What makes a Jedi so noble?

Is it his bravery? His cunningness? An adherence to an age-old code created centuries before he was born?

Or perhaps it is his compassion? His care for those he deems less fortunate—defending them from what he believes is evil with the skill of an average saber-wielder?

Maybe it is his determination? His righteousness in the face of what he has been taught to hate?

"Or maybe—" the masked Inquisitor leaned forward, knowing the blue holographic image would grow larger to those on the other side. "Maybe it is his delusion—his fantasy—that it is only he that stands in the way of the great tides of Evil—and that he alone could stand a chance to—"

"Cut the chatter, Reva. Get to the point." One of the shaky holograms groused.

"To know your prey is to know your success, that is my point." The masked Inquisitor sat back in her seat with a huff. How she hated when her colleagues did not see the bigger picture—especially when she painted it so prettily for them.

"I couldn't care less about your hunting philosophy." A deep voice caused the audio projectors to buzz like the insects that swarmed the ship just outside Reva's window.

"I allow you much leniency." The deep voice continued, despite Reva refusing to make eye contact with it. "But I will only allow it for so long."

Then he leaned towards his scanner, his image cutting off till it was just a large floating pale white head. "I need results, Third Sister."

Reva held her breath. Then she breathed in steadily and out slowly. To show the slightest unsettling hint of fear would cast her down a terrible staircase she had been climbing for the last twelve years.

She finally lifted her grey eyes to the white head that flickered from the hologram projector. She smiled—though no one could see it behind her mask. But she knew they would hear it—they would sense it.

"I will, my wise Grand Inquisitor. But such a prize that I seek cannot be rushed." She tilted her head enough to show familiarity but not so much to show insolence. "I believe we have discussed this before?" She asked as innocently as she could. The other two Inquisitors that flanked the great white head immediately began squirming in their seats, which made Reva smile even more.

"What is she talking about, your excellency?" The one with tentacles finally asked. But the Grand Inquisitor only smirked, and leaned back in his chair, becoming a full body once more.

He stared at Reva for a long while. And Reva stared back—daring not to blink, despite her eyes being covered behind the mask. The other two Inquisitors continued to squirm in their seats, clearly uncomfortable with not knowing what the Grand Inquisitor and the Third Sister were discussing.

"One week." The audio projectors buzzed.

"Sire?" Reva tilted her head again, this time in confusion. The Grand Inquisitor smiled broadly.

"One week, and if you have not located the General, then you will return to me."

"The General!" The tentacled-Inquisitor threw his arms up in exasperation, finally understanding what this was all about. "He is dead! How many times must this be discussed? The Reports say 'fell over the side of the Utapauan Hanger and—"

"I have reason to believe he is still alive." Reva spat at the scanner, regretting immediately how much emotion laced her voice.

"You are a fool! A Youngling still caught in a childish fantasy!" The other Inquisitor shot back, too dumb to be afraid of the emotion displayed in his own voice. Reva quickly noted that he would in all likelihood be replaced within the week.

"One week, Third Sister." The Grand Inquisitor's voice silenced the others. His steady gaze pierced through half the galaxy, and sent a ripple of fear through Reva's heart. "I have let you chase your fantasies amongst the stars for too long, already. I do not need to tell you what should happen, if you return to me—empty-handed."

Reva did not move a muscle. She did not blink, she did not breath. She waited silently for five long seconds, counting the numbers in her head. Then she slowly nodded.

"I understand, Grand Inquisitor." Slowly—careful to not let her fear push her hand faster towards the projector—she reached for the power switch, shutting off the hologram images with a loud "CLICK."

Then she collapsed back in her chair, letting her fear rush over herself like a drowning tide that eventually ebbed into relief. She had one week. One week to close three years of hunting.

She looked up at the controls blinking orange and yellow above her, waiting for her to plug in the next coordinates. Yet she was at a loss. For three years she had been searching for the General, but to no avail. So many thought it was a wild womprat chase.

