Danielle sat bolt upright, sweat pouring off of her, her hands raggedly clutching her sheets. As she sat, teeth gritted, breath caught in her throat, it took her long moments to realize the horrendous screaming had stopped as soon as she had woken, and only a half-remembered echo rang in her ears.

"Laura?" she whispered faintly, not even sure why she did so; then she shook her head fiercely and tried to take stock of her surroundings. She was in a bed again, in complete darkness, unable to make out any details of her room.

At that precise moment, a light flickered on, and a tall figure entered the room.

Danielle's jaw dropped open, and her mind went reeling. Unconsciously, she reached up and grabbed the pendant that still hung around her neck so tightly she could feel its shape being imprinted into the palm of her hand. Oh, my. So now, to top it all off, she'd gone insane. Her mind, unable to cope with the implications, rocketed off its hinges, jouncing wildly from one unrelated thought to the next.

"So," the man said in his calm, deep voice. "The enigma is awake. And how are you feeling?"

Swallowing back hysteria, Danielle tried to get a grip on herself. "Fine," she said, trying to sound equally composed but instead squeaking the word fearfully. Of course, that was a lie, but it seemed the only logical thing to say under the circumstances. No. Wait. Jedi sense when you lie. Uh . . . "Or maybe not fine," she said hurriedly, then immediately regretted it when his face creased with concern.

"The Healers said you would be yourself again the next time you awoke, and I confess I've been harboring a deep desire to talk to you," he said, smiling gently. At her stricken expression, however, his smile faded. "Is something the matter, little one?"

"I . . ." Danielle put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the little voice in her head. Other than the fact that you're not real? No, nothing, thank you very much. And you? Sadly, it had a decidedly Pythonic ring to it. Great. Mixed fandoms. That was all she needed. But . . . If she had to be stuck in a non-existent world, why couldn't she have gone to Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter? I mean, Star Wars was all well and good, but she seemed to be in the Prequels, and she wasn't terribly fond of them. Especially not the Phantom Menace. And there was no denying the appeal of trekking across the Misty Mountains with some hobbits at her side, or cheering at a Quidditch match and being able to hex whoever she chose . . .

What, Danielle? No. Concentrate!

She tried, rather ineffectually, to get a grip on herself. Conversation. You're having a conversation (or trying to, at least). So. He spoke last. Time to respond. What should I say? May I return to reality now, please? Uh . . . no. Something practical? "Who are you?" she inquired, hoping that it didn't sound as completely apropos of nothing as she was afraid it did.

She could sense his concern, as palpable in the room as the light around her. "My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. I am a Jedi Master here at the Temple. I am the one that found you yesterday, unconscious in the street, and brought you in for the Healers to revive. Apparently, you were merely suffering from shock, exhaustion, and a mild blow to the head. I trust you are fully recovered?"

By way of response, Danielle whimpered. No. Wait. Don't get him worried or pass out or anything like that. He's a Jedi, he'll rummage through your mind–and that would not be good. So, do something. Say something. What? Anything!

She whimpered again, but there was a slightly more manic tinge to it this time around.

His frown deepened, and his midnight-blue eyes were worried. "Is something amiss, my young friend? What is troubling you?"

She forced herself to speak rationally. Okay. Remember. Possibly not a full-blown hallucination or something even scarier, remember that. Cling to that like the lifeline it is. "Is this some kind of joke?"

He looked bewildered, glanced around the immaculate room, then looked worriedly back at Danielle. "No, it is no joke."

Well, it had been worth a try. "Oh. Okay then." She stared at the bed for a minute, her mind blank except for impudent Pythonic voices. "Uh . . . I suppose we're in the Jedi Temple then?"

"That is correct. You are in my and my padawan's quarters, to be precise. You'll get to meet him soon enough. He's away on a mission at the moment, but due to return any day now. I'm sure he'll want to meet you."

