Slipping through the growing throng of people as he walked farther into the city, Darth Sidious was doing what he could to calm himself. This encounter had been unexpected, for sure. The news that Alamys Jorka was alive was both a good and a bad one. The good was, that the Motha virus was not lost yet. The bad, of course, was that Alamys could still tell the Jedi what he knew about the surviving Sith Lord. He needed to find a way to secure the virus and destroy Alamys Jorka. Both, though, was not possible. From Darth Marr's report he knew that the virus only reproduced within living bodies, which was only logical, since it attached itself to midichlorians only. Sidious harbored no illusions that he would succeed in controlling the virus if he were injected with it. Therefore he deemed it pretty useless after all. The risk of infecting more Jedi, as his brief battle with the Jedi Master had shown, was far too high to take. Perhaps he should contract a bounty-hunter or two to get finally rid of Jorka. But no, they had failed once already. Growling softly under his breath the Sith Lord swore to have the head of the bounty-hunter who had claimed the reward set out for Alamys Jorka back on Nar Shadaa.

But he also knew that he could not chase after Jorka all the time. His own plans for the future had to be furthered. Which was why he had come to Malika in the first place. He needed more connections, and especially conncections that would help him with logistics. But he knew that he could not simply approach his chosen victim openly. Things simply were not done that way. But here on Malika enough people knew other people that Sidious could use to gain a first foothold in the Corporate Sector. For there was where he could establish a network that would remain virtually unnoticed until it would be too late. It would cost an immense amount of will-power and threats to control as extensive a network as he was planning to establish, but he was both willing and able. Very able. The only annoyance was Alamys Jorka. Of course, when the Jedi Master had escaped from Zelos II Sidious had assumed that one of the virus' symptoms – paranoia – would prevent Jorka from relaying his tale to the Jedi Council on Coruscant. It seemed to have worked too, or else Sidious would have found himself in quite a precarious situation already four years ago. So what was it that Jorka was planning? Or was he overestimating his persistent adversary?

Perhaps the only reason why Jorka had not yet returned to Coruscant was that the virus was affecting him more than Sidious had witnessed back in the plaza. He needed to look over Darth Marr's report on Inyo Di'vitt's research again, obviously. Perhaps there he would find a clue that would finally reassure him. Perhaps. But in any case he would still send out trustworthy people to take care of the Jedi Master once and for all.

"Disturbing this speech is," Master Yoda sighed as he hobbled alongside Qui-Gon down the hallway leading toward the Council Chamber. He turned his tiny head and squinted up at the much taller human as if to check whether he would approve or disapprove of that statement. But Qui-Gon wisely kept silent, and his features blank.

Two days ago a message had begun circulating over the Holonet and inofficial channels. A message originating from the industrial world of Raxus Prime, and issued by none other than Count Dooku himself. In said speech he had vehemently attacked the Jedi Order as corrupt and complacent, his inflammatory rethoric scorching and full of barely hidden anger and dissatisfaction. If by vanishing four years ago he had sought to distance himself from the order he had served for over seventy years, he certainly had made that step fully. It saddened Qui-Gon somewhat to see his old mentor having become so bitter, but at the same time he felt something stir within his mind, a righteous anger that pulled him toward approving of what Dooku had proclaimed. But his heart refused to listen.

Yoda, bereft of an answer, sighed again, then continued toward the distant chamber. "Reach out he will to many dissatisfied people throughout the galaxy," he explained unnecessarily. "Applaud many will his views, and put pressure on their governments, perhaps."

"Not yet, I think," Qui-Gon whispered.

But Yoda had heard him. "What? Say you did what? Not yet? How come to that conclusion do you?"

"It will spread slowly," the human Jedi Master countered calmly, his blue eyes tranquil. "Most will put him down as a firebrand, and some will get burned. But it takes more to rouse the masses. And Count Dooku would never condone what it would need."

"So certain are you, Qui-Gon Jinn, of your master's convictions. Yet forsee his leaving you did not."

The reminder stung deeply, that was for sure. Lowering his head ever so slightly, Qui-Gon could only agree. "Yes, master. That is true. I did not forsee that."