But you see, she had discovered something that no one else had—and that no one else but the Grand Inquisitor had been shown. Deep within the grassy plains of a forgotten planet that maintained a small export of fruits and whatever vegetables had managed to grow that year, she had discovered a lightsaber of an old Jedi General—a lightsaber that should have been lying at the bottom of an Utapauan crater lake.

"You don't understand I need to find him!"

Such a desperate plea came from an older man. He was human with olive skin and black hair laced with grayish white strands, streaking up the sides of his temples. His eyes were dark black, revealed to be brown when you were in close proximity.

"Keep your voice down, Senator." The human's companion cautioned. He was a large-glassy eyed creature known as a Neimoidian. He looked nervously around the cantina. "I don't know how they do things on Alderaan. But here, we keep our heads low—in order for it to not get blown off!"

"I know—I know, I'm sorry, it's—it's just that this is urgent." The old man apologized, rubbing his large wrinkled hands over his face. The Neimoidian had called him Senator, but he felt like anything but a Senator right now. His hair was frazzled on top of his head instead of combed over smoothly. His clothes made him look weary, him having left his smart professional blue senator's robe—and medallion—behind him on a couch in Alderaan, and in their stead taken on the sandy-colored robes of a common merchant he had met a week ago.

The Neimoidian looked at the old Senator skeptically. He had been uncomfortable meeting the Senator instead of his usual contact—and the frantic demeanor of the human only made him regret his agreeing to such a meeting even more. Already, he could feel the hot beam of a red lightsaber coming down on his neck.

"They said you knew where he was." The Senator started again after he had regained his composure. The Neimoidian looked up from his cup at the old human. He couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lipless mouth.

"Know? Me? Hah!" The Neimoidian let out a laugh that rang through the cantina. It was the Senator's turn to look cautiously around. The thin slits of the Neimodian's eyes suddenly flexed as he slammed his cup down on the table and drew so close to the Senator's face that the old man smelled the faint smell of saltiness emanating off of the creature's skin.

"Only a fool would know where a Jedi is and not tell the nearest Inquisitor—look around this place. We Tattoinians are poor—we go to work every morning, we go home to sleep—every day is the same. If I knew where a Jedi was—I would have turned him in and gotten my one-way ticket off this cloud of dirt before you could bat one of your pretty round eyes."

The Senator was confused.

"Then why did Elian arrange this meeting? He says you knew something." The Senator's voice betrayed his loss of heart. Before he had had hope that this creature would have the answers he needed so desperately. But it looked like yet another dead end.

"I do know something—" the Neimoidian said simply, and instead of continuing with his information, he simply looked at the Senator expectantly and took a sip of his cup. The Senator rummaged through his pocket. Elian had not sent him to a meeting unprepared.

"I see your people's true nature isn't assuaged even in such dire times." The Senator said pushing a small but heavy box over to the green hand that took it eagerly. The Neimoidian smiled a toothless smile.

"Empires rise and fall in a day—my people have come to terms with that long ago." He said, checking the contents of the box before allowing himself a smile and stuffing the box inside his chest. The Neimoidian stood up as if to leave and drank the rest of what was in his cup before plunking it down on the table, once more.

"They say that something is hidden in the wilderness of Dejuri. You should pass through there on your way back to Mos Eisley." The Neimoidian turned to leave, but the old Senator grabbed his arm.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The Senator asked in anger, unfortunately not noticing the blaster taken out of its holster in the opposite corner. The Neimoidian looked disgustedly down at the Senator's hand. Even on such an uncivilized planet, Neimoidians don't like to be touched.

"Un-hand me, Senator." His voice bubbled, like the very top of a simmering pot of water ready to tumble into a boil.

"Not until you give me real information! Not some Tuscan's tale!" The Senator was stubborn. Elian would have pulled him away at this moment, but he was currently outside bartering with a Bantha-Shepherd for a ride back to Mos Eisley on his speeder.

