DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of the Star Wars Universe, concept, or characters, and pay homage to the Great Flanneled one for his vast creative powers. I own the characters I have created, as far as they do not infringe upon his rights. No copyright infringement is intended and I do not profit from this work. I'll put them back when I'm done, George, honest.

I did stay with him. I had promised, after all, and I was still a bit worried about him. I took off his wet boots and socks and tried to make him more comfortable, but it was frighteningly like handling a corpse, stiff and cold. The night waned and it grew quite cold without clouds to hold in the heat. A couple of hours before dawn, he began to shiver and his color grew paler.

I immediately gave him my blanket – I wrapped him up as warmly as I could, covered his head and contemplated putting his tunics back on, but there was no way I could get them on without hurting him again, especially if he'd cracked a rib or something. I wrapped his feet as well as I could where they almost hung out of the covers – poor guy, that must be the story of his life, hanging out of beds and blankets whenever he was with humans – it must be a vacation to be around Wookiees – and it didn't help. There was no way I could make a fire inside the crate; I didn't want to suffocate us with fumes from whatever coating was inside, even if it was fire resistant. Since the floor of the thing was steel, I expected it would sauté us nicely as well. Jedi en brochette with fava beans? I don't think so. I lit the lamp, but it gave out a minimum amount of heat at best. There was even less chance of getting him outdoors to a fire. I suspected that if I did wake him, he would be too weak to walk, and he certainly outweighed me by enough to make carrying him impossible. I'd just hurt him more. Slan had awakened from all the commotion and looked at me accusingly. Yeah, you're running out of options, Kyle. It isn't like me to crawl into bed with a strange man, but he's wounded and weak from loss of blood. Damn it, he's beginning to look shocky now, too.

I sighed and shrugged off my shirt, and crawled under the blankets with him to lend him my body heat. I had to warm him some way, and this was all I had at hand. Thank heaven for sports bras; at least I'm not quite in my underwear. Watch your hands, girl. Sexual assault is not on the menu, no matter how good he looks… He continued to shiver, maybe not able to spare the energy to maintain his body temperature. He'd lost a lot of blood. I slid up to his left side and made as much skin contact on his torso as decently possible without injuring him further. He didn't flinch, but his arm came gently around me, and gradually the shivering subsided and he relaxed, breathing more deeply again. I pillowed my cheek on his good shoulder and thought warm thoughts.

I was amazed at how I'd missed simple human contact – I teared up at the touch of his skin, and had all I could do not to sob out loud. It was so good to be held, even simply because he needed my body heat. The fact that he was gorgeous didn't matter, though I had to confess it didn't hurt. I had been lonely to the point of tears several times over the last few weeks, but there wasn't any reason to weep now. Gods. Don't be ridiculous, girl, there's still things to do here; there's no time to be hysterical. He may not be hypothermic anymore, but he's not out of the woods yet. His color still stinks, his pulse is thready and his respiration is shallow and fast; he's going into shock again. He must be bleeding inside. What can I do? I'd read in some silly book or another that Jedi learned Force healing techniques in their training, and were able to help each other heal as well as to heal themselves. Well, if the Force was everywhere even I had some here and there. Perhaps if he could take some strength from me – it might be totally crazy, but it was worth a chance to help him. May fortune favor the foolish…

"Take what you need," I said softly. "Let me help you to heal if I can." There was no logical reason for speaking, or trusting him, and even less to think there was anything else I could do for him. Logic and rationality had been thrown out the door with a clatter a month or so ago, and he was all I had. I didn't want to lose him, not now. Aside of the brief conversation we'd had, I'd nothing but my own hunches and feelings to go on, that was true. But I'd already made the decision; I knew in my bones that he was a good man, a Jedi knight. I believed him. More than that, he deserved as much help as I could give him. Anyone did, really. Good gravy, what am I thinking? Right. I have now officially taken leave of my senses – or perhaps that was what I did when I crawled into bed with the man. Well, let's fake it anyway. Maybe if I use some of the stuff from those wacko Therapeutic Touch classes? It works on cats and kids; I'll give it that. So I did my best to calm down and visualize the white light that had seemed so spacey and New-Age-y to me. I almost started giggling then. Nothing. I felt downright ridiculous, but sternly took myself to task. I really did believe in what the Jedi stood for. Truth, right, guarding the peace, those were important to me. I may not take myself very seriously, but that – I do. It was important enough to risk my ego and assumptions for, certainly. The Force was about as close to a religion as I had, after all, having taken a nosedive out of Catholicism at a young age.

So, is the Force ridiculous? Not here, not now. Maybe nowhere. Just do it, Kyle, and don't think about it… Believe it. Here, the Force (woo-woo) is as real as rainy days; just adjust.

So I just did. I decided that I had to believe in it, just like you believed in fairies to save Tinkerbelle, as hard as I possibly could. I thought about warmth and love and comfort and healing energy moving from me to him, gently touching his chest, his shoulder, thinking of easing his pain and helping him to heal and be well, to be strong. Gradually as I got more relaxed I fancied that I could feel it, like a stream, and it seemed to be working, but it wasn't enough. He needed more than I had inside me, certainly. Okay, kid, now what? Well, if the Force is everywhere, then I should be able to ask for more. Where is it? I calmly reached out and asked for more as politely as I could, envisioning an opening door.

