Danielle had just returned when Obi-Wan arrived. She'd spent the day in the creche (her absolute favorite part of the Temple) playing with the adorable youngsters, and had just returned, dressed, and showered, and was now waiting while Qui-Gon fixed dinner (it was his turn tonight). She was reclining serenely on the couch, reading one of the new datapads (a novel entitled "The Wizard's Jewel" whose plot seemed strangely familiar), when he came in. Qui-Gon was in the kitchen, humming completely without skill as he prepared one of the recipes he had recently learned to create, and so was closer to the door.



Danielle heard the door open and looked up, surprised. It was only when she heard the thump of something hitting the floor and the indrawn gasp of breath that she smiled sweetly, realizing what was happening.



"What in the Force . . . ?" Obi-Wan stammered, audible even two rooms away.



Qui-Gon hurried to the door to greet him. "Padawan! I'm so glad you've finally returned. How was the mission?"



"The mission be damned," Obi-Wan said weakly, obviously overwhelmed at the new decor. "What happened to our apartment?"



Qui-Gon stammered a bit as his padawan goggled at a tank which seemed to be full of . . . fish? "I . . . well . . . we visited the Crystal District . . . we've never used half of the money we're allowed . . . we were supposed to be clothes shopping-you have lots of new clothes, too, by the way . . . somehow we got carried away and went on a redecorating splurge, too . . . I think it started when I was still drugged . . ."



"Wait," Obi-Wan said suspiciously, drawing his gaze away from the fish when one of them, staring back at him, seemed to smile, displaying extremely large teeth. . "Who's 'we'?"



Danielle could hear their footsteps drawing nearer, but didn't look up from the datapad she was reading. The main character was in the middle of a showdown with the evil Lord Darkdeath, and she wanted to make sure he lived.



Qui-Gon said gently, an undeniable hint of mischief in his voice, "I wasn't able to contact you while you were on the mission, so you didn't hear. We have a new addition to our household, my young padawan."



"Oh, Force," Obi-Wan groaned, rounding the corner. "Please tell me you haven't picked up another pathetic . . ." He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the young woman stretched languorously over the sofa, still reading. "Lifeform," he finished at last, shocked.



Danielle looked up at last and pinned him with an intense, dark-eyed gaze. "Hello. You must be Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's told me a lot about you."



Qui-Gon, appearing in the doorway behind his apprentice, rolled his eyes dramatically, and Danielle fought the urge to grin. She kept her expression solemn, however, as Obi-Wan looked disconcerted, obviously wondering what Qui-Gon had told her about him and just why a young woman was in their apartment anyway. "Er . . . nice to meet you as well," he said. "You are . . . ?"



"Danielle," she said, setting aside her datapad and rising gracefully. She walked across the room to him and formally extended a hand, which he shook hesitantly. "I'm afraid the Council made me Qui-Gon's new ward."



"I found her outside the Temple, unconscious and injured in the streets," Qui-Gon informed his padawan. "It turns out the poor girl has amnesia. We took her before the Council, and they decided that since she has some Force sensitivity, she should stay with us until she regains her memory and learn a little of the ways of the Force."



"I'm sorry about the apartment," Danielle said solemnly. "There were just so many beautiful things in the Crystal District, and it was so . . . so emotionless before. I thought it needed a few improvements. So . . ." She waved her arms expansively. "Voila. The New Apartment. I apologize if you-"



"What are you talking about?" he interrupted shamelessly, grinning. "I love it. I've never seen anything like it. The rugs . . . the fish . . . How in the galaxy did you convince my old stick of a Master to do it?"



For a moment Danielle stared into his sea-blue eyes . . . and she suddenly knew why everyone had been hinting and grinning when their meeting was referenced. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had found a brother, a kindred soul, a partner in crime. This young man before her was a missing piece of her soul . . . and damn, what fun they'd have together.



Ignoring the strange stirring of premonition in her mind she suspected might be the Force talent she was accused of having, she suddenly matched him grin for grin. "Well, I shoved him in a fountain whose water had drugs that seep through the skin, then when he was high I made him buy all the stuff he wouldn't have normally."



Obi-Wan doubled over laughing as Qui-Gon retorted, "After you took me to the modern art museum, you sadistic girl!" Danielle gave him her best innocent look as Obi-Wan recovered somewhat, wiping at his eyes. "By the Force, what did we do to deserve her?" he asked his master breathlessly.