"I said—" The Neimoidian turned slowly towards the Senator, exposing the pocket where he had stuck the tiny box full of credits to the old man. "—un-hand me, you republic-dog!"

I should mention here that the old Senator was generally a calm and good-natured fellow. He often could negotiate for hours with the most obstinate members of the Senate and still not break so much as a sweat. The Senator of Alderaan was greatly prized and sought after as an ally. But under these specific circumstances, he was not so patient.

In a quick grab, he snatched the box from the pocket inside the Neimoidian's shirt, and made a dash for the door. Immediately the wall around him was sprayed with blaster shots—three ricocheting above his head, and one grazing the back of his neck. He dove underneath a peaceful patron's table as more hidden blasters were drawn from their holsters and firing away at the cantina's walls. The Neimoidian was not alone.

Innocent customers erupted into screams, rushing like a herd of shaak towards the door, tripping over each other as they went. The Cantina owner—all too familiar with this kind of behavior—threw up his large arms in protest.

"Take it outside! Take it outside!" He bellowed as the blasters continued to rain sparks down on the table where the Senator had taken refuge. The old man agreed and decided that he would make a mad dash for the door. He waited till the blasters finally stopped, and the sound of footsteps rounding the bar's edge could be heard. Quietly, the Senator crawled out from underneath the table.

"THERE HE IS!" The Neimoidian cried from the other side of the cantina. The Senator lost no time. Straight towards the door he raced, blocking out the sizzling sounds of blaster shots zooming over his head, singing his hair. He ran for his life, scrambling out the door over the last few customers who were too slow to escape sooner.

"I'm terribly sorry!" The Senator apologized after knocking down two passers-by. He was momentarily blinded by the bright tattoinian suns as he was once more thrust into the dry climate of the desert world.

"Senator!" Elian's cheerful voice called from across the dirt street. He was happily looking away from the Bantha-Herder who had just taken his seat on his speeder. "Great timing! He's ready to go!"

"Get on, Elian!" The Senator cried. Elian tilted his head in confusion at his old master. But upon seeing the ruffians who were tumbling out of the cantina in hot pursuit, he looked at the herder and yelled up to him.

"How fast can this thing go?"

The herder looked at him and shrugged his shoulders. Elian rolled his eyes and seated himself directly behind the herder. Then he turned holding out a hand for the Senator.

The herder, instantly realizing what was going on, began to protest as blaster shots rang out, bouncing through the dirt walls of the city, leaving dark soot marks on the white plaster.

"I don't want trouble!" The Herder cried in excellent Galactic Basic. Elian looked at him betrayed.

"You said you didn't know Basic!" Elian cried out.

Before the aruging could continue, the Senator scrambled onto the back seat of the speeder, and yelled into Elian's ear.

"We need to go!"

Elian reluctantly halted his arguing and reached under the Herder's arm, lurching the speeder forward. For the next few moments, the desert world blew past, with hot wind stretching their faces back, and roaring in their ears.

It wasn't till the little outpost town had been left far behind when the speeder finally slowed down in to a more comfortable pace. Elian finally let the Herder take control.

"What did you do? That Neimoidian has never given me trouble." Elian aksed, turning to the Senator.

"We had what an old friend would say were short negotiations. And the Neimoidian didn't seem to like my terms." The Senator smiled, relief spreading across his face at their escape.

"I thought he knew something." Elian cast his head down in shame.

"He only said he heard that there was something hidden in the desert of Dejuri."

"How is that of use to us?"

"He must have been looking for easy credits." The Senator offered as an explanation.

"So what now? I thought you were sure he was here. But all of my sources know of no one with a name like Lars." Elian asked the old Senator after a few moments of riding in silence.

The Senator took a moment to respond. He had been two weeks already on this expedition with only disappointment after disappointment.

"We'll journey to Dejuri. If it's all we have, then—" the Senator's voice trailed off. He didn't really know what to do with so little. But something must be done—he had to try. His daughter's life depended on it.