Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. That right belongs to George Lucas. It should be noted that some things are borrowed from Greg Bear and Jude Watson, both who write EU (Extended Universe) Star Wars books.

Writer's Block: Everything You Wanted by obaona. It's a Star Wars fic and rated T. I liked this a lot. It's first POV with Obi-Wan, but it's as if he's directly speaking to Anakin throughout the story—so there are a lot of 'you's also. Some people may not like that style, but for this story it really fits. It adds this extra emotion layer to it, as if Obi-Wan's trying to reach out to Anakin. This story is deep, and obaona's done a great job of writing it.

I read a lot of information to learn everything I could for the duel scenes (I practically worship Wikipedia). I try to not only give you guys a good time with this fic, but to give you some real information about the Star Wars universe. All the information on forms, and how a Jedi student learns Form I until chosen by a master, is 'SW fact.' I may have taken a little bit of an artist license to it (by that I mean giving reasons behind the methods), but I try to keep everything as accurate as possible. Oh, and Vee017, to answer your question…yes, Anakin does us Form V. That's very sharp of you to observe. :)

I got some good reviews for the last chapter, thank you! There was some nice feedback, and I love that. The main people who had questions last chapter were Phoenix Red Lion and Vee017. Well, now I have some questions for you. :) PR Lion, I tried to explain the reasoning behind keeping the keys in the Temple in this chapter. Does the reason seem plausible enough, or do I need to work on fixing that up? And Vee017, you said that Tarren was acting a little too old…well, I was trying to portray that he wanted to be older than he was, but did I go a little overboard? If I did, I'll try to fix that up in the last chapter, and some advice would be loved.

Thank you for the reviews. I love getting opinions, suggestions, corrections, and just about everything else. And if you guys have questions, I'll try to answer them. Unless you're meant to find out later, that is.

Page Amount: 6

Word Count: 4,890

Started 8-2-05 and finished 8-3-05

Listening to: frou frou "it's good to be in love"

Written by Ice Dragon3

Jedi Genocide

Chapter Twelve: Lightsabers

"Wake up, Obi," a gentle voice urged him quietly. No nudge accompanied it, just another soft sigh and, "You have to get up, you know. Wake up, sleepyhead." The last word was said affectionately, a verbal caress not unlike a warm breeze.

Obi-Wan tugged the covers off his head and winced at the light. After blinking and rubbing the crust out of his eyes, he turned to Anakin, who was crouched right by his bed, resting on the balls of his feet. Obi-Wan said groggily, "It's Sunday…I get to sleep in on Sundays…"

"Even though the Jedi Temple doesn't need you, the twins do. I have somewhere to be and I need you to watch them," Anakin said softly, fond eyes absorbing Obi-Wan into their depths. "So you have to wake up." He paused for a moment, and a wicked smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. "Do you want me to call the twins in, and have them help you?"

Obi-Wan chuckled, only to have it turn into a yawn midway. "Alright, alright, I'm getting up. You make a fine argument."

Anakin laughed melodiously, the sound hovering somewhere between brass bells and silver chimes. It was a rich, full and lively sound. "It's not hard to win an argument with a drowsy person. I'd have to be really trying if I were to lose. If it's any incentive, breakfast is on the table and it'll still be warm if you hurry."

"Right." Yawning, Obi-Wan rubbed a hand through his brown hair in an attempt to tidy it. It only became messier, strands sticking out wherever they pleased. "Breakfast."

"Now that you're half-conscious, I'll be leaving. Oh, and happy birthday," Anakin wished him as he walked out. He pulled the door gently shut after exiting.

Obi-Wan stared at the closed door. It took him a while to compute the fact as he did some mental math in his head. Finally, he mumbled, "It really is my birthday, isn't it?" He then shrugged and dismissed the knowledge as unimportant. Every time the day came around, he ignored it as if nothing was different. Celebrating the fact that he was getting older wasn't high in his priorities, and as a Jedi he had more important things to think of.

He dressed himself in a dark purple shirt and beige cloth pants. He still wasn't trusted to shop for himself, and Anakin chose all his clothes. If Obi-Wan had his way, all his outfits would be brown and light beige, of a bland but functional style, and identical. Which was part of the reason why Anakin wasn't willing to give him even that small amount of independence.