I got what I asked for. Amazing when that happens, and you're not ready for it.

I was once pulled from the shore in the undertow of a wave, and almost drowned, though I am an adequate – even a strong – swimmer. That's the nearest thing I had to compare to the sensation. I got lost – it wasn't physical, but it was my very being that was overwhelmed, my self. I felt as though my identity would be snuffed out by the sheer intensity of the life pouring through me, burning as it went, spinning me like flotsam in the overwhelming maelstrom of currents. Oh, no, not again. I've been there. I wasn't exactly afraid, though I knew I was in danger. It wasn't exactly painful, but it was unforgettable and not pleasant. It wasn't exactly like anything in my experience. Finally, I seemed to feel a hand reach out to me and close on my own, anchoring me. I drew myself in and clung like a limpet, trembling now myself. Whatever I've done, I've kicked open the door, all right. As I came back to where I actually was, it seemed to me that Qui-Gon had become more comfortable, more relaxed. His breathing evened out and he pulled me closer to him, as though he enjoyed the contact. I certainly did. Then a sudden wave of fatigue rolled over me as the adrenaline wore off, and I fell asleep.

I woke up awhile after dawn when the crate got warmer. In the diffuse light Qui-Gon looked better. He seemed to be breathing more easily and deeply and looked more comfortable overall. His color was better, his lips a normal pink and a bit of color in his cheeks. I very carefully disentangled myself from the rather improbable clinch we were in, hoping desperately that my errant urges hadn't gotten the better of me and made me inexcusably rude. He's a mess, too. Not surprising, that – he's been through a lot, it's easy to tell. He needs to rest and I need to get my cotton pickin' hands off him. Lord, Lyn, what were you thinking?

He was still sleeping soundly, and blessedly didn't stir when I got up and covered him again. He had no fever, and his pulse was even, strong, and steady at 62 – Good Lord, the last time I saw a well person with a pulse like that, he was a marathon runner. He's either really sick or in unbelievable shape… well, hell, he feels pretty damn good to me, if it comes to that.. Now, stop it, you idiot. You may just be lucky he didn't wake up. You should be ashamed of yourself. I decided to at least act professionally, and checked his other vital signs. If I hadn't seen it, I would never have believed it – everything else seemed fine, blood pressure and respirations normal. I was once more amazed. Anyone else would have needed a transfusion, or at least IV fluids, and a week or two of recuperation, possibly with a course of antibiotics for the inevitable infection of that dirty wound. I smoothed the hair from his forehead and face; he'd have a hell of a time getting all the crud out of his hair; I had the feeling that it hadn't been treated to repel dirt. He even had a bit of a smile on his face. I felt absurdly flattered for a moment.

Judging by the evidence, I decided that he was in incredible shape, had been able to heal himself, and I'd hope for the best. What he would need now is rest and good nutrition, and keeping the wounds and burns from getting infected. I might actually be able to do that, between all the rations and supplies I'd scavenged from the beach and judicious use of soap and water. I even had antibiotics if they were needed. I doubt that. Maybe they're obsolete for Jedi. I smiled. What a lovely thought. I crept out of the crate as quietly as I could to give him some quiet, leaving Slan happily purring away on his shoulder, after finding the sewing kit and snagging my clean clothes, which were now finally dry. No telling how long these would have to do, I should mend them so they won't disintegrate into tatters. The rip under the arm of this shirt leaves nothing to the imagination.

I stretched in the warm morning, and then I went and ran the inevitable errand, and washed my face in the stream. I brushed the dark wavy mop of my hair out and braided it so it would be out of my way. I had a headache and all my joints and muscles hurt, and I still felt tired and foggy, but most likely better than Qui-Gon did. I'd catch up on sleep when he felt better. I took some aspirin and lit the fire to heat some water for tea, and sat on a crate to mend my clothes.

It didn't take long to darn the holes, though the thread I used wasn't as good a match as I'd have liked. Like that matters… I resisted the urge to embroider a flower or something over it. Can't spare the thread. Hey, maybe I should get his clothes and mend them too. I could embroider flowers on them… nah. He didn't seem the flower type. How about Hawaiian shirts? Negatory. I was getting goofy, I decided, as I snorted at the picture in my head. Low blood sugar, maybe. Hell, he could wear a barrel if he wanted; he'd look great. Especially if he wasn't wearing much… or nothing at all. Oh, here we go again… don't go there, girl, there's no time for raging hormones now. What is this, a new form of PMS? I ate a piece of food bar, suddenly famished, and had a cup of tea and slowly felt better. Rationality. Not just a good idea anymore. A short time later, Slan came scampering out to me and began to pull on the hem of my shorts. I gave him a banana – he loved them – but he dropped it, stamped his foot, and tugged me toward the crate once more.