Danielle's mind reeled unsteadily, making it hard to concentrate. Think, she commanded herself sternly. First things first: ascertain the time. Is his padawan Obi-Wan, or someone I haven't heard of? Pause. I can't believe I'm dealing with being sucked into a nonexistent world logically.

"Your . . . padawan?"

"Yes. His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi." He looked at Danielle and gave her a mysterious smile that Danielle instinctively cringed away from. "I am training him to be a Jedi Knight after me. The term 'padawan' indicates that he is learning the ways of the Force from me." Then, to Danielle's total and utter shock, he dropped one eyelid in a barely perceptible wink. "He is a young man only a few years older than yourself, I should think, and an excellent padawan. I think you will get on well."

Danielle could only stare at him in horror. The little voice was far more verbose. Uh, that's definitely not looking good, Danielle! I hope I just hallucinated the Jedi Master trying to hook me up with a nonexistent person!

Clearing his throat, he glanced away and said, "I don't suppose you would be willing to tell me how you came to be lying unconscious in the street outside the Temple?"

She looked at him sadly. "I was rather hoping you could tell me."

He was obviously growing as bewildered as she was. "Why would I be able to tell you?"

Screw logic. She was now in the mood for nothing more profound than absolute despair. "I don't know!" she wailed, putting her hands over her face.

The interrogation wasn't over yet. "How did you get to Coruscant?"

"I don't know!" At least she wasn't lying anymore.

He seemed at a loss. "Is . . . is there anyone you might be able to contact who could tell you these things?"

"I don't know! I don't know anything! I . . . I can't remember!" The need to giggle hysterically was getting far too prominent for Danielle's peace of mind. "Can . . . can you please stop asking me questions for a little while?" she asked, aware of how pathetic she sounded but not really caring. Her head hurt too much.

"Of course," he said, all condescending and soothing again. As Danielle watched, he stood (My, he was tall) and walked over to her as she instinctively shrank back. It was like . . . like being confronted by an apparition, only he seemed too real. Like the actor . . . and not. More real. No, wait. More unreal. Close but not an exact match. This one was too gentle, possessed of such a commanding presence, and there was an edge to him that said despite all this, he was not unaccustomed to taking lives. And he smelled nice.

And where the hell did that come from? she asked herself frantically. When Qui-Gon patted her shoulder, she felt horrified for a moment, certain she was going to cry–only to burst into hysterical half-sobs, half-laughs that Qui-Gon was at a loss to analyze.

"There, there," he said awkwardly, patting her again, and thus causing the laughing half of the fit to take precedence for a moment. "The healers said I shouldn't be stressing you so soon after your accident. I'm sorry I caused you such distress. I'll–I'll go now."

And leave her hanging like that? Nuh-uh. "No," Danielle croaked, trying to regain some measure of control. Removing her glasses, she wiped her eyes and used the moment to calm down. "Wait. I–what will happen to me while I'm . . . here?" Here? the Pythonic voice questioned. Where is 'here'? A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . . of course.

He looked at a loss, then said, "As long as you are here, you will be free to stay in the Infirmary–" at her horrified look, he hastily added, "–or stay in the quarters Obi-Wan and I share."

Oh. Joy. Let's get all cozy and intimate with the two stars of the movies, one of which is indirectly responsible for destroying this place and everybody in it, and the other of which is slated to die in a very short amount of time. Talk about a comfy atmosphere. "Is that where we are now?"

"Yes."

"And . . . ?" She let her voice trail off, uncertain what exactly she was asking.

"We will see if you get your memory back," he said reassuringly. (I wouldn't hold your breath, Danielle thought sourly.) "We have excellent healers. Probably, they will be able to help you. Now, I will let you get your rest. Do not tire yourself more; if you need anything, merely call. I will be in the next room."

So no blindly fleeing into the night and all that, she thought in some disappointment. Danielle nodded dizzily. "Th-thank you."

With a last gentle smile, he swept out.