Yoda frowned at him, then gave a dismissive grunt. "Hmph. Tangled the future is. Unclear and unpredictable. Growing with every day the darkness is. The source of it we do not know."

"Perhaps we should cease trying to understand and act instead," Qui-Gon suggested earnestly.

"Act how, you advise?"

"I am not sure – "

"Then silent you will be," the ancient alien admonished him in a sharper tone than Qui-Gon had ever heard him use toward him before. "Concentrate you will on another task."

"Another task, Master Yoda?"

The Jedi Master gave a low huff. "Refused long enough you have to take on another student, Qui-Gon Jinn. Perhaps choose you should another, and learn anew, what mean it does to serve this order." With a last, meaningful glare up at the human Yoda made for the Council Chamber again, and Qui-Gonk knew that he had been dismissed.

A student! Hah! Whirling around he started back down the way they had come, strangely agitated. He remembered his chance encounter with Blithe Arkad on Obroa-skai, and what the historian had told him. That he should follow his heart. It took great courage to follow that directive, Qui-Gon had found, especially if one's actions were frowned upon so. The Council certainly did not approve of most of the goals he set for himself. They thought them petty, unnecessary, but by condemning his deeds they were only proving their being blind to a reality that lay beyond the centers of power like Coruscant or the Jedi Temple. Take Yoda's advice of his taking another student and learning anew. It was a hidden reminder that he, Qui-Gon, was straying from what the Council deemed the right way for the Jedi. And if the ancient Jedi had achieved anything by that comment it had been to rouse Qui-Gon's defiance once more.

A student, was it? He would find himself a student all right. One who was not obsessed with ambition and righteousness as both Dooku and Alamys Jorka had been. Someone who was humble and insightful. And Qui-Gon already had an idea where to find such one. Any initiate who was doubtful about his or her dedication to the Jedi Order was made to choose, whether to take the last step and become a Padawan learner, or to devote his or her talents to something less dangerous than serving as the galaxy's guardian. Doubt, most would say, was testimony to a lack of dedication, but to Qui-Gon it meant that whoever doubted his or her committment to the Jedi Order was a very thoughtful person, who questioned the rigid system and rules and tried to find a greater understanding of what the Force was and whether serving as a Jedi Knight would also serve the Force. Of course, some of those who refused certainly were too afraid, or too complacent, but Qui-Gon still thought that it was worth a try to search for an apprentice among the doubtful. After all, was he himself not doubting his committment? It would only be fitting to have an apprentice who shared his views.

He was too late. Dooku had left Raxus Prime already. Standing tall at one of the viewports of the major port's visitor tower, Alamys Jorka felt a searing anger as he thought of the prey that had escaped his clutches. When he had heard Dooku's speech he had not wanted to believe it yet. But then he had read it again and again, and had understood that this was exactly what he had expected to become of Dooku, deep inside his heart.

Ever since his close encounter with Darth Sidious on Malika, two weeks ago, Alamys' mind had been on the upswing, clear and alert. He had used that fortunate turn of events to lay out a new plan of bringing Sidious down. And he was using his formidable skills as tactician to do just that. Which was why he had traveled to Raxus Prime. If he were Sidious he would remain in the background and use someone else to draw attention, to cause a diversion. And Dooku certainly fit the bill. Though Alamys had no idea what exactly Sidious was after, the events on Raxus Prime were too tempting a chance for anyone to let go. Anyone who was planning something big, something pivotal. And Darth Sidious was certainly ambitious and cunning enough to seize that chance.

So Alamys had to find out what Dooku was planning, and, of course, what Darth Sidious was planning. The problem was, that he had no idea where either man was right now. But luckily for him Raxus Prime was almost as fertile a breeding ground for informants and dealers as Nar Shadaa. Yet Alamys did not want to draw attention himself. He had no doubt that Sidious would be looking for him again, and so he needed an information source outside of the usual lanes. Someone no one ever noticed or even considered as relevant. Scavengers.