/Come! / I heard inside my head, as plain as day. I shook my head, hard. Why, you little stinker. Could you do that all along?

"All right, all right, pal, I'm coming. Is there something wrong?" I quickened my pace. When I got to the crate I found out why Slan had been worried. Qui-Gon was twitching and moaning in his sleep, perhaps having a nightmare. Gods, what could give a Jedi nightmares? Weren't they supposed to be able to control that kind of thing? He'd hurt himself again if that kept up; I'd have to wake him now. I knelt beside him and took his hand. "Master Jinn, wake up. It's only a dream; it's all right. You're safe now. Qui-Gon – wake up –"

He sat bolt upright and opened his eyes, but it didn't seem that he saw me, perhaps still in the dream. The bleakness in his face tore my heart. What could do this to him? What could hurt him so?

"People – dying… I couldn't," he said. "I couldn't help them. Couldn't save them."

"Sometimes you can't," I replied, holding his long, callused hand in both my own, rubbing the back of it as his fingers curled to enclose mine. "Sometimes no one can. Sometimes all you can do is pick up the pieces and hope for the best. Jedi or not, you are only one man. Even you can't know or understand the reasons why, even if you have a direct pipeline to God." I couldn't help but remember seeing the Towers fall, and then going to help pick corpses and pieces of people and their lives from the twisted rubble in those awful days in September. Tears came to my eyes at the memory; it almost overwhelmed me. I shoved the image away ruthlessly. That hadn't happened for a long time, months. "You're away from there now. Are you cold? Your clothes are dry."

He blinked a couple of times, and finally focused. "Thank you. I – am sorry."

"No need," I said. "You've obviously been through the wringer, Master Jinn. Are you feeling better?"

He cleared his throat, and, seemingly backpedaling a bit, let go my hand after bowing over it in an oddly formal manner. "Much better, many thanks to you."

I shrugged. "I don't know about that, but I'm glad I could help. Do you mind if I take a look at your chest and shoulder, see how the burns and wounds are doing?"

He amiably allowed me to remove the dressings and take a look at him, and I was (unusually) speechless. All of the burns were covered by new, pink skin, and the deep wound in his shoulder was scarred over as well, deep red lines showing where the metal fragments had pierced his skin.

"This – is – is amazing," I finally stammered. "If you could bottle this you'd have wealth beyond the dreams of avarice."

"I know of few things beyond those," he replied, sadly.

"True enough. Well, so much for thinking you'd need any more treatment. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I have an assortment of oddments, and you're welcome to share."

He smiled, and slowly put on his undertunic, with a bit of my assistance to spare the sore shoulder. Somehow this attention was different from the strictly medical attention I'd given him before. He seemed embarrassed; he colored.

"Don't worry, I can take it," I said, dryly. "I've seen pictures." I gave him a hand up, and he seemed a bit uncomfortable. Of course, water pressure. Duh. "What passes for a privy is down the hill a bit, that way; you can see the tarp from here. Slan has a lively interest in human eliminatory function."

He chuckled. It was a real smile, and it looked much better after the pain I had seen earlier in his eyes. "Slan?"

"My sidekick, here. I don't quite know what he is, but he's fine company, and he's taken quite a liking to you. Do you need help or are you steady on your own? You did lose an awful lot of blood."

"No, I am fine, thank you. Slan is a Peroota Cat; they are often kept as pets by humans and other species. I will be back shortly."

I nodded. "Thanks, that's good to know. Be careful, I'll be right here. There's a stream near there, up the hill a bit – I don't know if the water is good to drink, but I do wash in it."

He nodded. Slan made an excited noise and skittered over to him, climbing his trouser leg. "Certainly you may come, little one," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. He understood Slan? Well. "He'll certainly have a better view on your shoulder," I said, smiling. "Behave yourself, buddy," I said. "I'm sure Master Jinn is still sore." Slan squeaked indignantly and I laughed. "Even I understood that," I said. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"He will be fine," Qui-Gon replied, chuckling and allowing Slan to climb up to his good left shoulder. "He won't hurt me. Of course you understand him. He is telepathic and empathic, and so are you."

I dropped the blanket I'd been folding as he strode down the hill. "What?!" I bleated.

"You heard me," he said briskly. "I needn't repeat myself."

I sat down weakly. Great. Another paradigm shift…no more for me, thanks, I'm driving. Now I'm Jar-Jar. Mesa in BOMBAD trouble, boss Jedi Sir. Now what do I do?

I changed my clothes to the last clean ones that I'd just mended, washed up more thoroughly with the water I'd boiled, and was surprised to be a bit nervous about my appearance – sunburned, freckled, peeling, wavy dark hair with a bit of brassiness from the sun. Don't bother, girl. As long as I don't offend with the stench, I'm sure it won't matter. Stick to what's needed, the rest will just have to take care of itself. It was time to figure out what to feed this man, right now. If I wasn't totally out of my mind, he had lost a few pounds overnight. I thought we had established that I was out of my mind… His face seemed thin, even more angular. Not surprising; even if he had that much control over his body, energy and the materials still had to come from somewhere, and my bet was that he felt more than half starved. I refused to believe that Jedi could ignore the laws of physics – just bend them a bit, perhaps. Find loopholes, maybe.