Danielle sat for a moment, clutching the sheets almost frantically, trying to keep her wits about her. Think. Think. Not a joke–too elaborate. Not a hallucination–too calm. A fantasm she was living out while in a coma? Not likely. Maybe she was dead. Oh, yes, that would be just too typical. Instead of Heaven or Hell, she got sent to Star Wars. Right.

No . . . Unbelievable as it was, the most likely explanation actually seemed to be that she actually was, somehow, in Star Wars. The Phantom Menace, to be precise. And, on top of that, it seemed that unless she was imagining things, Qui-Gon had already taken an unusual interest in her.

Then again, Danielle thought sourly, there is an extremely large possibility I'm imagining this entire thing. I'm probably sitting somewhere hugging myself in a padded room, singing Duel of the Fates at the top of my lungs, oblivious to the entire world.

That thought was simply the breaking point for poor Danielle. It was just too much. Unable to fight any longer, she threw herself face down on the bed and succumbed to hysterical laughter.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Annie awoke to very similar conditions–temperature-wise, that was–of those of her last awakening. She sat up–and wished she hadn't.

She felt terrible. She was all woozy and the world spun rather alarmingly. She was also incredibly hot. It was like being in a sauna, except that she was in long jeans and a shirt, her hair tied up in a sloppy bun. And–screaming. Had someone been screaming?

On that very thought, a man walked into the room, and Annie stared at him with the absolute blankness that only complete disorientation can bestow upon a human being. He looked back at her, somewhat uncomfortably, and the silence stretched.

Then, typically, they both spoke at once.

"How are you feeling–"

"Was someone screaming?"

Pause.

He looked nervous now. "Screaming? No . . . no one screamed. Did you . . . hear . . . ?"

Annie blinked rapidly as she looked around. "Yes. I . . . Where am I?"

"Mos Islos."

She looked at him blankly, while inside her mind a frantic dialogue was running. He's looking at me like that should be the answer to all my questions and I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about. While she was still too dazed for real fear, a strangely uncomfortable sensation, like alarm, twitched in her stomach.

"Mos . . . Mos Islos?"

He frowned. "Mos Islos. Of Tatooine. You don't remember where you are?"

Annie stared at him blankly, a profoundly horrified sensation in the pit of her stomach. Now that she had heard of. "Tat . . . Tatooine?"

His frown deepened. "Yes. Tatooine. Why?"

"This is some kind of sick joke, isn't it?"

"Not at all!"

Unable to help herself, Annie reached out and poked him, much to his consternation. "Oh, God," she whispered. "You feel real." She pinched herself. "And I'm not dreaming. I must be hallucinating."

He looked at her in alarm. "Hallucinating? What makes you say that?"

She looked at him in equal alarm. "Because you're not real!"

He looked vaguely offended. "Not real? Of course I'm real, girl! I'm your new Master!"

Annie's jaw dropped and she stared at him stupidly. "New . . . new Master?"

He looked down his considerably long nose at her. "Yes. I have just purchased you from your previous owner for a considerable sum of money. I am Drusis."

Annie felt a horrible sensation welling up inside of her. "But . . . I don't have a Master. I mean . . . not that I was aware of."

Drusis looked at her, horrified. "You mean . . . you mean that Keithror kidnaped you?"

Annie relaxed somewhat. Being kidnaped was very terrible and all, but at least it was a sane, possible thing to happen, and apparently this man was very upset at the notion.

"He must have," she said with conviction. "Because, I assure you, I am a free American citizen, born and raised."

He looked at her blankly. "American . . . citizen?"

Annie stared right back. "Uh, yeah. You know, America, land of free and home of the brave and all that? The USA? The states?" No comprehension. "Uh-oh," she muttered.

"Look . . . where is this America that you speak of? I confess I have never heard of it, but perhaps one of my acquaintances . . ."

