Chapter 40AE

'Baking with Mothma'

'A Day off from the Dark Side'

'Oh, Daala'

'Executive Secretary of Defense'

'I Fought the Law and the Law Won'

'Dough-Eyed'

'Who is Clark Chester?'

Cooking with Mothma

Anakin had not taken a class since birthing sessions for his four youngest Skywalker offspring. He is not a willing participant for this new classroom experience. At least he received a 'Certificate of Excellence' from Nurse Ratched for his participation in the birth of his four youngest children. Ana-Lena laughs when she sees the document for the first time. 'You got a bunch of certificates for doing something you're supposed to do? Geez, Daddy, it must have been a slow week on the maternity ward! They probably gave it to you because you were such a pain in the ass.'

Anakin is insulted. Obviously, his children have no appreciation for the sacrifices he makes. They mock his efforts as a father. Now they have taken his droids, his money, and his dog. What will he get for taking this class? A big fat headache! He notices a 500-credit charge on his bankcard statement. Anakin is forced to attend the class, not only because the fee in non-refundable, but because he promised Isabel that he would do anything save their marriage. He did not think this through.

The drive into Coruscant City begins uneventfully. He almost gets out of going had he stopped by the office but Isabel is a few steps ahead of him. She has a conversation with Miss Agnes DiPesto to adjust Anakin's calendar long before the scheduled class. Changing the schedule is not much of a challenge since Anakin makes most of his decision-making on a whim.

The dark lord has very few 'official appointments' on the calendar. Anakin's management style is legendary throughout military ranks. He has no tolerance for stupid mistakes and zero tolerance for disloyalty; which also means someone at the Galactic Military Headquarters will suffer…namely, one of Anakin's senior officers or one of their unsuspecting underlings.

The day also gives Miss DiPesto a much-needed afternoon free to do as she pleases. Isabel orchestrates this arrangement. She does not want Agnes stuck sitting behind a desk all day or getting yelled at by senior officers. She also wants Agnes to stand up for herself and not be so eager to please; this includes being more assertive with Anakin and his ridiculous demands. Gladys did not tolerate his nonsense and neither should Agnes.

Anakin groans over the list of summer activities his wife has planned for him. He also has to visit the camp to retrieve Kris before the end of the season. Summer is not going as planned. Anakin's vision of a happy summer consists of breakfast with his wife, mornings in the office to oversee operations (he still does not trust his military staff). He would have had Miss DiPesto type a few memos to rattle the troops. Any memo from the dark lord's office drew the ire of Tarkin, Motti and other senior commanders. Isabel has denied him of these simple pleasures.

Miss DiPesto does not have a carefree day at the office as Isabel had planned. She has a difficult time explaining the absence of her boss to Grand Moff Tarkin. One would have thought that fifty-odd years working for the Empire would have mellowed the old man. Tarkin remains a hard-nosed, humorless officer.

Tarkin walks into the office and approaches Miss DiPesto's desk. He impatiently taps his foot while she is on a call. Miss DiPesto eyes the senior officer as she speaks into the phone. She attempts to keep the conversation as discreet as possible but it is difficult when Tarkin hovers at her desk.

"Gee, I'm sorry, General Calrissian, he hasn't called anyone about that 'event'…well, no…he hasn't called in this morning at all…uhm…I am not aware of that…well…uhm…General, could I call you back in a few minutes? Well, a visitor is here…sure…okay…I'll tell him…when? Oh, as soon as he comes in to take his messages…oh…I can't say…I believe so…He has a busy schedule outside the office… well, as a matter of fact there is…yes…at my desk…uhum…really? I never noticed…"

Miss DiPesto tries to be as discreet as possible when she leans over the left side of her desk. She glances across the room at the mirrored pillar near the reception area. In the reflection, she can see Tarkin's trousers. He is wearing a pair of brown leather slippers with his uniform. She covers her mouth to muffle soft giggles.

"Heeheehee…oh, General, you're so funny…how did you know? Heeheehee…pardon? Oh, I've never been to Cloud City. Isn't that where people go…you know…to gamble? Oh, I'm not much of a drinker; I have to admit Hoth 45 would be a bit strong for me. I like pink nebulas…Are you flirting with me? General Solo says you're a scoundrel." She sneaks a glance across her desk at Tarkin. He is still waiting. She whispers to into the handset. "Uhm…I think I had better get back to work…yes…he looks impatient. Okay…I will …thanks…you too…okay…bye." She looks up at Tarkin. "Good morning Commander Tarkin."

"It's Grand Moff Tarkin. Good morning, Miss DiPesto. When is 'His Greatness' due in this morning?"

"Oh…Mr. Skywalker won't be in today at all."

Tarkin is outraged and shouts. The vein on his right temple bulges as if it will explode any moment.

"What!? He won't be in? Well, that's quite inconvenient. Is there a galactic emergency of which I am not aware?"

"Not exactly. He's taking a personal day."

Tarkin raises his voice again.

"Personal day? What, pray tell, is that?"

"It's in the personnel benefits binder. Mr. Skywalker thought you were retiring several years ago so he didn't put your name on the distribution list. I have a newly revised copy if you would like…"

Miss DiPesto hands a copy of a blue booklet with a laminated cover. The emblems of each branch of the galactic military are stamped in black. Directly beneath the emblems is description: Division of Human Resource Management & Military Benefits. An internal telephone number is in bold letters at the bottom of the cover page with a contact name: Jar-Jar Binks, HR Benefits Help Desk

An exasperated Tarkin brushes away the 1-inch thick booklet.