He had heard that a Jawa clan was runnning salvage operations on Raxus Prime, and by a rule Jawas were nosy and talkative, if one paid enough or offered a favorable trade. Unfortunately Alamys had neither credits nor anything else to offer to bargain. But he had the Force. Smiling slowly, Alamys left his perch and wandered through the extensive networks of tunnels and containers that housed the population of the industrial planet. Breathing outside these sanctuaries was deadly for most species. But Jawas were tough, he had heard, and they did not shy away from sacrifice to gain a bargain for their clan. Now, what could he offer them to be allowed to speak to one of their lead traders?

Two weeks later Alamys found himself on Tatooine. A rented speeder had brought him to a sand-colored fortress situated in a wasteland, but then, all of Tatooine could be counted as wasteland. Grimacing wrily, the Jedi Master gave up on trying to escape the biting sand that kept crawling underneath his clothes. But the directions he had been given in Mos Eisley had led him here, and the Jawas of Raxus Prime had sent him to Tatooine in the first place. To the Bo'marr monks. These monks were a secretive sect, which believed in improving one's own mind until a state of total oneness with knowledge had been achieved. Once they had obtained that level of wisdom the monks let their brains be dissected from the rest of their bodies and put into strange, spiderlike devices that kept the brain alive for decades, perhaps centuries. At least that was what the Jawas had told him. And the Jawas traded with the Bo'marr monks for spare parts and wisdom. A curious arrangement, Alamys found.

But he wanted something different from the sect. Having reasoned that it took quite some training to be able to achieve whatever state these monks sought, the Jedi Master had concluded that he could learn something vital from the Bo'marr monks. How to separare mind from body, reason from emotion. He knew that he would never get rid of the virus coursing through his blood-stream without his Force-sensitivity being burned out of his body, and that he could never accept. So he had wracked his poor brain for another solution. What if it were possible to seal off his destructive emotions within himself, and live on the surface of his awareness, to achieve a state where his mind simply could not be affected by the darkness slumbering within his heart. Such control would protect him from going insane eventually, and it would protect his body from deteriorating further, if he was forced to use his power after all. Perhaps he could halt the virus' destructive progress entirely. This was what he had come to Tatooine to learn, to achieve at last. And then he could devote all of his strength and attention on chasing down Sidious.

Feeling refreshed and strengthened by that prospect, Alamys approached the fortress looming ahead, and knocked on the giant, well.armored door. A flap opened in the door above his head and a robot-eye scrutinized his features critically.

[What do you want?] it asked in Huttese.

"Entry," Alamys replied calmly. "Open up."

[Are you a guest?]

"Not exactly." Paying no real attention to the robot-eye, Alamys peered at the portal to find a smaller gate that would allow him to enter without having to consult this thing and ask to be let inside. But, to his mild surprise, the giant door began to rise slowly, in screeching protest against the sand clogging the hydraulics working the door.

Curious, Alamys stepped into the gloom beyond. It was a particularly harsh contrast to the glare of Tatooine's twin suns outside, but Alamys did not need to see to feel a few primitive minds approach him. Guards, he assumed. A moment later five Gammorreans came into view. Though he did not speak their language he understood that they unmistakably were telling him to follow. Shrugging, the Jedi Master did as told. He fairly knew what was expecting, or rather who, but he also felt confident that he could handle whatever would be coming his way.

The fortress had been taken over only recently by a Hutt named Jabba, and was refuge for a number of contracted bounty-hunters and mercenaries. In short, if Sidious had known that Alamys was headed here of all places he would have been rubbing his hands in glee. For a wanted man there was nowhere more dangerous, certainly. But Alamys was not any man. The Gammorreans escorted him down a flight of steps and into a low-ceilinged den of a chamber, which was filled with people of various species and sexes as well as smoke and a quite penetrant odor. Alamys reasoned correctly that it was issued by the obese alien lounging on a raised dais at the far end of the chamber. Jabba the Hutt, unmistakably.

"I do not want to cause you trouble," Alamys began without preamble as he stepped in front of Jabba, "but know that I am perfectly willing to trouble you greatly, should you dare bother me."

Belly shaking in great waves, Jabba started to laugh in slow, deep bellows. [How impertinent. This tiny human challenges the mighty Jabba?]