As Danielle preened shamelessly, Qui-Gon battled with an emotion he suspected might have been jealousy. "I found her in the street, remember. And she specifically chose me to stay with and be trained by."



"The fact that you were his padawan simply made this choice all the more irresistible," Danielle purred, winking at Obi-Wan.



In response, he took her hand and kissed it gallantly, blue eyes filled to overflowing with mischief. "I am unworthily honored, my lady Danielle."



Danielle inclined her head serenely, a trick of Laura's she now deliberately mimicked. "No, my dear Jedi, I am quite sure you will prove your worth in time."



Qui-Gon, peeved at being left out, interrupted sharply, "Dinner's ready."



Obi-Wan offered Danielle his arm, as though he were escorting her to a ball, and with another wink she accepted it. At the table, he pulled out her chair for her, then, noticing Qui-Gon's glowering expression, whispered in our ear, "If I'm not mistaken, my Master appears to be quite fond of you. I believe my presence is . . . resented."



Danielle whispered back, "I'm just irresistible like that."



Obi-Wan grinned and stood upright. "I've noticed," he said in a normal tone of voice, causing Qui-Gon to glare at them both all the more. "All right, you two," he growled. "Enough of that. Just eat your dinner."



Obi-Wan and Danielle exchanged a glance-and burst into laughter.





Dinner was a study in random, inapropos conversation that would have left an outside observer totally bewildered.



"What is this?" Obi-Wan asked in astonishment when Qui-Gon set his plate before him. He looked at it almost accusingly, as though it were some sort of trick or trap his Master was perpetrating.



"Dinner," Qui-Gon said with smug pride.



"Well, thank you, I noticed that," Obi-Wan returned drily. "I meant, since when do you cook? And gourmet, exotic foods, no less?"



"Since this little flesh-bound tempest," he gestured at Danielle with the ladle, "forced her way into my life."



The flesh-bound tempest responded by throwing a tiny fruit at him, which the Jedi used the Force to keep from hitting him, then looped it directly into his open mouth. "Cheater," she accused.



He grinned at her unrepentantly. "Give me two weeks and you'll know how to do it, too."



"Heaven forbid," she said with feeling, but Qui-Gon merely laughed.



"So what all did we purchase a few days ago?" Obi-Wan asked, amused.



"Well . . . there's the clothing-for all of us-the furniture . . . the art . . . the food . . . the fish . . ."



"Speaking of the fish," Obi-Wan said as casually as he was capable, "how much did you research the kinds you bought?"



Danielle and Qui-Gon exchanged eloquent glances. Danielle's said, 'Did we research at all? I think not,' and Qui-Gon's retorted with, 'Since some of us were high during the time of fish-purchasing, I would think that responsibility would fall to the other members of the shopping party.'



Aloud, Danielle said, "Uh . . . not very much. Why?"



"Because . . . because I think one of them is a Nubian gumba fish."



The other two gave him totally blank looks.



"Well," Obi-Wan huffed, "judging by the alignment of its scales, the protruding jaw, and the exceptionally large incisors-"



"Fish-freak," Qui-Gon muttered, earning him a glare from the younger man.



"As I was saying," Obi-Wan continued with great dignity, "the gumba fish is generally known for . . . well . . . its unnatural abilites."



Danielle choked on her dinner. "Unnatural abilities?" she managed at last. "I thought that was your department."



"It's the gumba fish's as well, obviously," Qui-Gon said, looking unnerved. "But 'unnatural abilities' is a very vague term. Be more specific, please?"



"Well," Obi-Wan really looked like he was fighting not to grin, "they're known to be telekinetic."



Qui-Gon inhaled a small fruit and Danielle dropped her fork. "They're what?"



"You heard me. They can mentally manipulate objects up to fifty feet away, including themselves."



For a moment no one spoke. Then, hardly realizing what she was doing, Danielle dropped her head in her arms and laughed until she sobbed, unable to believe what she was hearing.



Qui-Gon, however, was more practical. "'Including themselves'? Exactly which of our fish is the telekinetic one, anyway?"