"North America," she said. Nothing. "Uh, the Western hemisphere?" Still nothing. At last, frantically, "Earth?"

He looked bewildered and apologetic both. "I . . . I do not know. I don't know how Keithror would have come across you, then, since to my knowledge he has never left the city . . . but perhaps he bought you from someone who has. But why would someone kidnap you? Are you a personage of importance on your planet?" His eyes widened. "Royalty?"

Much as she would have liked to tell him she was the Empress of her magnificent planet and she would shower him with gold if he returned her, she reluctantly decided that, since he probably already thought she was insane, it wouldn't be wise. "Not really," she admitted. "But . . . I don't know. How else could I have gotten here?"

Drusis looked worried. "I must speak with Keithror, ask him where he purchased you. It doesn't do to own unlawfully enslaved persons, even in these dark times. The Empire doesn't hold with such things, especially if you're one of its citizens. Some of them . . ." He licked his lips nervously. "Some of them have cracked down very hard on slavery, especially on this planet; heaven only knows why."

Annie's mind simply seemed to shut down. "The . . . the Empire? This planet?"

"Yes. I told you, we're on Tatooine." He looked at her strangely.

"Look," she said, suddenly fierce, "I don't know who you think you're fooling, but I assure you it's not working on me. I know we're not on Tatooine, and I know there isn't any 'Empire'. Give it up, pal, and tell me what's really going on."

Now it was a staredown. "What do you mean, you know there isn't any Empire?" he asked blankly. "There is. And what is so strange about being on Tatooine?"

At that, Annie did something that she had not done for a long, long time: she simply lost it. "Because it's not real!"

Silence reigned for a few moments.

"Not real?" Drusis said at last, slowly.

"No! NONE OF THIS IS REAL! Everything you're saying is from Star Wars, and believe me, I'm not falling for it! I know there's no Empire, I know there's no Tatooine, and I know that I'm not a slave! This is all just stuff you've taken from a story–movie–whatever, and are trying to pull one over on me! Well, it's not happening, buddy! Now, give it up and take me back where you found me!"

At the heat of her wrath, Drusis had slowly backed away, hands up. When she finished, he said cautiously, "So . . . so you're saying . . . what?"

"Look, I'm from America, wherein resides George Lucas, an insanely rich man who invented a galaxy a long time ago and awfully far away where Jedi and Rebels and evil Empires battled it out because it looked good on the silver screen. I am terribly fond of his movies and all, but not enough so to believe that this isn't just some sick joke!"

Now Drusis was giving her a calculating look. "So you're saying that you think this is some sort of trick? That all this . . ." he waved a hand to encompass the well-appointed room, "is some elaborate setup?"

"Yes," Annie said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

Drusis walked over to the window and flung a curtain aside. "Then how do you explain all of this?"

Annie stalked over, looked out the window–and screamed.

Outside, on the sun-scorched streets, speeders whizzed past, merchants shouted their questionable wares, and aliens ambled easily along. In the distance, a ship slowly rose from the ground and took off, accelerating into the distance until it was lost from sight.

For a moment she stood there, frozen, her heart pounding. Then she clawed at the window until it opened and stuck her head out, making sure it wasn't a trick. A blast of hot air hit her, and she reeled back, dizzy for a lot of reasons.

Drusis closed the window and watched her through narrowed eyes. "So?" he said at last.

Annie sat down on the nearest item–the narrow cot she'd woken on. "Oh, dear God," she whispered. "I–I've been sucked into Star Wars."

"What is this 'Star Wars' of which you speak?"

"The nonexistent–well, I thought it was nonexistent–world that I mentioned all this belonging to." A terrible thought struck her. "I don't know how I got in–how will I ever get out?"

"'Out'? Out of what?"

"Star Wars," she said, looking at him as though he were a complete idiot.

"I . . . see," he said slowly, watching as she shook her head in numb disbelief. He began backing slowly away. "Well, I certainly hope you work on that," he said diplomatically.