He ate breakfast slowly, savoring the flavor since he had nowhere to go and no reason to rush. He ran a hand through his hair, but it caught on a knot. Obi-Wan reminded himself to brush his hair after breakfast; he had forgotten in his hurry to get a warm meal. After breakfast, he straightened up his appearance and brushed his teeth, as well as his hair. Obi-Wan was a fastidiously clean person, immaculate like a cat, and took pride in that.

Wandering around the house to find the children he was supposed to watch, he discovered them glued to the TV in the living room. He flopped down on the couch next to Leia and Luke. Their eyes were fixed on the plasma screen. It was set on a channel aimed for children, meaning that plenty of cartoon characters and cute little animals were involved.

"Morning," Obi-Wan said, watching the screen disinterestedly as two cartoon cats tried to scratch each other to death. It amazes him sometimes—and not in a good way—the violence that children watched in the form of two-dimensional characters. "Shouldn't you be watching something…nicer?"

They nodded in agreement, but no one made a move to change the channel. Apparently, they weren't actually listening to him, but only pretending to. Obi-Wan frowned, but didn't make a move to change the channel himself. If Anakin let them watch this, then he supposed there was nothing he could do…any attempt on his part to alter their viewing habits would only result in fights and arguments, and 'Well, Anakin lets me watch this,' and 'You're not my mother, so don't tell me what to do!' The latter insult was only used by Leia, and only when she was extremely angry. Luke seemed, for some reason or other, to feel that this was too low a blow and was unwilling to say it. Perhaps because he had never lived with a mother, he felt it was sacrilegious to use the term as an insult.

As Obi-Wan didn't find the cartoon interesting, his mind began to drift. He leaned back on the couch and let his head settle on the puffy, comfortable material. He closed his eyes.

A lot had changed in the two Coruscanti months, three weeks, and one day that he had spent in this household. And a lot had stayed the same. What frustrated him the most was the fact that the things he wanted to change normally didn't, and what quickly altered was not to his liking.

One of the changes that worried him incessantly was the younglings' reaction to Anakin. For the first week or so they had all remained silent around him, which had made Obi-Wan happy. But then things changed.

Slowly, right in front of Obi-Wan's eyes and him helpless to stop it, the younger children started to warm up to Anakin. Leia and Luke had become permanent fixtures in the Temple by this time, in addition to Anakin, and the twins befriended the younger children easily with their unreserved nature and warm hearts. Since the children were friends with Leia and Luke, they then started to relax around Anakin. The Coruscanti crowd had seen Anakin's gentle and loving treatment towards his children, and they longed for that affection themselves.

Obi-Wan simply couldn't give them the massive amount of attention they needed while he had other students to teach. Small children needed attention to grow, just as plants needed sunlight, and Obi-Wan felt horrible that he could not give it to them. So in a silent agreement, without any discussion, Anakin taught and watched out for the younger group while Obi-Wan kept up his training with the older six.

Somehow, Anakin had beguiled the younger children, and they had fallen one by one under his deceivingly friendly spell. They forgot that he was a murderer, and only saw him as a father who loved his children. They saw only what they wanted. And what they saw they loved.

In contrast, the older six grew more resilient against Anakin. Even Jarg treated Anakin differently from everyone else; he wouldn't look Anakin directly in the eye when he talked to him and kept their conversations as short as politely possible. For Jarg, who was the nicest being living, to cold-shoulder someone…it was an extreme.

Skraith wouldn't say a word to Anakin, and his eyes passed over Anakin as if he wasn't there—even when Anakin asked him a direct question there was no acknowledgement on the Annoodat's part. Darrien regarded the Sith silently, his eyes always following Anakin with a mild contemplating look when he was in the room. Obi-Wan could tell that Darrien's observing attitude irritated Anakin. Which, because Darrien rarely spoke to anyone, Obi-Wan could only surmise was its purpose.

Carra chatted with Anakin constantly, asking this or that frivolous question until Anakin grew annoyed and snapped at her to shut up. Anakin would then abruptly leave, a flurry of jerking, angry movements that were disconnected from one another. Obi-Wan had glimpsed his face once after one of these episodes, and Anakin had the most peculiar expression on—a mixture of guilt for yelling at a child and anger, so much anger. When Obi-Wan asked her why she did this, and every day no less, she smiled at him kindly and said, "I'm revealing the monster under the sugarcoating, so I never forget what he truly is."