Now Obi-Wan could no longer fight his amusement. "The two-foot long one with buggy eyes and, as I believe I mentioned before, really big teeth." He paused a moment for dramatic effect. "Did I mention that they have lungs as well as gills, and can breathe perfectly well out of water?"



If Danielle had not already been laughing as hard as was humanly possible, this would have pushed her to that point. Qui-Gon was not nearly so amused. "Do you mean to tell me that our giant carnivorous fish is fully capable of just levitating itself out of the fish tank and floating wherever it pleases?"



"Pretty much. I'd be nice to it, if I were you."



Danielle recovered some breath. "I don't think we were going to eat all of the meat for dinner, were we, Qui-Gon? Perhaps our giant bug-eyed magical fish would like some, so it doesn't decide to eat us in the middle of the night instead."



"Perhaps it would," he returned, looking shaken.



"Anyway," Obi-Wan said after a moment, looking very pleased with himself for knowing more about their fish purchases than they did. "Weren't you telling me about the rest of what you bought?"



"Oh, yeah," Qui-Gon said, blinking. "I told you about all the stuff we bought, I think; we were given the cooking lessons and the weekly bouquet of flowers . . . I dunno. Is that all, Danielle?"



"We bought some other stuff. The harpsiforte. Music lessons, computer programs, music crystals, speakers . . . uh . . . I think that about gets it all."



"Good lord," Obi-Wan said, astonished. "Did you empty the Temple Treasury, or what?"



Danielle shrugged. "We got really good bargains on everything, and we only got thrown out of two places."



Obi-Wan choked on his food while Qui-Gon glared at Danielle. "Both of those, I might point out, were entirely her fault."



"At least I didn't hand-pick the giant telekinetic fish!" she retorted, and received a Force-pinch by way of reply.



"Do you fence?" Obi-Wan asked suddenly.



Danielle blinked, then grinned at him. "Not yet."



"Good," he returned, also grinning wickedly. "You won't find a better teacher, except for Master Yoda himself. I am the best fencer in this Temple."



"And modest, too," Qui-Gon said drily.



"Why be modest when you're telling the truth?" Danielle asked, and Obi-Wan laughed his agreement.



Qui-Gon shot her a look. "And how would you know what kind of a fencer he is?"



Danielle was about to retort that anyone who could kick Sith Lords' butts and train the One and Only Luke Skywalker certainly deserved a little praise, then realized that probably wasn't a smart idea. Instead, she piped up, "Do you sing?"



Instead of giving a simple yes or no as a normal person would, Obi-Wan burst into song, shocking Qui-Gon nearly to death. His rich tenor carried the unfamiliar words easily, as Danielle well remembered from Moulin Rouge.



"Just wait," she said with an evil grin when he'd finished. "I'll teach you songs that will suit your voice to perfection."



He looked at her in surprise. "Know a lot about singing, do we?"



"Oh, yes. And I think I'll be able to work with your voice pretty well." And it would be priceless to get to hear Your Song et al in the flesh, she added silently. It was the closest she'd come to hearing back-home style music.



"Why does something tell me," Qui-Gon said morosely, "that the two of you are not going to be good for each other?"



"Could be those little midichlorians you have swimming around somewhere inside of you," Obi-Wan suggested.



"Or the psychic fish in the living room," was Danielle's pert observation.



Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. "May the Force have mercy on me."



"Amen," Danielle and Obi-Wan said in unison.





Later that night, when she believed the other two members of the household to be in bed (she'd been given the guest room), Danielle wandered out onto the balcony to contemplate the stars.



She didn't know how long she'd been out there, leaning against the rail and wondering about the sudden madness which was now her life, when she heard the soft sound of the sliding door shutting and knew someone was behind her.



"Enjoying the night air?" Obi-Wan asked softly.



Danielle didn't turn. "Thinking," she replied equally quietly. "There's a lot to think about, let me tell you."



He was silent for so long that she finally turned to see him staring at her intently, almost awed, with those jeweled blue eyes. "Who are you, really?" he whispered.



Danielle simply smiled. "Does it really matter?"



For a moment he stared at her, eyes wide, before breaking into another grin like the dawn. "No. I suppose it doesn't, since you're here with us, now."



"Where I belong," Danielle said, surprising both of them.



"Yes," he agreed, in a wondering voice. "Where you belong. Before you came, we were complete, but . . . you fit too. Somehow. I don't know. I suppose that's why I'm still just a padawan."