I dragged out my stores and made a pot of tea. The British are amazingly civilized to their military in whatever world where the assemblage got lost, providing tea and metal billy pots, with tinned milk and sugar and biscuits and all – it had been my salvation during the horrible headaches I had had during my first week on the island (thank God for the sun that never set…). Then I dragged out a couple of MREs and even the C-rations I'd found. Some of them had manufacture dates that were a bit odd – like March 2015… and that wasn't the expiry, they had that, too. Yes, I was in the Twilight Zone. I'd become accustomed to odd things washing up on the beach or appearing in the woods. There were other things that had Aurebesh writing on them, that looked like rations as well, but since there were many races all over that galaxy, I wasn't about to eat them. Perhaps Qui-Gon could translate for me. There were other things, too, that I didn't understand, that weren't in Aurebesh, but we'd see what happened. I hoped there was something there that wouldn't poison him or hurt him – or that he would like.

I looked up and saw Qui-Gon sitting on his heels in a clearing nearby, eyes closed and still. He was meditating. Well. No telling how long he'd stay there. Respecting his need for reflection, I did my best to stay quiet and mended my other shorts, and took out my book to read a bit. Slan came over to me and curled up in my lap with a little tea in a small cup. He lapped it quietly as I skritched his ears. I suspected he drank the tea for the milk and sugar. He got his banana and ate that and some food bar, and we passed well over an hour in the warm sunshine.

I got a chance to look at Qui-Gon closely from my vantage point, for the first time, and I took unabashed advantage of it. It was a very pleasant sight. He sat, serene and relaxed, eyes closed, a small smile on his face. His hair and beard were much neater; I suspected he'd taken a moment to wash and straighten himself out as well. His hair was, understandably, still a bit of a mess, since he'd a sore shoulder and right side. Maybe he would let me help him, he shouldn't wait to untangle the knots. He seemed to be a younger man than the character I recalled from The Phantom Menace; there was no silver in his hair or beard, which were both a deep warm brown, with some deep golden highlights that reminded me of amber in the sun. Well, he certainly cleans up well. He was such a big man – he sat straight and tall, and I had been right the night before. He was striking; certainly better looking than Liam Neeson, despite the rather rugged appearance of a man who was tough and strong – and someone you didn't want to cross. Perhaps it was something to do with the shape of his chin, or the cheekbones, or the hidden lines of laughter beneath other lines that were more severe. That didn't matter, though; the main beauty of him wasn't from the outside. Despite holding himself with the sureness and grace of an athlete, a martial arts master (which he most certainly was), he seemed to radiate peace and contentment, and a muted but palpable joy in life itself, despite the situation. That may have been why he wasn't frightening or intimidating in spite of his sheer bulk. He must be a magnet for children, animals, whatever, just because of the sheer pleasure of his presence. He'd certainly had that effect on Slan, who'd wiggled with joy at his smile earlier. His skin was a light gold, and his eyelashes shadowed his cheeks softly as he raised his face to the sun.

I wondered what he felt in his meditation, what it gave him that I couldn't hope to understand. I'd played hob with every attempt I'd made at meditating, I just didn't seem to get it. He, on the other hand, seemed to need it more than he needed food or drink, and I couldn't understand that. If he was as sensitive as the Jedi were reputed to be, he must need it for balance, to find out what he must do, what his duty was. To find out what the Will of the Force was. Imagine, being able to know the will of God directly. Such an amazing and bittersweet thing that must be. That idea boggled my mind, but suddenly another wiser part of me spoke. Can't we all discover the will of God if we really listen? Or if we follow what we know is right? The trick is listening to the Truth rather than one's fears or ego, I suppose. And he was trained from infancy to do that. I wonder what that was like? I abruptly had the picture of an exuberant, smiling child in my mind, rawboned and thin with long legs, huge blue eyes, a big smile, an open heart, and a burning desire to ease all suffering, to be a knight and guard the peace. Something happened to him to change that; I wonder what it was? Something happens to all of us, I suppose. It's part of growing up. Perhaps in a way one must trade innocence for wisdom and compassion. I know I've found even my tiny exchange worth it. What has he seen? Perhaps he'll tell me about some of it.

I tried to recall where I'd seen that kind of peaceful and centered groundedness before, and then it hit me. A few years before, I had had the good fortune to hear the Dalai Lama lecture at the University. He had been well over 60 when I'd seen him, but he had an open wonder that seemed almost childlike – except that it was incredibly wise, serene, and compassionate, accepting. The only 'jewelry' I'd saved was the prayer beads that he'd blessed for me. His given name, I recalled, meant "Ocean of Wisdom". Was this what I saw here? The one-in-billions soul who could not only feel the light but commune with it, discern its meaning and its direction and desire, and guide people to peace? The product of a lifetime of training and dedication and divine favor, was he a saint, a Bodhisattva? I didn't know. He didn't seem like those wimpy saints who stood in the arenas and let the lions eat them, certainly – he'd be something more muscular, maybe like Saint George, slaying dragons.