"No challenge. Just a friendly warning. I have no business here with you."

[But perhaps we do have business with you, Jedi.]

Alamys' face fell in mock disappointment. "Oh," he said. "You know already."

Though he could sense that the tension within the chamber was rising steadily he found it quite reassuring that none of the assembled bounty-hunters had moved so far. Obviously Jabba was keeping a strict court here. They would not act without Jabba's explicit permission. So he needed to persuade the Hutt to leave him be and continue into the lower sections of the fortress to find the Bo'marr monks. Extending his mind, he sought Jabba's presence, seeking to seize part of the giant alien's subconsciousness and twist it to his will. Strictly speaking it was against the Jedi Code to use such a technique, but in this case the line would be blurred only slightly. Besides, it was vital that Alamys did not start a fight here.

Voice dropping to an almost whisper, the Jedi Master spoke in a tone laced with power. "You will tell your cronies to leave me alone. And you will not bother me further."

For a moment there was silence, then Jabba broke into hearty laughter again. [Do not overstimate your chances, Jedi], he boomed.

But he did not get any further. Seizing one of the Gammorreans standing behind him, Alamys flung the pig-like creature against the dais' front, and his eyes were burning with anger. "You will not bother me further," he declared, louder this time, and with much more force behind that order. He saw Jabba flinch ever so slighty, apparently he had realized that this was no ordinary Jedi. And a few of the people mingling in the chamber also seemed to have been affected by the blast of power that Alamys had used to push his request through. And yet, the Hutt himself seemed unaffected. But he had understood the gist well enough, and reacted instantly. Jabba's child-like hand dropped down heavily on a large button set into the dais next to him, and then the floor underneath Alamys's feet dropped away, plunging him into the unknown below.

It was not a deep fall, and he landed in a crouch, his face fixed in concentration as he waited for the inevitable snap of bones following the impact. It did not come. He had been lucky this time. Breathing a sigh of relief Alamys straightened into the large cave underneath the throne room and looked around. He could pick up strange sounds growing louder, and from the shadows small, glowing red eyes were watching him cautiously. It sounded for all the world like a pack of rodents down here, but Alamys did not assume that these were your average rodents. Glancing up, he found Jabba and his courtiers watching him through the thick iron-wrought gate that served as trap-door simultaneously.

"What is this supposed to be?" Alamys shouted, but started, when something brushed the back of his thighs. Whirling around, the Jedi Master found himself facing the largest rat he had ever seen. The animal was about two meters long, including the tail, and came up to the human's knees. Its yellowish teeth looked particularly ugly in combination with its intelligent and decidedly malicious gaze. "A rat-trap," he breathed, feeling amused. "How original. And so fitting for this court," he added in a loud voice, meant to reach the audience above. Now, what to do? Taking a step back he studied the rat's reaction closely. It did not follow, but its wiry whiskers began trembling faster.

The Jedi Master checked on the rest of the pack and found them hanging back, leaving first contact to their leader. Alamys smiled. "I hate rats!" he announced, smiling. There was a row of nasty laughter from above. "My oh my," he continued under his breath. "What am I going to do?" Retreating further, Alamys carefully extended his senses to be able to pinpoint the position of the other rats. There were seventeen in total, and though certainly hungry, they were also cautious. Suddenly one of the animals gathered at his back darted forward and snapped at him. Immediately the larger one confronting Alamys charged at the younger rat and bit hard into its shoulder. The terrified squeak uttered by the youngster drew raucuous laughter from the audience, but Alamys knew that it was him that they wanted to see bleed and scream.

"Rats," Alamys muttered, eyes narrowing as he gazed at the wounded pack-member. Assuming that these creatures originated from Tatooine they should be used to eating their own kind if game became too scarce on this desert world. Usually rats were social creatures, but the fact that they had chosen a leader, or had been forced to follow, plus the punishment of an all too curious youngster, seemed to signify a certain hierarchy. Extending his mind again, Alamys pinched the young one's back and watched it yelp in indignation and surprise, snapping at an unseen attacker. Continuing this assault, the Jedi Master noticed that the rest of the pack became more and more interested in what the youngster was doing. Then, gently projecting an image into the animal's mind, he prompted the tormented rat to launch itself at him with a vengeful squeal. The reaction was prompt, and as the pack converged on the unfortunate youngster, Alamys retreated.