Danielle tilted her head slightly to the side. "Sometimes life presents us with mysteries not even the greatest of us can understand," she returned gently.



Obi-Wan walked to her side and put an arm around her, drawing her close to him, and together they pondered the stars. Neither knew that inside the apartment, a Jedi Master watched them both with a worried, wondering heart, while a giant, luminous-eyed fish floated serenely above his head.









Annie had never been so busy in her entire life.



In accepting Essra's offer to stay at the cantina, she hadn't realized just what she was getting into. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the work-well, she didn't exactly enjoy it, but she understood its necessity and didn't resent it-but the sheer magnitude of it overwhelmed her.



Annie had always been the shy one in every crowd, seeming to be meek and unassuming until one got to know her. Then, at last, her true wit and spirit was revealed, for which her friends had grown to love her. Thus, no one was more amazed than herself at the role she came to play in her new little society.



In the mornings, she rose early with Cassandra to attend to the daily business of running a cantina. She swept the floors, opened the windows, helped fix breakfast and other such amenities. After that, she sat down with the band, a motley collection of humans and aliens she was growing ridiculously fond of, and helped them to learn her music. Annie found she had absolutely no qualms about claiming such masterpieces as Yellow Submarine, Radar Love, and We Will Rock You came straight from her own mind. It wasn't as if the true creators were going to come to collect their dues, after all. Besides, it was obvious that these were going to be hits, because people loved them as much in Star Wars as they did on Earth.



In the days, Annie was a rebel. In various disguises, she relayed cryptic messages to select locations in Mos Eisley, and occasionally received messages from other nearby cities. One day, to her amazement, she even agreed to slip into a nearby stormtrooper garrison and plant a bug near the vidscreen. When she successfully escaped, she thought her heart would nearly burst from the tension, but she'd never felt so alive. Apparently she'd been born to be a rebel.



But in the evenings, she was a star.



To be honest, no one, Annie most of all, would ever have suspected she would have a career as a diva some day. If you'd told someone who knew her, they'd have laughed at first; if you persisted in your insane story, they'd then have given you the same look they would have if you'd told them you were a superhero in disguise, or that certain species of fish were telekinetic. Nonetheless, it was true; and, compounding the shock of being forced to sing and dance, Annie soon realized she actually liked it. Then, even 'like' was not a strong enough word: she loved it.



Every day, from eight to midnight, she donned her insane costume, cleared her throat, and sang like no tomorrow. She'd started out only mildly popular at first; the second night, the crowd had doubled to fifty, and she vowed to make them not regret coming. She started out the evening with a rousing rendition of Johnny B. Good which left them all too stunned to applaud. Before they recovered from that, she launched into Bohemian Rhapsody, employing some members of the band to help her with the choral parts. When this was over the small crowd leapt to its feet in order to cheer better, and she knew she had them. She finished off an evening of guaranteed hits with Jailhouse Rock, for which she received flowers and money thrown at her feet. When she tried to curtsey her way off the stage at midnight, they demanded her back again and again, and finally the bouncers had to forcefully escort her more rabid fans from the bar.



The next night, Annie, expecting perhaps a crowd of seventy, was shocked to discover that people started arriving as early as two in order to have seats. By eight o'clock, two hundred people had crammed themselves into the bar. She varied her routine a little by tossing in some show tunes and blues along with her classic rock; Flip, Flop and Fly was a definite crowd pleaser, and they demanded she re-sing Respect again immediately after performing it. Again, at the end of the evening she denied the pleas for just one more song, and promised to be back tomorrow.



And so it went, each night more and more people crowding into the bar until Essra started charging people, then started having to sell tickets in advance. People came from Mos Espa and Mos Islos to see her, which worried Annie until Cassandra assured her that her own mother wouldn't recognize her in her stage getup. Soon, they came from even farther.



Annie was a sensation. While her singing was nothing remarkable, the music which she produced seemingly from her own mind was absolutely phenomenal, and people couldn't seem to get enough of it. It helped that Annie had an amazing memory, able to simply recite song lyrics and melodies for hours on end. When she couldn't, she ad-libbed easily enough, and the band was never the wiser. For her efforts, she received bouquets of flowers, expensive jewelry, proposals of marriage, everything.