I somehow felt, though, that thinking of him in that way would somehow do injustice to the man I saw before me. He was, most important, human, not an icon or a concept but a living, breathing being. I liked the idea that this was someone I very much wanted to know and understand, not a tarnished face on a scapular or a flat image on a movie screen. I looked in my bag for the card I carried with the Eight Verses for Training the Mind. Yep, there was the first one. "By thinking of all sentient beings as even better than the wish-granting gem for accomplishing the highest aim may I always consider them precious." That was it. He was – precious, better than all the wishes, fantasies, and longings I could have. Odd, that it was so easy to see him so. One had to think of all sentient beings as precious for the thing to work. I guess I'd need to practice that more, especially in a Galaxy where there were so many different kinds of sentient beings, perhaps of sentience itself. Attitude adjustment time, I guessed. That is, if it's not another moot point. This could all be wrong. Wouldn't I feel silly then?

So, he's younger. Intriguing. What does that mean? Could his life be different from the story I know? What a thought. His life didn't need to end on a cold reactor floor on Naboo. The Sith didn't need to rise again – hell, Palpatine might not even have become a Sith yet. Or maybe there was a way to trump the rotten bastard. But how could I tell him? Should I tell him? Should I tell anyone? If so, whom should I tell? Yoda? The Council? Oh, Gods, save me from the Jedi Council. I'm having enough trouble with this. But he's most likely going to have to explain me somehow. I don't think I could handle the Spanish Inquisition, though I expect I'm in for it anyway. Am I to become one of those pathetic lifeforms that Qui-Gon adopts? Well, the whole point may be moot. But it may not – and there may be a reason for my presence here. It would be a bit easier if I could understand what the hell it is…

He rose from his meditation and squared his shoulders, looking refreshed and somehow less tentative than he had before. He seemed much more comfortable and settled now, and he smiled as he walked briskly toward me.

"Looks like you're ready to rassle alligators," I said. I got a quizzical look. "Oh, dear. An alligator is a very large carnivorous reptile that lives in large rivers in the place where I'm from. I'll have to watch the slang, I guess. No matter. Are you hungry, Master Jinn? I've some warm tea here, made from a slightly bitter herb that has a mild stimulant quality to it. There are really nasty but nutritious food bars, bananas – these fruit here, which are also nutritious, and assorted rations, also from my place of origin..." I actually blushed. Poor guy, he's going to want to get to the other end of the island if you keep this up. "I'm blathering at you, I'm sorry."

"That's all right. No need to call me Master Jinn, my name is Qui-Gon. I am not your master. After last night, I think we must be friends."

"I certainly hope so," I replied, grinning. "I'm not in the habit of getting in bed with enemies. Call me Lyn. I'm glad you're doing well, I've never seen anything like it."

"Indeed, I didn't expect so much improvement in such a short time, either. I appreciate the help you gave me. Are you quite all right? Headache, fatigue?"

"A bit. You see, something entered the atmosphere over my head in the middle of the night… it was pretty loud. I'm glad I found you. Later, you developed severe hypothermia; that was the only warmth I could give you. No sense in wasting it, and you even seem to respect me in the morning. You scared the hell out of me, I was afraid you would die. I did what was needed, what I had to do."

His ears seemed to color a bit, but it was hard to tell under the hair. "Not many people would have known that, or how to lend me the further help that you so generously gave. You are not trained as a Healer."

"Me? Well, in a way – I'm an Emergency Medical Technician where I came from, but I think you aren't referring to that. To what other help do you refer? I was just thinking good thoughts, mostly. I thought I had imagined the rest of it."

He reached forward and took my chin in a gentle hand. I colored under the scrutiny, so close and thorough as to be painful. I got the sense that it was important, that he needed to know about me as he once more looked into me, seemingly down to the bottom of my soul. I held his eyes, doing my best not to resist the probe I felt that was like nothing I'd ever experienced in my life. I just did my best to open up, since I suspected it would do no good to resist even if I did know how. He had to see me as I was, to trust me, and I him. I knew he wasn't trying to hurt me, but I trembled anyway with the effort at allowing this invasion. And I was worried about him seeing a rip in my shirt… I had a sense of him through the link he forged, and I let him know who I was.

Finally he broke the contact, and took my hand once more as I shook my head to clear it, and looked up at him. "I – apologize, Belinda. You certainly didn't imagine the energy you tried to lend me last night. Have you ever been told before that you were telepathic? Empathic? A Healer?"

"I'm afraid that telepathy and empathy aren't recognized talents where I come from, Qui-Gon. As a matter of fact, if I went to someone and claimed to be telepathic, I'd likely have been put in a mental institution. They would have given me medication to cure my delusion. It makes me wonder if some of those folks might have been telepathic."

"So this is a new phenomenon to you?" he asked. "Fascinating. You've been here for awhile, haven't you?"