There was a gate set into the wall, with the control pad just out of reach. But not out of reach for him. Though he knew he should not be using the Force so much, he saw no other way to get out of this time-stealing trap. From behind him the rat pack was working up to a frenzy and they were fighting with each other loudly. From the audience chamber above jeering voices made the crowd's disappointment public, and Jabba's booming voice protested this course of events. Not that Alamys cared. Opening the gate he wandered out of the cave and into a labyrinth of hallways that had been hewed into the stone quite some time ago. The clatter of boots alarmed him to the fact that guards were headed his way. The first one to round the narrow corner was unceremoniously thrown into the melee of rats and the second found a Jedi Master latching onto his power-spike. With a long-practised twist Alamys wrestled the weapon from the Weequay's grasp and clobbered the alien over the head with it. Then, turning around, he fled deeper into the labyrinth.

"Good news, Councillor?" Shya Kee asked lightly as her master entered his sprawling office, but she never raised her eyes from the screen of her datapad.

For a moment Darth Sidious stood in the doorway, just looking at her. Then, a smile flashing across his face, he walked over to join her. "Yes, good news indeed. That Bothan merchant has finally agreed to ascend to the higher price for the marble. It will boost the national income somewhat, but not by much. I believe I'll have to think of another way to get us a positive trade deficit."

Shya looked up from her work, purple eyes beaming merrily. "I may have something for you."

"And what would that be?"

"The Trade Federation is calling an investors' convention on Almania."


"Almania!" he exclaimed, then frowned. "That's too far away for me to attend personally." But it was his best chance so far to contact the Trade Federation directly. Back on Malika he had first extended searching tendrils that had turned up some interesting prospective allies for his future plans, but the Trade Federation in particular had proven to be extremely elusive.

"You should not let that chance pass," Shya told him softly.

"I won't, but I still cannot see to this in person. The King will require my input into the future of our trade investments, and there is also that other project I need to see to."

His secretary nodded in understanding. She was a loyal agent, who knew exactly what her master was, and what goals he had. Though Sidious was careful not to reveal too much of his plans to even her, she eased the burden of coordinating his different projects immensely, apart from managing day to day office work for the councillor.

"And still no news on that Jedi Master?" she added quietly.

"No," Sidious snorted. Two years had passed since that close encounter on Malika, and Alamys Jorka simply had vanished from the face of this galaxy. Oh, he was around, no doubt about that, but where? Still, that Jedi Master Shya was not referring to. "But I have a feeling that you might meet him on Almania," he continued.

Shya's head came up abruptly. "Master, you are sending me?"

"Why not? You are my personal assistant, know what is required, and everyone will understand that I cannot attend personally." Dropping into one of the finely carved chairs dotted throughout the office he nodded as if to reassure himself. "Yes, I believe that is a possible move. And Count Dooku will also recognize a good bargain when it does present itself. The Trade Federation is such a bargain."

He had been quite impressed with the speech delivered by the former Jedi Master and cunning business man, not only because it echoed his own sentiments concerning the Jedi, but also because Dooku was proud and confident enough to challenge the Republic directly. So far no one was taking him seriously, but Sidious had been keeping and eye on the count's activities, and he could safely claim that Dooku was not giving up yet. But he needed allies to achieve his goal, and such allies could be found only in the fringe or the Corporate Sector.

It was their likemindedness that had prompted Sidious to monitor Dooku in the first place, and over the past the Sith Lord had found that the former Jedi was actually a much more enigmatic and engaging speaker than he himself would ever be. The perfect figure-head for his own operations. If only he could make contact and convince Dooku to join his cause! And Sidious had much to offer a man who was seeking to change the galaxy. Shya would travel to Almania and meet with both the Trade Federation representatives and Count Dooku, if he really did attend the meeting. But she would only make first contact. Everything else unfortunately would have to wait, until a few other things had fallen into place. Meanwhile he, Sidious, would work on his Naboo Project, Almanda Dar, aspiring hopeful to become Theed's next administrator and perhaps even queen one day. She was the one who would unlock a few doors for him, and be glad to do it.