Tarren wore a perpetual scowl on his face whenever he was forced to be near Anakin. Ki'lya avoided him as much as possible, even going out of her way to do so; Obi-Wan would occasionally see her walking hurriedly down less traveled halls to keep from passing Anakin, and she would sit the farthest away from him during lessons.

They grew more fiercely protective and loyal to Obi-Wan as time passed. Whenever Anakin questioned them about Obi-Wan they would clam up. Even when he pressed they wouldn't give him the information he wanted. Obi-Wan bet that they didn't truly witness the Darth Vader that interrogated prisoners, but for them to stand up to an inquisitive and forceful Anakin was exceptional. The six wouldn't tell him exactly what Anakin asked about, but it only slightly aggravated him that they were withholding information from him. He was too proud of them to be truly angry. Most of it was likely trivial anyways.

Obi-Wan had to admit that Anakin's blatant charm was slightly weakening him. It was nothing profound, but part of him couldn't help but remember Anakin as the Padawan and friend from long ago—he got a wistful feeling every time he thought of the past. However, this reminiscing of the past only strengthened his resolve for the future. He had to complete his mission. He had to separate Darth Vader from the past memories of Anakin Skywalker—somehow he knew that by finishing his mission, this would happen. He would finally be able to bury the Anakin-child in his mind, and seal up the grave. Anakin would finally be good and gone from Obi-Wan's mind, a marker with a few in-scripted lines on it in and nothing more.

However, that goal was so far removed that sometimes he lost sight of it. Yoda hadn't contacted him since their discussion about the clone trooper gun; he didn't know if this was for the best or worse. It wasn't as if he had any information to tell Yoda, but he still wished that he were kept updated. Obi-Wan was sure if anything really important happened Yoda would contact him, but still… This stagnation on progress was wearing his nerves thin.

Obi-Wan had made no headway in his mission, and this fed his frustration. During some of Anakin's numerous, unexplained disappearances Obi-Wan had tried opening the staircase doors to different floors. He still had his decoder, but he found that it was useless; while some of the locks to the levels were electronically configured (the more important floors, Obi-Wan was sure), Obi-Wan soon learned that his decoder was no match for the advance security system. Technology wasn't his forte, and he didn't know how to overcome the complex locks.

Personally, he'd rather jump through a real firewall than deal with an electronic one.

"Hello, Tarren," Carra called out cheerfully, waving. She skipped into view, her feet having an extra light spring to them today. She flashed him a brilliant smile and stopped right in front of him. "How's your morning going?"

"Fine…for a morning," he said. He was more awake after the cup of coffee he'd had, and mornings never looked so bad once caffeine was running through his veins. "So, what brings you here to the lake room?"

Carra shrugged, sitting down by Tarren and letting the waterfall mist her face. "Does it matter? It's a beautiful morning."

"If it's what I think it is, then it does," Tarren retorted.

Carra laughed and admitted, "You got me there. But I'm speaking the truth when I say it's a beautiful morning."

"Really…" Tarren said, skepticism in his voice, "and how can you sense any difference? Coruscant isn't known for its varying weather—it's either sunny or rainy. Today's no different from any other sunny day."

"That's where you're wrong. Today is different; I feel it in my bones."

"And do you get aches when it rains?" Tarren laughed at the absurdity of it. "How about you tell me the weather for tomorrow? Should I bring an umbrella and a raincoat with me wherever I go?"

"Very funny." She stuck her tongue out at him. Then she grew serious. Tucking her knees to her chest and setting her chin on them, she gazed with unfocused eyes at the falling waterfall and its pale, shimmering, hide-and-seek rainbow. "Today is the day that you're going to use those keys."

Tarren's demeanor instantly became grave. His eyes got a dark look to them as he retreated into himself, and he said monotonously, "I told you not to talk about them anymore. Some things may change, and I may be friends with you now, but some things will never be any different than they are now or were then. I'll never give you those keys. Don't even bother mentioning them."

"But I do, every day," Carra said persistently. "I mention them every day, and every day I feel your curiosity heighten—why else would you retreat so quickly within yourself? You almost gave in yesterday, admit it, I saw that wondering look in your eyes before you hid it."

"That's where you're wrong… I have no intention of using them."