"Well, about six or seven of my weeks, two cycles of these moons, roughly. You're in trouble; I haven't had anyone to talk to but Slan for most of that time. He's sweet, but he lacks something in the conversation department, I'm afraid." I grinned. "Well, at least that I can understand." That got another devastating smile. I'd have to watch my heart rate around this man; he had an effect on my metabolism. I poured him some tea. "Do you like your tea sweet? This is sugar – sucrose, specifically."

He nodded, and took the tea and doctored it. "Thank you. You've been most kind."

"Glad I could help. I'm assuming you don't read this alphabet. I have absolutely no idea what these are, since they're labeled in Aurebesh and I don't know that alphabet. I was hoping you might be willing to translate. There are other things here in neither script, but I won't be the first."

He chuckled, took a food bar, and took a bite. His expression smoothed out and I gathered that he didn't like it. He took a few swallows of tea and quickly washed it down.

"Don't worry – Slan loves the food bars, he'll finish it if you don't like it. I warned you. These are much better. You can even heat them in some of the hot water here, if you like... I've never had any such experience before. When we met and even now, when you looked at me, I felt that you knew everything about me, but I had no rational reason to think that you could do any such thing. I'd never heard of anything like it in the real world."

"What is this?" He'd picked up an MRE, and I peered at it.

"Oh, that's ham and eggs. Ham is smoked meat. There are potatoes there, too, a starchy vegetable. Probably better heated up. It has chili peppers in it, it may be a bit spicy." He smiled enigmatically and put the pouch in the boiling water. "Watch it carefully, you only need to heat it up for a few minutes. The other thing MRE stands for is 'Meal Ready to Explode', according to my friends in the military."

He chuckled again. Lord love a man who laughs at your jokes. "I can see it could be a problem. How did you come to be here? Where are you from?"

Ah, those are the thorny questions, aren't they? Well, I can't resist. "Most likely, a long time in the future in a galaxy far, far away."

He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like – fiction. A fairy tale or myth."

"Could be. It gets sticky now, you see. There are – stories, where I'm from, about the Republic, about the Jedi. Even about you. Though I have no way of knowing if these portray the Republic or you fairly or accurately, they color my perception of you. In these stories, the Jedi are protectors, guardians of the Peace, servants of the Republic for a thousand generations. Jedi are powerfully connected to the Force. They are trained as warriors and diplomats and healers, and out of the trillions of beings in the Republic there are only thousands of them. How close am I so far?" I looked into my cup of tea as though I could read it, afraid of the answer. Some Rom you are. Can't even tell the present, much less the future.

"Fairly," he said. He took the retort out of the water, and I handed him the plate and silverware. "You should eat, too," he said, and began to tuck away the food hungrily. No surprise there. I pulled some biscuits and other goodies out for him; he'd likely still be hungry after that.

"I already had something," I replied. "Don't worry, I've a few reserves to spare. I'm a little shaken up, you understand. How I got here isn't straightforward," I continued. "I was on a cruise, traveling on a boat in part of my world known for unusual disappearances and strange phenomena. There was a storm, and the ship sank. I was put in a boat and – everyone else was lost when it rolled under the water. I couldn't help them – I don't know how I managed to survive myself, in the boat, but they were all lost, and the water was very cold. It was madness, and very strange. Something odd happened during the trip. The compass went crazy and I became very dizzy and woke up someplace different, that being here. I didn't believe it immediately, but it was pretty plain when two moons rose two nights later. That's when I had hysterics."

"Your world only has one moon?" He asked.

"Yes. And my culture is not really – spacefaring, I guess you'd call it. We've only gotten as far as our moon, about a quarter million miles away. We've sent probes to explore the rest of our system. Our moon is quite large; my planet is really more like a binary system. The star is a yellow dwarf, if I recall my astronomy correctly. It's nothing out of the ordinary. There are eight planets in the system, an asteroid belt, and a few captured bodies in the periphery of the system. We've never encountered another intelligent species that the general population knows of, though there are plenty of stories about it."

"About the Republic."

"And about other civilizations, too. There's no end of science fiction stories about other civilizations, encountering aliens and either fighting them or befriending them. There are even conspiracy theories that we have met aliens but the government is keeping it a secret. I don't know if I believe them or not. But the Republic was one of the most popular stories, along with a United Federation of Planets, a much younger civilization, a more uneasy alliance. Books, movies, television – all sorts of mass media depict many such civilizations."

He nodded. "And what else do your home's mass media depict?"

"Oh, the usual. The majority of it is stuff like mindless pseudo-entertainment pap filled with sex and violence in living color for the lowest common denominator. Dumbed-down news laced with sex and violence in living color for the lowest common denominator. Idiotic sports and game shows with themes of sex and violence – you get the idea, I'm sure. Like that."

He snorted. "Then it is much like our own," he said. "But most systems in the Republic are holographic."

"Oh, so you not only get your sex and violence in living color, but also at any angle you like? Woo hoo. Exciting. Think I'll stick to books, thanks. I'll have to learn to read your alphabet, though. All in good time, I suppose."