"I'll do my best," Annie murmured, feeling a horrible sensation of frustration and helplessness swamp her. No one would believe her. They'd just think she was–

The door slammed shut behind Drusis and locked.

Annie leapt to her feet and looked at it, stunned. "Hey! What are you doing?"

An intercom crackled on. "I see now why Keithror was so keen to get rid of you. The slave trade is suffering enough as it is; we don't need lunatics bogging it down even more."

"Lunatics?" she repeated, horrified.

"I'm afraid you'll have to remain here until I can get someone from the Asylum to head over. I don't know whether or not they'll accept you, but . . . Well. You certainly shouldn't be out in public. Who knows what you'd do to yourself, or someone else?"

Real panic swept over her now. "The–the Asylum? Look, I'm not really insane, I swear. It–it was just a joke, that's all. A joke. Get it? All this, not real? Hahaha!" she said feebly.

"Nice try. Don't worry; some electro-shock treatment and you should be good as new. I'm none too keen on having wasted all that perfectly good coin I paid for you, girl. Now, you just sit tight and wait for a while, and I'll be right back."

"No!" she cried. "No, please–Drusis, I'm not insane! I swear it! Please–"

There was no answer.

Numb with shock, Annie slowly sank back onto the bed and put her head in her hands.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

At least this time it wasn't birdsong.

Krista's lids felt as heavy as though she'd been drugged, and when she tried to open them they fluttered feebly, resisting her. A diffuse light met her eyes, and she was vaguely aware of several forms bending over her. Around her, she could hear the soft undertones of feminine voices.

"–found her out in one of the meadows by the Bibukan Forest, all alone, just sitting in the grass–"

"She fainted as soon as she saw me, I don't know what's wrong–"

"Look!"

All conversation stopped. One of the figures bent over Krista more closely, and said gently, "Can you hear us, dear? Are you awake?"

She nodded dizzily. "I–where am I?"

A worried glance. "Your quarters, of course. I brought you back here as soon as I found you."

She frowned. "My–my quarters?"

A wave of murmuring swept over the others, and her interrogator paused a moment. "You–you don't remember?"

"No!"

"She must have amnesia!" another voice squeaked fearfully.

Krista's eyes focused, and she reached up and rubbed them, sitting up. "I don't have amnesia," she said testily, shaking her head and blinking to clear her vision. "I remember almost everything, just not–" She opened her eyes, and stopped dead.

Gathered around her, in a semicircle, were six young women, five of whom were dressed in long, hooded orange robes, the other the same girl she had seen in the meadow.

"Oh, no," she said distinctly.

The girl that Krista would have bet her life was none other than Natalie Portman put her hands on her hips and furrowed her brow in concern. "Kristae–"

"What?"

The frown deepened. "What what?"

"What did you just call me?"

Now they all looked worried. "Kristae," another one said. "It's your name," yet another supplied worriedly.

Krista felt dizzy. "It–it is?"

"Of course!"

A ridiculously lucid thought swept over her for as panicked as she was feeling. "And– and I'm on Naboo. In the Royal Palace, in–Theed?"

"Yes," the girl-who-looked-an-awful-damn-lot-like-Natalie-Portman replied, sounding relieved. "You do remember!"

"Not really, no," Krista said raggedly. "But–you're Queen Amidala, right? And you guys are Handmaidens?"

"Of course," Amidala replied. "So are you."

Krista felt like she'd just been knifed in the gut. "I'm–I'm–what?" she wheezed.

"You're a Handmaiden. Handmaiden Kristae. You don't remember that?" They all looked horrified.

"Obviously not," she said unsteadily.

One of the handmaidens, a blonde, stepped forward. "Do you remember us?" she asked hopefully.

Krista shook her head. "I was never that obsessed," she murmured.

"I'm Sabe," a girl who also looked a helluva lot like Natalie Portman introduced herself.