It was only a matter of time before Essra knew that Annie's star was rising too fast and too high to be contained in her own small establishment. Only a few weeks after her smashing debut, Essra and Cassandra moved her act to a huge auditorium nearby, and they sold tickets to nightly performances which generally sold out weeks in advance.



Annie felt she lived a dream life. In the day, she fought for good, sabotaging the Imperials at every turn and furthering the rebel cause in any way possible. At night, she faced mobs of cheering fans and awed them with music she had been raised on, the greats of her time. She became so absorbed in her new duties, in surviving from one day to the next, that she almost forgot she was in a different universe and had come to be there by the pendant that still hung, forgotten, around her neck.



But Fate, of course, had not forgotten Annie.





Some nine weeks after her arrival in the Star Wars galaxy, Annie was preparing for her performance that night back stage with Cassandra.



"Who'd have thought," the other singer sighed, "that you'd have such a genius for writing music? It's almost as though it's already written somewhere in your head and you're just speaking out aloud for the rest of our benefits."



Annie merely smiled and waited while Cassandra pulled the slip over her head.



"Cassie," she said softly as the other woman fussed with her hair, "I've been wondering about the message you received yesterday. You know-the one that put you and Essra into a tailspin, and that you still won't talk about?"



Cassandra's hands faltered momentarily, but she recovered. "I don't know what you're talking about."



Annie turned and caught the older woman's hands in her own. "Come on, Cassie. Please tell me."



At last she sighed. "You know that Jabba the Hutt was killed, of course."



Annie nodded. This little cinematic event had happened a few weeks ago, and she'd been put out that she'd missed the fun. They'd all been here, and she'd missed it! The thought was still maddening.



"Well . . . the Imperials have been investigating the incident, wondering what happened. They've found evidence to lead them to believe it was rebels."



"It was," Annie said softly, and was rewarded by a sharp look from Cassandra. Inwardly she cursed her big mouth, but she said nothing else aloud.



"Well. Whoever did do it, they suspect rebels-and locals, no less. They've been doing sweeps of all the major cities nearby, and we're next. They'll be cracking down on absolutely anything suspicious for the next few weeks . . . and that puts us in something of a tight spot."



"How so?"



Cassandra paused a moment, obviously debating not telling her, then finally bowed her head. "Favier was caught," she whispered.



Annie froze. "What?" she whispered back.



"Just yesterday. Found him dropping off a message at one of his usual spots, confiscated and read it, and took him into custody. Now we're all on tenterhooks, not knowing what he'll confess, who he'll unwillingly condemn."



Annie moaned softly. Favier was one of their minor couriers, a reckless Gotal who was so passionately idealistic he occasionally forgot about the harsh realities of life. "May the Force be with us! Cassie, aren't we going to do anything about it?"



"What can we do?" the other woman asked mournfully.



"Absolutely nothing," a voice drawled from in the shadows.



Both women whirled, horrified, only to see an entire squad of stormtroopers, led by a black-garbed lieutenant, standing just inside the doorway, staring at them.



Annie gave a little half-scream and stumbled back, but Cassandra lifted her chin angrily. "What right do you have to be in here? What do you want?"



"We are here, wench, to arrest you and that one," the lieutenant sneered, striding toward them angrily. "You are rebel spies and traitors. We have proof of your indiscretions and we mean to extract more proof from yourselves in our interrogation rooms."



"We are innocent," Cassandra tried again. "We have done nothing wrong!"



"Nothing but plot to bring down the glorious New Order and turn the galaxy over to murderous rabble," he snarled. "I will hear no more excuses. You ladies are coming with us."



Annie shrank back, but Cassandra stood strong. "Never!"



"You leave me no choice but to use force," he said, sounding almost happy. Turning to his troops, he began, "Men-"



He never finished. Halfway through the motion Cassandra drew a blaster from somewhere on her person, leveled it at its chest, and fired, simultaneously diving behind a nearby table.



All hell broke loose in a single instant. The shot caught the lieutenant on the shoulder, taking him down, and the stormtroopers responded by drawing their own weapons and lunging for cover. Annie dove to join Cassandra, terrified witless, and stared at her friend wide-eyed as she gave the stormtroopers shot for shot.