He quirked a half smile which included his eyes. He must have liked the response. "I'd be glad to teach you how to read Aurebesh, if time permits. However, I must go back to my escape pod. Will you accompany me?"

"Of course. I hope there's enough of it left to repair, but I doubt it. What happened, Qui-Gon? While you were having your nightmare you mentioned people dying and not being able to help. It sounded awful."

"It was – terrible," he said quietly. "Roon was a colony where a mineral resource was discovered that is valuable to certain planets in the Republic. The Trade Federation, which owned the mineral rights to the colony, decided that the colonists there had to leave in order for the mineral to be mined – efficiently. The colonists applied to work at the mines, for a better living, and were going to bring the case to the Senate for mediation."

Was. Were. Trade Federation. Connect the dots, Kyle, this doesn't sound good. "Does 'efficiently' translate to 'in a manner incompatible with the life and health of the colonists'?" I asked.

"How perceptive of you," he said, with a grim twitch of his mouth. Well, that explained the avarice remark. He's right, whoever has the gold makes the rules as often as not. And one Jedi might not make that much of a difference when the legalities are on the side of Engulf and Devour, Inc. Well, pass the Absorbine; I need some for my tonsils. After I get my toes out of them, that is.

"And then what?" I asked, following his long, quick strides at a half-trot over the ridge toward the site where his pod had come down. It was round and didn't seem very aerodynamic, but it was in surprisingly good shape. He looked around the pod, beginning to collect things he needed and putting them in a pack. I saw the console that had buckled under some kind of stress and pierced his shoulder as he was pitched forward onto the control panel. There was a fair bit of dried blood on it. He pursed his lips at it, and I saw a sad look cross his face.

"An extremist group who was against the mineral operation bombed the mine and released about a cubic kilometer of highly toxic material into the atmosphere. We had all we could do to get the children into transports before the atmosphere poisoned them irrevocably. We don't even know if many of them will recover. I'm afraid that most of the adults – will not survive." He said it neutrally, but I could feel the horror of the crime from him, and the children's terror as they were loaded. See the sorrow of their parents, the agony of the Jedi who had to choose who would stay and who would go, who would live and who would die, and watching the older, weaker ones sicken and die before their eyes. I had tears, and swallowed hard.

"Oh, my God, Qui-Gon," I said, hoarse. I felt a surge of rage at these fools who would kill a whole planet to further their ends, and my head began to ache. "That is awful. And how is it that you were in this lifepod?"

"I found and boarded the ship that the terrorists had commandeered. Rather than be taken to the colonial governor's office, they had the ship self-destruct, and escaped in the lifepods. I suspect that they had another ship waiting just out of transponder range. I managed to salvage the data from the communications and navigation computers after a short – dispute. My pod's receiver picked up something on this planet and homed in on it. If no one landed here shortly after I did, then they won't be able to follow me immediately."

"Most likely what it picked up is the radio beacon that came with the emergency kit in the life raft. I can't turn the bloody thing off, but I'm thinking a good-sized rock would make short work of it."

"Perhaps. Beacons are often made to withstand great forces, however."

"True. But I doubt any of our alloys could stand up to a blaster bolt or a lightsabre. You're the expert, of course…"

He nodded. "Indeed. We shall see what can be done." He picked up a small console-looking thing and several other small objects that looked like they might be data storage, and put them in a bag that seemed to hold his odds and ends, and even some extra clothing.

"Is there anything else you might need from that pod?" I asked.

"I doubt it," he said.

"Could anyone track you by it?" He raised an eyebrow and flipped out his 'sabre and thumbed on the blade, emerald green and pulsing with a power I couldn't strictly perceive with my usual senses.

Oh, my God, that's a lightsabre! A real one! How cool is that?… I could smell a bit of ozone and feel the hum through my teeth. Oh, wow, that is just so cool… Quick as a flash he cut through a panel on the port side of the pod.

"Not now," he said. "I have a separate beacon for the Jedi Temple, by the way. It transmits on a special frequency. Quick thinking."

I nodded. Now my head was pounding abominably. "Um, thanks. Just being my usual paranoid self. Like I said, I'm not much good in a scrap, so I have to be prepared. I prefer patching wounds to causing them, anyway. Speaking of that, how is the shoulder?"

"It will serve. How are you?" he asked, looking at me with some concern.

"I have a – headache. I've had them fairly often lately. It will pass, they usually do." Suddenly I had an idea. Treat it kindly, Lyn, it's in a strange place... Here goes nothing. Maybe I can put a wind up about the Trade Federation. If it were the same one, this would be just their style... "By the way, Qui-Gon, that was an amazingly convenient explosion, wasn't it?" I asked.

He stopped dead and looked at me carefully. I was beginning to feel a bit dizzy. "Indeed. I think so, too, Belinda."

A word to the wise is usually sufficient, and Qui-Gon was certainly wiser than I. Follow the money from there, and I'm sure the filthy truth will out. Sweet Lord, these bastards make Al-Qaeda look like babes in the woods. How? I don't understand how any being could do this… The sun began to be far too bright, hurting my eyes, and my head began to throb abominably at the thought. I almost ran back to the shade of the trees, and began to shake and was overcome by nausea. Slan ran over to me and climbed up to my shoulder, patting my face and making distressed sounds as I threw up. My nose started to bleed, too.