"Won't you even just tell me what they open?" Carra begged. "I'd stop bugging you if you did."

Tarren laughed a harsh yip of a laugh, a hyena snort of contempt. "Only because you'd make yourself a lock-pick set, and then open them on your own. No, I'm not that stupid…I know you wouldn't come that close to solving your 'grand mystery' and then give up. It's just not your style."

"Then you should also know that it doesn't matter how long you resist, because I won't give up until you use those keys. They unlock something important, I know it. They have to, for you to guard them so stubbornly."

Tarren barked another laugh, thinking of how one of those storage closets was used to hold their wooden swords. There was nothing important in them, and Carra was a fool for thinking otherwise. The more certain Carra became in them holding treasures, the more certain Tarren grew in his belief that he guarded trash. "Why should I ruin your fantasies? You might be disappointed with what you find… Trust me, it's better this way. You search for your elusive treasure and I'll guard the solid fact."

"I don't care if I'm disappointed or not!" she exclaimed. "I don't care if they unlock a pencil holder! As long as I hold the unadulterated truth, I'll be happy. Please, I need the facts. I don't care what it is, as long as it's the truth."

"The fact is that they guard nothing serious. Why do we always get into this silly argument? Why can't you just leave things alone when they don't need to be fixed? I like having a friend—but how can I even tell that you're a friend when all you ask about are my keys? Leave, if that's the only reason you're here. If you're only here for the keys, you're wasting your time, and mine. I'd rather be alone than always wondering about my so-called 'friend.' "

"Don't be such a fool, Tarren! You're a good friend, and the only thing I don't like about you is that you have a chance to change things, and you won't take it. You're right; this argument is silly, I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings… But I won't stop until I find out. Please, if you'd just let me get a glimpse, I'd be satisfied. You'd only have to use one key, even. I don't care if I don't get to see anything else. A sixth of the truth is better than none."

"…You'd really be content with me only using one key? Are you being honest?" Tarren asked, staring at her hard, as if trying to read the truth on her face. But if it was there, it was written in invisible ink and he was left unsure. She had never brought up this proposal before, and it left him at a loss of how to proceed.

"I seek honesty, so of course I speak it!" Her face was proud and open at the same time, a hint of righteous anger painted on her whisper marks. Her golden eyes, for once, were not dancing from the light. She was somber.

'Breakthrough,' she thought.

Tarren judged her face, and he was satisfied with what he saw there. "Fine, I'll show you one of them…but then that's it. You never bring it up again, and you don't dig around anymore. We'll be friends, and all this will be buried behind us." He felt sorry about tricking her, but this was for the best. He'd show her the wooden sword storage closet, and tell her that all the others were filled with the same type of material. She'd finally solve her mystery, and he'd finally have some peace and quiet. It was a win-win situation.

"I swear on my heart not to force you to do anything against your will," she said solemnly, her clawed hand resting on her chest right where her heart thumped excitedly.

Nodding his head in acceptance, he said, "Follow me." He led her down the corridors to the unused, dingy hallway set in the back of the Temple. If one didn't know where to look, they would pass the hallway by without even noticing, it was that thin, dark, and strategically placed. He opened the door to the maintenance room and went to the back. The six storage closets stood there solemnly, lined up like black sentries at midnight watch.

He went over to farthest right one, the one with the wooden swords. He took out the ring of keys and opened the door. Carra crowded behind him, peering over his shoulder. Knowing what her silence meant, Tarren said without looking back at her, eyes fixed straight ahead, "I told you that the truth wasn't as grand as the fantasy. You were better off daydreaming about it, and happier. The reality is only wooden swords."

"Maybe…maybe I—" Carra struggled to rein in her disappointment. She tried to say positively, "At least now I know." Her voice wavered, thick and uneven. Tarren turned around to look at her, and saw that her smile was wobbling. "Thank you for this…opportunity," she ended dully. Her gold eyes had lost their shine, he noted with worry as her gaze hovered somewhere around their feet. She laughed out loud and swiped the back of her hand against the corner of her eyes, rubbing them roughly. "I'm a fool, aren't I?"

"Wait, no you aren't," he called out to her as she started to walk away. Carra had been his first true friend, and he hated to see her in such a state. Plus…he was genuinely curious himself; Carra's inquisitiveness had indeed infected him. Besides, it wouldn't harm anyone to open the others; he was sure they only held harmless stuff. "I guess we can open one more…just to see." Obi-Wan told him that he could open the farthest three on the left if they were in a life-threatening situation—Carra's depression could be considered life-threatening. His actions were justified.