"Rabe," the blonde said shyly.

"Eirtae," another chimed in with a sweetly concerned smile.

"Sache," a fourth supplied gently.

"Yare," the last one said calmly.

"And I," Amidala said, "am Padme Naberrie, more commonly known as Queen Amidala, ruler of the Naboo."

A rather bitter thought swept over her. "But–but aren't you guys all like fourteen years old or something?"

"I am," Amidala said shyly, "but the others . . ."

"I'm fifteen," Sache chimed in.

"Seventeen," Yare supplied.

"Fifteen," Sabe said with a grin.

"Eighteen," Eirtae said with a long-suffering sigh.

Suddenly Krista felt decidedly less insulted. Being of small stature herself, she was often mistaken for someone much younger, and it felt strangely good to be among a group of young women who probably had similar difficulties and would understand perfectly.

"So . . ." Amidala said gently, "what else do you remember?"

Krista thought about this for a long, long moment. She could tell them everything . . . but they would probably believe she was either sick or insane. So . . . why not go along with the whole amnesia bit? "Almost nothing," she said sadly, trying to look pathetic.

Soft sounds of pity raced around the room. "Well," Amidala said, looking worried, "we can try to contact a physician who will help you regain your memories–perhaps with treatment–"

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, it dawned on Krista exactly what had happened. Beyond all logic, beyond all belief, here she was, in Star Wars. Not only that, she had a place, friends, support. She–she could do anything, go anywhere. "No," she said dazedly. When they all looked at her in surprise, she gave them what she hoped was a determined, sweet smile. "Let's just see how much of it comes back to me as we go along. Don't waste money on a physician, please. I'm sure it'll come back eventually."

Amidala still looked worried, but then she smiled and said, "Well . . . if you're sure . . ."

"I am," Krista said with resolve.

"Well, that settles it, then," Eirtae said happily, clapping her hands together. "I'm sure you'll want to clean up a bit, get out of those robes?"

Krista, still drunk on ideas of all the places she could go, the people she could meet, barely heard her. "Yes, of course."

"And you'll need to be ready for the banquet tonight."

"Naturally," she said, now wondering if she could find a time warp and travel forward to when Luke was alive, because she would love to meet him.

And that's when it hit her–Qui-Gon.

If Amidala was fourteen . . . this was around the time of the Phantom Menace.

A terrible thought struck her, and she reached out blindly. "Amidala–"

"Yes?"

"Has–has anything–unusual–happened recently? Like–have you met any–Jedi?"

Amidala frowned while the other Handmaidens giggled. "Jedi? I met a few when I was on Coruscant, once, many years ago, but not since then."

"And–the Trade Federation. Have we been having troubles with them?"

A brilliant smile blossomed on her face. "Oh, you are remembering! Yes, we have. They keep trying to overtly raise their taxes." A frown flitted across her face. "I do hope Senator Palpatine can keep them in line in on Coruscant."

Senator Palpatine. Which meant–this was before the Phantom Menace. Which meant–

He's alive. Qui-Gon is somewhere in this galaxy, alive and well and fine . . . in more ways than one . . . and I'm in this galaxy too . . . Oh, thank you God or whatever deity reigns on high! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

"Kristae? Are you listening?"

She returned to the present. "What?"

"I said, weren't you going to go get cleaned up and everything?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I just drifted off for a moment there, trying to . . . remember more. Sorry. Well," she flashed them all an unwontedly brilliant smile, "lead the way, girls!"

With cheerful giggles, they obligingly took her hand and led her off, unaware that the cause of her sudden joy was the knowledge of a certain Jedi Master half a galaxy away. As her newfound flock guided her through the halls, she slowly began planning how she could get herself to Coruscant before the Trade Federation got all antsy and put the events of the Phantom Menace in motion.

Krista gripped the pendant which was, strangely, still around her neck and grinned rather evilly. Hold on, Qui . . . I'm coming . . .