"Annie," Cassandra shouted above the din, "I want you to get out of here. Wait for my signal and run for that door. Don't stop running, do you hear me? Don't stop!"



"But, Cassie," Annie gasped, "I can't leave you-"



"You can and you will. I can take care of myself. Damn you, girl, do as I say! Go!"



For a moment Annie stared at her, horrified, but when Cassandra shouted, "GO!" again, she dove across the room and sprinted out the door. A single shot caught her in passing, scoring painfully across her back, but it was a mere graze, painful but not serious. She made it to the door and tumbled into the night.



True to her instructions, she didn't stop, but instead picked up speed and kept running, fleet as a thought through the night-darkened streets, oblivious to the curious stares of those around her. She could still hear the firefight behind her, so she just kept on running, sobbing from fear and loss, wondering how her dream could have turned so quickly into a nightmare.



Annie didn't stop running for a long time, until she had left the last lights of the city far behind her. Only then did she not hear the gunshots and Cassie's cries in her mind; only then did she think it safe to stop.



Completely exhausted, she tumbled to the ground, moaning in a blend of pain and heartache. Cassie, dear, sweet Cassie had sacrificed herself for Annie, and what had she done? Turned and ran without looking back once. They were probably all dead by now, Cassie and Essra and Jiano and all the others . . . and she was alone and lost in the desert in the middle of the night, with the temperature rapidly plunging toward zero.



Unable to cope with the pain of her knowledge, she curled into a ball and wept.









It stands to reason that, when one is being given a series of tests, each successive test will be considerably more challenging than those previous to it. While in all logic this is the only conclusion that truly makes sense, when one is in a truly tight spot, one tends to throw logic to the wind and naively hope for the best.



Such was the mindset of Krista concerning the ball.



To her extreme joy, since the negotiations were nearing an end, Amidala no longer required them to wear that hideous pink. Instead, their dresses were of white silk with clouds of gossamer veils and beaded with pure crystals like ice (and, to Krista's delight, did not require corsets, those torturous devices). The ball that evening was to be en masque, so while the handmaidens' dresses were the same, each got to select varying accessories, including a mask. Krista was willing to put up with the snowy dresses, the ritual clouds of makeup, and even the arranging and curling of her hair in order to choose from among the fantastical selection.



Amidala, as the Queen, was not allowed to be exorbitant, and besides the over-elaborate-ness of her gown would give her away anyway, so she selected a simple white domino mask to conceal her features. Sabe chose a snowy owl mask constructed of real feathers that gave her sweet features a surprisingly hawk-like appearance. Sache, grinning insanely, wore the head of a unicorn, and the others chose similar things.



Unable to resist, Krista chose a mask that, although purely white and silver, made her think irrepressibly of Mardi Gras. Its ridiculous, almost grotesquely sculpted front was belied by the waterfalls of crystal beads and silver streamers, and ivory feathers sprouted from it at all angles. Krista loved it.



So, robed, masked, and ready for anything, Krista again joined the line of handmaidens and swept to the dining hall.



As soon as they swept inside, she knew this was going to be a memorable night. Every other member of the court and the Gerogonian delegation was masked and costumed as well, ranging from simple dominos like Amidala's to elaborate, entire-body costumes that rendered its wearer perfectly anonymous. When everyone rose to acknowledge the Queen's entrance, there was scattered applause, and they each went to their separate seats.



Dinner, for once, occurred with no mishaps, as Krista was strategically seated far from the prince and had been coached on how to successfully devour the components of this meal. She listened to several speeches, applauded politely at the proper moments, made genial chitchat with her neighbors, and avoided the Gerogonian prince's over-obvious attempts to catch her eye. Often she ran through the gestures Sache had taught her earlier in the day in her mind, which was a surprisingly comforting ritual.



When dinner was over, the true ordeal began: dancing.



At first, Krista was smart enough to keep well out of the way. She smiled, nodded, and bolted for the nearest dark corner, praying she blended in.



It was Rabe who found her first. Quite recovered from her lizardy experience, she was in her element, dancing and flirting and charming everyone as a proper handmaiden ought. Upon spotting Krista in her secluded haven, she made a beeline for her and dragged her back into the public circuit ("What are you doing hiding in the shadows? You mustn't shame the Queen by being so childish! Come out and take your proper position!").



