "If it's an occupation how do they get paid?" This is a mini story thing based on my theory. And the Jedi in this is owned by me unless you can find a parallel to any of the known Jedi in which case I might just have to burn it. ESPECIALLY if you say obi wan…I will most definitely have to burn it.

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Occupation: Jedi Knight

He surveyed the cantina's interior. In all of the languages he knew this place screamed "disgusting". And as a Jedi, one must know quite a few languages.

His lightsaber thumped against his leg with every step he took towards the counter, the beat sounding like some ominous warning. That, and he was getting the most amazing feeling the Rodian at the table in the corner was at this very moment aiming his blaster at the back of his head. Let him think there is actually a chance of killing me. Not like someone hasn't tried it already. The last person that had aimed a blaster at any part of this Jedi's person had found their arm suddenly broken by the force of the blaster being wrenched out of his hand. So what if the council had been "quite displeased" as they put it? The shock of that man had been priceless. He didn't realize he was tracking a Jedi.

And that was the problem. The Jedi were becoming too hidden. They were no longer the symbol they had been, protecting order and justice and the like. Citizens of the galaxy had run in fear at the mere sight of anyone in a cloak. And if you had something hanging at your side - something silvery and round…well no one would imagine touching you.

But all the better for this one Jedi. It would be hard to get his pay if the people got suspicious. Jedi may have been known as honorable beings but strange streaks of good luck came to them anyway. No one would bet against a Jedi. If their tales to inspire order had not traveled far, the stories of luck had become superstitions. So this Jedi had dropped the robe and the lightsaber was hidden under a fold of his loose shirt.

The races had just come into town, so the odds were bound to be a bit unreliable. These new racers were just a bunch of hotshots with new speeders, but who knew? One might actually have some luck. And who hadn't heard the story of that kid from Tatooine who won the Boonta's Eve? And he was just a local boy!

So the Jedi put down the credits he had on Flasha, the newest racer of the bunch and the luckiest as he could tell. The kid had a bit of Force guidance in him. They all had better if they didn't want to die out there. But Flasha was going to be his lucky win. And no, this wasn't cheating. It happened every once and a while that the Force guided a Jedi wrong. And this was for a good cause; the Temple's taxes were due and the Jedi would be locked up for tax evasion if they didn't show some money soon. There was only one year in all the long memory of Yoda that the Temple had ever been this close to becoming illegal citizens of the galaxy. Times were a bit tight with this new guy running the show. None of the Jedi trusted him one bit and there was good reason behind that one. Palpatine had tightened the hold on the Jedi so that even the coming and goings of the Jedi in the Temple had to be recorded for official sources at all times.

It got him mad. But anger was not the way of the Jedi. Unfortuantely. There were times he just wanted to cast it all off and join the Sith. But then he remembered his Master and the Temple and his friends and the Padwan learner he was hoping to take on once the little boy came of age. The Sith didn't quite have all them. Although, Master Yoda could sometimes treat you like you were one. He had once snuck down to the kitchens after bedtime on a dare and was almost in the great inner sanctum that was the eatery when he had almost tripped over Master Yoda. It had been the single most terrifying experience in his life. That and the first time he had seen Chancellor Palpatine. He was a creepy man.

The Jedi settled in to a seat in the cantina and waited for the race to begin. The screens attached to the ceiling were showing close-ups of the racers and their shiny new speedbikes. They would be considerably less shiny after this race was over. And the countdown had begun: five minutes until the race started; five minutes ten seconds till it was over. Well, at least it felt that was to him. He could never pilot one of those blasted machines going at the speed of light. No he left that to the child prodigy, Anakin. The talk of the Temple and all around cute kid. Master Yoda didn't like him; then again Master Yoda didn't really seem to like anyone.

The Rodian still had the gun aimed at him. It was most amusing. What was the little beasty waiting for? A royal invitation from the Ewok Maiden herself? Naw, those Rodians can understand deities and wouldn't wait around for one anyway. He was waiting for a signal from someone more his species and political standing; that is to say, another nobody out for a few credits. Well perhaps they could have the decency to wait until the race was over so he could finish what he came here for.

The coming of a larger Rodian only three minutes later proved they really had no common decency. He absently reached for his blaster and nodded in what he must have thought was a subtle way. Subtle perhaps to a Dewbac. Most definitely not to a Jedi. The Rodian that had been sitting in the cantina for the entire time nodded back in the same fashion that practically screamed of inexperience. All you had to do was to watch a couple of spy holos, such as the old ones with G'than Phews (What a great actor. You don't see em like that anymore.), and notice the same looks passed between the criminal henchmen to see these Rodians were nobodies. Nobodies out for a few credits.

But these nobodies sure did have good aim. The blast passed right by where his ear had previously been. Had he not ducked my head as he spun out of his seat and grabbed his lightsaber, he might have been toast. Jedi toast. You don't come by that too often. A blaring horn sound came over the sound system to signal the start of the race. He flicked his lightsaber on and deflected the few shots that were sent his way before he called the blasters to his hand. The Rodian who had recently walked in was holding on tightly to his; too tightly. The Jedi spun the Rodian's arm backwards until he heard the snap of the bone breaking at the elbow. The gun came easily now and the Rodian was in no shape to continue his effort just to rid the earth of one more Jedi and get a few more credits. The other Rodian, though, had launched itself it the Jedi while his attention was focused on the other. His attempts were cut short, literally, by the blazing end of a lightsaber.

The first racer was approaching the finish line as he turned his lightsaber off. It was Flasha. The Force had not steered him wrong, and no, he was not cheating. The Force could once day. It might tell him wrong. Just it didn't this time and that's what mattered. He walked over the Rodian on the floor to the counter where the bookie doubled as the bartender.

"I'm here to collect my money." There was no thought of refusing the Jedi, not after he had seen what just happened. The bartender handed over the packet of credits, lots of em too. The Jedi tossed one to the shocked bartender.

"Here's for the mess," he said. And then as quietly as he came, the Jedi left.

Credit Bag

Crystal Lightsaber

Occupation: Jedi Knight

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I chalk this one up to boredom. Yes, Jysella, BOREDOM!!! I have caught it from you!!! And I hope this answers your question once and for all.

If anyone else out there has a theory on how the Jedi gets their money please tell me, with a review of this loverly bit o work.