It had always been clear to Sidious that he needed to hide his own ambitions behind a mask of humility and helpful naivité. He had to arrange it so that none of his competitors thought him a real threat but at the same time machinate himself into ever greater positions of power. So far he had managed to enter into the inner circle of advisors for the reigning King of Naboo, but he wanted more. Not to become king himself, Force beware! That was not an ambition of his. No, what he wanted was to become elected representative of the Naboo in the Galactic Senate on Coruscant. Coruscant, the center of power and corruption. It was an old rule in warfare to further the enemy's corruption to bring him down, and he would certainly work on extending corruption within the Republic's power structures. But to be able to do that he needed to have valuable favors to offer. Since trade was the primary source of wealth and power it was trade that he needed to infiltrate, beginning with the Trade Federation. So complex, that plan, and yet simple enough to succeed.

Alamys Jorka had had a hard time learning. But he was focused and he was determined. He had wanted to learn, and so he had. It had been hard enough for him to accept that none of the original monks had survived, and that neither of the spider-like robots that carried around the dissected brains of long gone monks had even acknowledged him at first. The problem with having reached a state of absolute being, of having totally forgone physical needs for achieving an absolutely pure oneness with knowledge, was that one was rather disinclined to leave that state again. But who else was there to teach Alamys Jorka?

Luckily, the Jedi Master was an extremely patient man. He had been polite and inventive in acquiring knowledge from the self-possessed monk-brains, and over two years he had snatched up bits and pieces, goaded them from those dissected brains with enticements and – sometimes fake – curiosity. As long as he was learning, he could be patient. As long as they continued to give bits of their knowledge he could remain calm. Perhaps, he mused one evening as he sat on the roof of Jabba's fortress citadel, watching the stars, they had realized that if they denied him answers to his questions he would do more than just break the legs of the spider-robots that carried them all around the compound. He would do much more, something much more unpleasant and intimate. That cold thought, reflected underneath the cold stars of Tatooine, came to him at the end of his studies.

And it told him a lot of what he had become.

For too long he had fought to remain fair, to follow the Jedi Code, but gradually he had come to understand that it was an individual choice what rules to follow. As a Jedi Master he knew enough of morals and ethics to realize what was evil, and what right. Right from his own point of view, Justifiable by himself alone. Alone. It was a great burden, he had to admit to himself that starlit night on Tatooine, but it still needed to be carried. He had made his choice, and he knew that he had only one goal: to bring down the Sith once and for all. He would bribe, he would kill, he would do anything he could short of starting a wholesale war to prevent Sidious from executing whatever plan he might harbour. And that was the very first step. To find out what exactly the Sith Lord was planning.

That night Alamys Jorka walked purposefully down into the Hutt's almost deserted throne room, where only a very few courtiers had remained, talking in low voices, while their host had already retired for the night. Heads were raised at the Jedi Master's entry, and all of the people present in that room reconized him. Over those past two years Alamys had made a name for himself, or rather, a reputation. They knew him. And they knew enough not to try and cross him. Thumbs hooked behind his belt, Alamys stood gazing at the four people sitting or standing in the darkness of the deserted throne room, not even noticing their slightly nervous glances. All he was thinking of was how he could make the most of those present here tonight. Walking slowly, he stepped into the room, his worn boots echoing faintly throughout the gloomy silence. Four pairs of eyes were watching him.

Then he said: "I need a ride."

There was no answer. He did not notice.

"Not far away," he continued, "just somewhere I can catch a ride to the more populated worlds."

Still no answer. He did not expect one. But his path was cutting straight toward the Bothan who had been hiding in the shadows at the far end of the throne room.

"In fact," Alamys Jorka said, "I believe I will accompany you when you leave for Ylesia tomorrow."

