Our return to Baker Street was silent after the exchange outside Miss Marston's home. My mind was working furiously, but with no useful results aside from several colorful and highly tempting scenarios about what I would do to Moriarty when I finally got my hands on him. Entertaining, but ineffective. I was in no state of mind to do anything constructive with my current problem. Though it was difficult, I shoved the matter to the back portion of my mind to stew while I sought for something to distract my here-and-now consciousness.

Seated again in my study, 'James Brien' once more in the armchair, it seemed as if we'd never left, that the events of the last hour and a half had been nothing more than a long daydream. Would that it were. Against my will, my eyes strayed to a certain drawer in the dresser by the door to my changing room. In that drawer resided a small box, its contents a vial and a hypodermic needle...

No. Though I was reluctant to admit it to him, I knew Watson was right about my 'seven-percent solution.' Initially I had disbelieved the good doctor's assertions that it was a dangerous and addictive substance I should drop immediately. It seemed, at first, nothing more than a harmless means of pushing my brain into activity. I waved away his warnings, and was confident that, even were it as he said, I certainly would never allow a substance to control me.

However, one cannot make a living as the finest consulting detective in England and consistently deceive oneself. Lately I had (very reluctantly) become aware that I was turning to the seven-percent solution more and more, particularly in times of inactivity or dullness. It loomed large in my mind frequently as an easy solution to solving a problem...except that it wasn't, not really. An illusion of accelerated mental processes, followed by lethargy. And in a disturbingly large number of instances when I had turned to cocaine when I was truly baffled, I had still failed. The few successes I'd had while taking it I honestly felt could not really be attributed to its affects.

I would stop its use. I had to...and the thought of actually doing so seemed an insurmountable climb.

I became aware that Qui-Gon was frowning at me from his position in the armchair. "Something is disturbing you."

"It's nothing," I said quickly, waving a hand to ward off his concern and to banish the dark thoughts consuming my mind. Remembering a question I had been itching to ask since my first meeting with MacEiver. "Why are the Jedi here, really?"

"I believe Taryn–excuse me, MacEiver–told you. Observing, until this planet can be contacted for membership in the Republic."

I lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Even though the borders of your Republic are so very far away? Surely there are other planets closer, both in distance and in development."

The big man shrugged. "True. I don't know the entire setup of our operation here, but from what MacEiver told me, as well as the information I pulled from Haven's files, this planet is of interest to the Galactic Anthropological Society, because of where it is in its development. You must understand, Mr. Holmes, that most of the planets in the Galactic Republic have long since become a unified, single-government, single-culture planet. This planet, in its primitive state, presents a very intriguing variety of cultures and government systems. A GAS survey ship discovered Earth, oh, thirty years ago or so. They wanted to get some people here to study it, but the Senate was reluctant to let their anthropologists take up residence. I'm afraid the GAS scholars tend more towards the...enthusiastic...rather than the subtle. None of the people they wanted to come here were qualified both to study the planet and keep a low profile. But the GAS was determined, and they finally reached a compromise: the Senate would allow them to study Earth, but only through agents trained to disappear into virtually any culture in the galaxy."

"I take it the Jedi were those agents." Briefly, I wondered where on earth Qui-Gon had found the time to speak with MacEiver privately and do research on their operations here.

He nodded. "The galaxy at large's image of us is as you found myself and my apprentice: long robes, tunics, lightsabers. Our uniform, if you will, instantly recognizable by virtually everyone in the Republic. A useful front, but hardly practical for anything but our diplomatic and peace-settlement duties. Pirate hunting, plot breaking, and other such activities require more...subtlety. We are given an extremely good education in a wide variety of subjects and skills. The Force augments and accelerates our ability to learn. We are among the most effective covert operatives in the galaxy."

"I noticed," I said dryly, recalling MacEiver's most convincing masquerade as a Scotsman. "So that is how these Jedi came to be here. Though I would think that one or two would be sufficient."

"There are a great many cultures here," Qui-Gon asserted. "And," he added with a faint smile, "I might suggest that most of the Knights here are here because they needed to...disappear...from the Republic for awhile."

I raised my eyebrows inquiringly.

"We make a great many enemies in our line of work," he explained, "some of them quite implacable. This planet is not registered anywhere in Republic records, either in the government or in the GAS. That was our condition for allowing the Society to appropriate our services."

"I see," I replied, steepling my fingers. Though he was perhaps not aware of it, I had learned far more from Qui-Gon Jinn than he had said, or intended to reveal. These Jedi might, upon first impression, seem reserved, impossible to read. Most people probably continued to find them so. The Jedi might even have believed so themselves.

I, however, saw very well indeed.