Thusly exposed, it was only a matter of time before the unthinkable occurred: she was asked to dance.



Luckily, her first partner was the friendly herald from the dinner of a few days ago, who had seemed to know her. He made much of bending over and kissing her hand and calling her "My Lady", but as soon as they were on the dance floor he pulled her quite close-and began to whisper wicked anecdotes and jokes into her ear until she was shaking with the effort not to burst into laughter. When he finally released her three dances later, she was in a considerably better mood, and she waved him goodbye quite sadly.



No sooner had she left than she saw the prince heading toward her, so she headed in the opposite direction, bent on escape. She was intercepted, however, by another member of the Gerogonian delegation, a young man perhaps a little younger than she was and perhaps two feet taller. Sensing a diversionary tactic, she danced with him as well, and while he was an exceptionally skilled dancer, he was nowhere near as entertaining as her first had been, so she only stayed with him for a single song. With a gracious smile, she fled to the buffet table, and made much of conversing with Captain Panaka, whom she found standing nearby. When he left, she again saw the prince heading her way, so in desperation she asked the nearest young man to dance and was accepted.



This partner she stayed with for two dances, thanking him over-flatteringly at the end of the second and leaving him with a huge grin on his face. She turned away-and ran smack into the prince.



"At last, we meet again, my sweet lady," the prince said gallantly, dropping to one knee and catching her hand to kiss it gently.



Krista managed not to pull her hand free. "Yeah," she replied, seeking another diversionary method. "We do, don't we? But-but I think-that-Sache wants me. That's right," she said, desperately trying to catch the other woman's eye. "She's giving me this significant look. I really think I should-"



He stood and looked down at her, blue eyes heavy-lidded. "You don't think you could spare me just one dance, before you go rushing off?"



Krista bit back her instinctive 'no' and considered. Maybe if she danced with him just the one time, he'd leave her alone. "All right," she said reluctantly. "One dance."



With a smile that could have lit an auditorium he took her hand and led her to the floor just as the musicians, almost on cue, struck up a new song.



Whatever his other failings, the prince was an exquisite dancer, and he didn't try anything that might have given her cause to slap him. After a while, Krista actually found herself able to stop concentrating so rigidly on the steps and actually enjoying herself.



However, she soon realized that the 'one dance' she'd intended to give him was going to be much longer than she'd anticipated. As soon as the first song ended he begged her for another, and then another, until she realized glumly she'd found herself saddled with a partner for the entire night.



Finally, growing desperate, she remembered something she'd seen in The Scarlet Pimpernel. Stopping slowly, she put a hand to her forehead and blinked rapidly. "Oh, my," she exclaimed breathlessly. "I . . . I think I should sit down for a minute."



The prince helped her off the dance floor, concern inherent in his every gesture. "Are you all right? Are you dizzy?"



"Yes," she said sweetly, trying to steer him toward a row of chairs. "If I could just sit-"



"You need fresh air," he told her firmly, and, much to her ire, rather forcefully directed her toward the balcony that opened into the balmy night air.



Outside, he slid the doors shut behind them and with great care led her to a chair, into which she sank with feigned relief. As he fanned her and remained knelt by her side, she wondered how she might escape him now, cut off from everyone.



After some moments, he said tentatively, "How do you feel?"



She seized the opportunity. "Much better, thanks. In fact, I think-" she started to rise, but was cut off.



Expression earnest, he grabbed her hands. "Since you feel better and we have some privacy-could we talk?"



Krista stifled a groan. The last thing she wanted was to have a little moonlit chat with him, but she couldn't think of a way to worm out of it that wouldn't be either blatantly obvious or totally inappropriate for a prim little handmaiden. "If you wish," she said with ill grace.



Still clasping her hands, he led her to the rail. "Lady Kristae-may I call you that?"



She forced a smile. "You may, my lord prince." (Eirtae had drilled a few manners into her in the past days, including correct courtly titles, without even having to torture her at all.)



"My lady Kristae, surely you are not aware that I have recently begun to harbor certain- feelings-affections-toward yourself."



God help her. "But, my lord prince," she stammered, drawing back, "you have only known me for, for a matter of days. Surely-"



He fell to his knees, still refusing to relinquish her hands despite her determined efforts to free them. "Never has a bolt of love struck me thusly before, with such swiftness and terrible poignancy! I can hide it no longer-I am enamored of you, my dear, sweet Lady Kristae!"