He didn't want to lose his only friend.

Carra's ears twitched. She turned around, her movement hesitant as if she couldn't exactly believe what she heard, and Tarren noticed with relief that her eyes had gained back a hint of their luster. Like vinegar eating away the grunge on a dull coin, her eyes were slowly gaining back the shine. "You mean…you don't really know what's in the others?"

"No… I just wanted you to think that so you'd stop bugging me. But I'm sure that it won't hurt to peek at them. Just a little glimpse."

"Not even enough to let the old air escape," Carra promised, her humor restored.

Carra's bounce-back had been so quick, Tarren suddenly wondered if he had been duped. But then he realized that he didn't really care one way or another. He wanted to find out what was behind those locked doors. Obi-Wan probably opened them all the time; why couldn't Tarren? It was unfair to expect him to guard something for so long without telling him just what it was that he was protecting. He couldn't fully put his heart into a miscellaneous cause…

"We'll pick the second one to the left," Tarren said; his way of thinking, they might as well be random about this. Screw method. Carra nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Tarren slid the key in slowly, breathing in and out. This was it, he was sure; something spectacular, something like Carra's daydreams, was behind this door. He turned the key and it unlocked with a resounding click.

The curiosity he had dammed in for three months was now leaking out, and he could feel the torrent becoming stronger by the minute. He savored the feeling, not willing to let the moment slip by just yet. He had been trying to be a grownup for too long, and it felt good to throw all that responsibility away and finally be just a kid again. He'd been grounded by duty for so long that, shedding the cumbersome thing, he felt as if he were walking on clouds. His bones might as well of had the density of helium.

"Open it," Carra said breathlessly, eyes wide with anticipation.

"I was getting to it," Tarren said irritably in a good-naturedly way, the moment gone but the glow living on. But he did quicken the process, and swung the door open immediately. His expectations were not disappointed with what he found on the other side of the black durasteel door.

"Are they real?" Carra whispered, her voice quiet with awe.

Tarren stepped closer and picked up one of the handles. In doing so, another handle dropped to the ground and rolled underneath the storage closet. Ignoring the one that had fallen, he inspected the one in his hand. There was a tag on it, and he read, "Qui-Gon." He pressed in the button, and a green blade shot from the handle. The air sang as the lightsaber hummed vibrantly in greeting. He gave it an experimental swing, and it buzzed lively in response. "Yeah…I think they are," he said, equally breathless. "What do you think the tags are about? Names for the lightsabers?"

Carra suddenly surged forward, digging her hands into piles after piles of handles. She didn't even pay attention to Tarren, who squawked at her not to jump in front of him when he had such a dangerous weapon in his hands. She picked each one up and read the tags, "Odun-Urr… Stass Allie… Daakman Barrek… Mace Windu!" she said excitedly in recognition. "These are names, but not for the lightsabers—they're names of people."

"What? Really?" Tarren asked, but he wasn't really paying attention. The lightsaber in his hand was too beautiful for him to pull his eyes or mind from it. It was such a lovely green, like lush grass on rolling hills, and this wonderfully good feeling seemed to emanate from it.

"Really," she said with certainty, her sharp mind working fast. "Don't you remember any of Obi-Wan's history lessons?"—it was a rhetorical question, as they both knew the answer was 'no'—"Mace Windu was one of the Masters on the Jedi Council while Obi-Wan was here. He was the only Jedi who mastered the Vaapad technique without falling to the Dark Side. Obi-Wan knew him personally, so he went on a little longer with that Jedi's profile—I remember him specifically well because Obi-Wan started to talk about how intimidating he was, and how he would always glare. Obi-Wan admitted that he was scared of him sometimes." Carra giggled. "Imagine that—Obi-Wan scared of somebody. Hardly seems possible, he's so calm all the time."

Tarren chuckled. "Oh yeah, I remember that lesson…now that had been funny. We ratted on him for so long afterwards that I bet he regretted even saying it."

"I think these are the lightsabers of the deceased…they must keep them in the Temple. Maybe for emergencies."