The Bothan stood staring at him, his chocolate-colored fur rippling anxiously, his face fixed into a grimace of fear and aggression. The Jedi Master hardly noticed. His blue eyes, so very cold, showed no emotion at all. No feelings. Those were all bottled up very tightly, behind shields that could only be broken by himself. That he had learned here. If no more. But it was enough for him. He even tried a smile to convince the Bothan, who in truth did not need convincing at all. No one did, not after one good look at those icy eyes.

And so Alamys Jorka next found himself departing a Bothan's ship to set foot on the planet Ylesia for the very first and last time in his life.

The first time she had seen him she had been awestruck. Despite his tattered appearance, the unkempt beard and unruly hair that hung down to his shoulders, he had the bearing of a prince, the confidence of a pirate, and he captured her soft heart as easily as any of the beggars she sometimes conversed with, and more often even donated her own savings to. Shmi Skywalker could not deny it. She was in love with him, for some reason she could not quite grasp herself. But the moment their eyes met, his thoughtfuly blue eyes, seeming slightly distracted, so earnest set into that serious face, she knew that the gods themselves had destined them to be together.

And so she took him home with her, sneaking into her master's house like a thief, but she felt no guilt at all. Only a strange excitement. He was shy at first, perhaps a bit overwhelmed by her offer, but then a grateful look spread across his face and he accepted her invitation wordlessly, a smile on his face that was suffused with hope and a longing that made her heart tighten in empathy.

Two hours later, watching him, she smiled with sudden fondness. He was nodding off, his features relaxing, softening his face somewhat. He was, Shmi found, a quite handsome man, except for the disfiguring scar slashed down the left side of his face. In the comforting warmth of the bath-house his eyes lost their sharp edge as he gradually fell asleep right there in the bathtub. With a splash his head hit the water surface and he jerked awake, the surprise on his face making Shmi laugh girlishly. She never noticed the dangerous flash crossing his face then, she only saw his sweet, embarrassed smile

"I must have dozed off," he said, his voice slurred with fatigue.

Shmi grinned at him. "I noticed."

"Yes." He sat up, looking straight at her, and his expression melted something inside her. Blushing, she averted her eyes. But he continued unpertubed: "Thank you. This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in – oh – I can't even remember." His hand, dripping wet, squeezed her arm gently. "Thank you," he breathed.

Shmi drew away as politely as she could and rose from her crouch. "You can stay overnight in my quarters." When she saw the doubt in his eyes she hurried to add: "If you don't mind."

Again he hesitated. "I – I don't think I mind. Could you hand me a towel, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course," Shmi replied and handed him the soft cloth. She resumed her place on the single bench of the wash-house, watching him dry off unashamed. His body, she found, was fairly covered with scars, and she winced every time she found a new one. "My stars, you've been hurt so much," she breathed.

His head came up and his blue eyes seemed troubled. "It is nothing," he told her, but she was unconvinced. How could such suffering be dismissed as nothing? He must have noticed her expression, since she found him kneeling in front of her next, his face earnest. "Your generosity is more than I deserve, Shmi Skywalker." He shrugged helplessly. "And yet I find that it is all I have hoped for for the last two years." He smiled, a beautiful smile to her, a very cold one to anyone else who might have been watching. A calculated smile. But Shmi did not see that.

"Is Tatooine all that bad?" she asked shyly. He had said he had come from Tatooine, and he looked the part too, with his skin a dark tanned brown. She did not see the hollowness in his cheeks, though. Perhaps, love really did make one blind. And perhaps something else was preventing her from thinking clearly that night.

"Not so bad," he whispered, and smiled again. "But I like it better here."

She blushed at that, feeling curiously foolish for acting that way, at her age, but he made her feel ten years younger somehow. Despite her sudden reservations she ran her hand along his jaw, clean-shaven now. Without the beard his features were noble, calm, and even more beauiful. What she failed to see was the grim set of his jaw, the determination lurking in the back of his eyes. But she could see nothing dangerous in him, only something to worship, someone to love. Bending forward, she put her lips close to his ear and whispered another invitation, much more intimate than some food and shelter for the night. And somehow she found it not in the least surspising that he accepted without any hesitation at all.

TBC