It was like some kind of horrible mockery of a Victorian romance. "But-my lord-"



"Do not pretend that you have not known it! Do not pretend that you have not seen it shining from my eyes, radiating from my every gesture! You have known-and, I will swear, you felt it too-"



"What?" she gasped, outraged; but, before she had a chance to defend herself, he plunged ahead.



"Never, in my entire life, have I felt this way before! You fill me with such radiance-it is though a candle burns within me, and a joy I have never known pervades me merely when I am in your presence!"



"You burn, you pine, you perish, all that," Krista interrupted impatiently. "But still-"



It was as though he hadn't heard her. "Without you, I would wallow in darkness, and all would be grey before my eyes. You are my soul, my ideal, my samite-clad goddess on her shimmering pedestal. If you will not have me, I will have none. Tell me, lady, and tell me true: do you like of me?"



Krista sighed deeply, wondering if there was a way to say it tactfully. Then, deciding there wasn't, she said quite bluntly, "No, my lord prince."



He silenced as suddenly as if he'd been shot.



Krista sighed again, suddenly very weary. "That's what I've been trying to tell you all along. I-I don't even know you."



He brightened suddenly. "But given a chance-if I courted you, wooed you as a lady deserves-"



Krista grimaced. "Probably . . . not even then," she said as kindly as she could.



He bowed his head slowly and released her hands. "You're certain?"



She felt a little sorry for him, now. "I'm certain. And I'm sorry, really I am, but . . ."



"Your heart belongs to another?"



Krista blinked. "Not really, no. I . . . I'm just so busy with handmaiden duties and political escapades, I don't have time for a real relationship. I couldn't give you or anyone the kind of attention you deserve. I'm just not free to get involved with anyone right now." Except Qui-Gon, she added silently. If I ever get to find him.



The prince stood silently and drew away. For some time he looked over the balcony, motionless, until Krista wondered if she should just leave. Before she could, however, he turned and sighed softly.



"Very well, then. If that is the way it must be, that is the way it must be. My heart grieves, but . . . what is a gentleman to do? If I cannot persuade you, I simply must give you up."



Krista said nothing, hoping this soap opera-like scene would be over soon.



"I hope we can at least still be friends."



"Yes, of course," she said, relieved.



He turned and forced a smile. "That will have to suffice, I suppose." He simply looked at her for a moment, then turned to a refreshment tray resting innocuously nearby and plucked a glass of some liquid refreshment or other from it and offered it to her. "Ether?"



Krista was wary of drinking something by this name, but it seemed impolite to refuse. She accepted the goblet but did not drink from it, instead merely toying with it to avoid making eye contact.



Finally, after a very long and awkward moment, the prince raised his head. "I . . . I suppose we should go in now."



Krista nodded quickly. "Yes. We will be missed."



He smiled faintly and bowed, gesturing the way. "After you, my lady."



Krista smiled, downed the goblet in a single brave gulp, hoping it was some form of incredibly strong alcohol, and swept past him with a nod. At the door, however, she had no sooner touched the handle than she stopped, dizzily.



The world was beginning to spin alarmingly around her. As she drew back fearfully, she realized that everything was turning fuzzy gray and her head was throbbing.



"Are you all right?" she heard the prince ask from behind her.



"No," she said, really starting to be afraid. "I feel really dizzy. In fact, I think I should-"



Before she could make it to the chair, she collapsed-but the prince gallantly caught her. She looked up at him, surprised and grateful-and stopped short at the expression on his face.



"You," she breathed, fighting for consciousness. "You-you drugged my drink, didn't you?"



"I imagined that, judging by your previous behavior, you'd be apt to refuse me," he returned, his voice a husky whisper. "And I don't handle rejection very well, I feel I must add."



"You'll never get away with this," she slurred, watching the world spin before her eyes. "The Queen-"



"By the time the Queen notices our absence, we'll be long gone," he assured her with an evil grin.



Krista opened her mouth to scream, but his hand came down over her lips, effectively stopping the cry. In retaliation, she bit him, and was rewarded by a curse and the removal of the offending hand. Triumphant, she tried again to scream . . . and fell into oblivion.