"That's what Obi-Wan told me; only open the farthest three if I'm in a life-threatening situation. I guess the keys had to stay in the Temple so that the Jedi had a way to defend themselves during a crisis, or something," Tarren off-handedly commented. His eyes were still following the green lightsaber's dance through the air. "Qui-Gon…I don't know why, but that name sounds familiar. Is he another dead, historical figure that Obi-Wan taught us about?"

"That's it!" Carra exclaimed, clapping her hand together with enthusiasm. "That name had been itching at the back of my mind… No, Obi-Wan never mentioned him, but that's the guy Darth Vader kept asking about. He was always pressing us, seeing if we knew anything about a 'Qui-Gon'; if Obi-Wan ever mentioned him, if we learned anything about him…" Carra shook her head. "I bet he had a personal vendetta against this Qui-Gon, whoever he was. He always looked angry when he asked—but then again, he always looks angry." She scowled. "If you look hard enough, you can see it. Think of the look on his face if he learned that Qui-Gon was already dead, and his search was a waste of time," she crowed.

Tarren deactivated the lightsaber and set it on an equipment shelf. "Hey…what do you think are in the other closets?" he asked, looking longingly at the other closed doors. He couldn't stop his curiosity now that he'd had a taste of what it felt like to give in to it. No wonder Carra was the way she was, if this was the sort of natural 'high' she got from solving a good mystery.

Carra grinned. "I'd thought you'd never ask: let's find out."

Tarren eagerly opened the farthest left one. This one held equipment and Jedi robes. Their hands greedily felt the material, alternatively tugging at it and smoothing out the wrinkles. "They're real," he said. "This is exactly like what Obi-Wan used to wear, before, well, you know…DA—The Darth Age." He'd never been able to joke about the matter before, but now nothing seemed too serious.

"Look, a four-armed one," Carra giggled as she held up a funnily made one with four sleeves.

Tarren laughed. "Okay, so maybe they're not all like Obi-Wan's—but I bet he'd wear it, if the choices were that or one of those fancy-smansy outfits."

"Open the next!" Carra said excitedly. It was like opening Christmas presents; once she started, she couldn't stop. Neither could Tarren. He willingly tore the center left one open. He opened the door so forcefully that a ton of stacked cubes fell to the floor, clattering away as they rolled and bounced. A few sharp corners jabbed his feet and he danced back lightly with a wince.

He laughed and picked up one. "What are these for? Do Jedi stack blocks in their spare time?"

"If we could draw dots on them, we could use them as huge dice." She held one up to the light. "They're pretty. Like blue crystals, eh?" She twisted it, making the light sparkle off it. "I could make a really big, really wizard necklace out of this."

Tarren observed, "They'd make great good luck charms. They give me a good feeling. Like running with thick, dewy grass under your bare feet." He threw his hands up and closed his eyes, smiling, happy and not even fully understanding why—just because, just because.

"Like figuring out a good puzzle," Carra agreed. Surrounded by the pile of calm-blue cubes, they just sat there for a while, soaking up the mellow euphoria. The six-sided cubes' good vibes merely heightened the younglings' happiness and child-like joy. Still surrounded by the cubes, Carra said cheerfully, "Open the next one, open the next one!" As Tarren grudgingly got up to open the center right storage closet, Carra started rambling off what could be in it, "Maybe it's got Force-sensitive creatures, or a radioactive robot, or old Republic coins, or special meditation mats, or levitating seats, or gimer sticks, or—" She stopped, her eyes widening in fright.

Pyramids.

Pyramid after pyramid was stacked in the closet, little compact black devices that were so similar to the cubes, yet so much…darker. They were sinister. Evil. Even the good feeling from the cubes couldn't stop her from feeling the cold caress of death and murder. A type of madness not born, but bred, into men curled off the pyramids in thick waves, like toxic smog from a dragon's wheezing, gaping, smiling jaws.

"Tarren…you should shut that door," she said nervously, her hands splaying on the cubes in search of comfort as she clacked her nails against them in an increasingly speedy manner. Tick, tick, tick tick tickticktickticktick— "Something's not right."

Tarren titled his head to the side; the way his black hair reflected and absorbed the light resembled and reminded her of the obsidian pyramids. When he turned around slowly, he had one of the small pyramids clutched in his hands. His smile twisted sickly as he said, "I'd say. These Jedi Holocrons are disgusting."