"This isn't just a headache," Qui-Gon said, catching up with me.

"No," I stammered, trying to speak. "They c-call it m-migraine where I'm f-from. I – I u- usually have s-some w-warning." He took my shoulders as I retched in a dry heave and I could feel him reach out as he tried to find what was wrong, putting a hand on my forehead. That hurt too. "No – no, please – don't – " I couldn't bear the idea of him probing me again like that. I held on to the tree as the ground lurched under me.

"You need to lay down," he said. "Maybe I can help you."

"D-dark… light h-hurts –"

He frogmarched me to the crate double quick, and I almost took a header into the pallet. Slan had a lot to say about that to Qui-Gon, too.

"I know, little one," he said. I wasn't sure whether he meant Slan or me, and I curled up away from the light so it wasn't quite so agonizing. "I'll see what I can do." All I wanted was for the pain to go away, or to go to sleep. Or maybe to die.

"Please," I whispered. "Please – p-please g-go 'way… I'll be – all right – " I shrank from him, I just wanted to be left alone. Qui-Gon knelt next to me and reached out to touch my head gently. Though his hands were warm, they seemed to spread a coolness through my head that stung, but then seemed to ease the pain somewhat. He ran gentle hands through my hair and over my forehead, temples, and cheekbones, gently finding muscle spasms and aches and massaging my head and neck. How can such a big man have such gentle hands? I wondered absently. I guess it's true that it takes a strong man to know how to be gentle.

"This is no ordinary headache, Lyn," he said, drawing my head to his lap. I could hear his voice down to my toes. "Relax. Clear your mind."

"N-not very g-good at that," I said. True enough, I'd never gotten the hang of it at all. I'm a doing person, not a contemplative one. All my efforts at meditation had ended in giggles or a nap.

"Even so," he said. I could hear a bit of a smile in his voice, and then it became even more soothing. "You must still this storm in your thoughts and emotions. This rage is of the Dark Side." I realized then that he wasn't physically speaking at all. It was a warm sensation, harrowingly intimate. He was stroking my hair gently, to soothe me.

How? It's so – those people, they hurt so many others, how could they do that? How could anyone do that? I don't understand – It was easier than trying to speak myself. Then I felt him reach to me, and he gave me comfort, as I had tried to comfort him that morning. I felt safe and warm, like a protected child, and I finally relented and held on.

(I know you don't. We needn't comprehend. We are safe now. I will help you.) And sure enough, he did. He helped me calm my monkey mind, showing me very directly that it didn't matter if I was thinking, but that I had to be the observer, to know that the process occurred. I didn't have to be perfect, just – quiet. I am not good at quiet, that will be a neat trick. I don't do quiet. I expected that it would never be an easy thing for me to do, but now I knew it was possible. I felt like the half-wit cousin from West Virginia next to his calm certainty.

The pain began to recede, and he stayed with me. (You must find your center. You can only help others if you leave your fear and anger behind and not let it control you.)

Yes, Master, I twigged him. He'd taken a downright didactic tone. Aren't I a bit old to be a Padawan?

(Indeed you are,) he replied, and I could feel a mental smile that seemed quite sweet. He seemed a good bit less stiff and formal this way. (But I will do as I must. This is taught to toddlers in the crèche.)

Sorry, we don't teach our children meditation techniques. Doubtless it would be a good idea, but that would be quite a change in childrearing culture.

He chuckled warmly, both verbally and mentally. It was like quicksilver warmth flashing through me, I liked the feeling. (Perhaps you can bring that to your children. For now, we need to find your center. Think of a safe place, one where you feel good…)

He took me through the most basic of centering exercises – one at which I'd failed extravagantly so many times before. At least I didn't giggle. I goofed up a few times now, but finally I got to a place where I could feel more calm. He showed me that the anger caused the pain, because it let in the dark side.

The dark side of what? Of me? Of the Force? I don't really understand that. He helped me begin to learn how to give it up and let it be taken away by what I felt through his mind and perceptions was the Force – and rather than the chaotic maelstrom I had felt the night before, he was anchored and safe in it. He allowed himself to be the window that the light came through for me, to ease my pain. It was an entirely different way to perceive reality – not as things and organisms strictly, but as pieces of one whole; I'd only had the remotest glimmering of it the night before in my desperate attempt to help him. It had actually given him a boost when he'd needed it, and he had known what I was attempting to do as I'd done it. It had, however, been very foolish. It had touched him that I would risk that for him.

I had no idea – but I had to decide. Either trust you or not. I felt I could trust you. Lucky me.

(There's no luck, not really. We are here because it is the Will of the Force.)

I wonder how I rated the divine intervention? Thank you.

(You must rest now. I will watch.) And at a suggestion from him, I fell into a black sleep and all the rest of the pain and fear just went away. I couldn't even make a wise remark about him using the same words I did.

Rats.