"I don't need to see such nonsense. Of all the idiotic, maniac ideas! Whose idea was this?"

"Oh, it's standard procedure for all employees."

"Why was I not alerted of this? All military personnel changes must be approved by the joint chiefs…"

"Well, Mr. Skywalker said that…"

"I am not interested in what your boss said. This is complete madness! Your boss is overreaching his power."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Commander…I mean…Moff sir."

"Humph! Personal day indeed!"

Tarkin grimaces and turns to leave the office. He plans to bring up this matter with the other senior officers.

"Shall I take a message for Mr. Skywalker?"

Tarkin pivots to face Miss DiPesto again. The soles of his slippers make a sharp squeaky sound against the carpet.

"Charming to the last. Yes, tell your boss I will contact him about this matter…sooner than later. You may find yourself without a job tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir."

Tarkin exits. A green light pulses on the telephone console. Someone speaks.

"Well, well…Did that tired old goat just threaten you?"

Miss DiPesto is visibly rattled by Tarkin's ominous words.

"General Calrissian? I thought you hung up."

"My dear, you left the call on conference."

Agnes blushes.

"Oh…"

"Don't you worry; you didn't say anything that would get you in trouble…"

"Thank you, General."

"Girl, you need to assert yourself. Don't let him talk you that way."

"But he's a senior officer."

"You listen to your old friend Lando Calrissian; I'm going to tell you just how to handle these Empire old-timers."

"Really?"

"Really!"

While Lando gives Miss DiPesto a course in passive-aggressive backtalk and a bit of gossip about Tarkin's not-so-secret longtime mistress Natasi Daala, things are going a different way across town with the Dark Lord. During the drive to class, Anakin brings up the subject of Hobson. Isabel remains calm.

"I thought he was retired."

"He is retired."

"Then why is he still around? He needs to be in a nursing home."

"What is your problem? Hobson just wants to be useful. If you had your way, everyone would be in a nursing home if they're not fast enough for you."

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy. I'm the victim here. If you weren't my wife I would arrest you for kidnapping."

"How is this kidnapping? You're driving."

"I was trapped into going! I could be doing other stuff."

"Oh, important stuff like pod racing and Sabacc? That's a good use of your time."

"Hey! I deserve all the relaxation I get! And I'll tell you another thing…!"

He watches as Isabel throws her arms up in frustration then mocks him.

"The dark shadow of Anakin Skywalker will pour down on anyone who defies the great overlord!"

"Are you through?"

"Why? Are you upset about the truth?"

"Truth? There is no way I'm the way you describe me. You make me out to be a big monster."

"No, just a tall one."

"Oh, you're real funny today. Anyway, getting back to our geriatric butler, what are you going to do to fix this mess?"

"I'm not going to do anything. We can't fire Hobson because of his age; that's discrimination."

"I know! Who passed that law? Don't I have rights? He's barely moving! I say, put him out of his misery. They have activities at Shady Acres. He could take up gardening, stamp collecting… Hell, he could join the grav-ball team for seniors. Doesn't he have family who can take care of him? You could hire a younger butler, one that has full use of his faculties. I won't even demand to interview him. I trust your judgment."

"I couldn't send him off to a place like that. It would break his heart. He's going to think we don't need him."

"Really, Isabel? What we need is a butler who moves when we need him and breathes on a regular basis."

Someone honks a horn in their lane. Anakin glances in the rearview mirror.

"Come on; he's got a nice little room here and he's happy."

"Oh, great! Why don't we just annex the servant's quarters as "Shady Acres II? You're killing me with this, Isabel. You're killing me!"

"That's why we're taking this class. You need to learn how to be flexible."

"Awww…come on!"

Anakin hears the honking horn again. He furrows his eyebrows and stares into the rearview mirror again.

"I'm not being unreasonable, Anakin…where are you going?"

"Relax, I've got this."

He removes his seatbelt. Isabel pleads with him to remain in the vehicle.

"We're in traffic, why are you leaving the vehicle? Get back in the speeder."

Before she has a chance to stop Anakin, he is already out of the speeder and walking back to the vehicles behind his. Isabel immediately sinks in the passenger seat. The outcome cannot be a good one.

Meanwhile, in the vehicle with the honking horn has a family inside. The driver leans forward to determine why the sudden traffic slowdown.

"What is going on? What moron is stalling traffic?"

A woman is in the passenger seat. She cranes her neck to see but is not too concerned. She is busy doing crossword puzzles.

"I don't know, dear. What's a five-letter word for a popular Biscuit Baron food item?"

A small voice from the backseat chimes in with the adult driver.

"Jolly Meal!"

"That doesn't fit."

The driver is still trying to see who or what is holding up traffic but responds.

"It's Jolly, Deirdre."

"One…two…three…four…five…Then why not put the word 'meal' in too?"

"It's just Jolly, Mum."

"Oh. Hum…thank you. You boys are so helpful. What's going on with the traffic, dear?"

He presses on the horn again.

"Don't know but I don't see one traffic cop and there's a speeder up ahead starting and stopping. Who is this idiot?"

Deirdre looks up from her crossword puzzle.

"Maybe he's having car trouble, Clark."

"Maybe he's having a heart attack, Dad."

"He's not having a heart attack but he may have one when I get a hold of him."

The voice in the back seat chimes in again. It is a young boy about 10 years old. He is dressed in blue shorts and a yellow and white sports jersey. A helmet with the name 'Asher' is stenciled across the front, hover boots, and gloves are on the seat to his left. His shaggy brown hair and freckles frame his round face. His bright blue eyes widen as he sees a tall figure walking along the highway towards their vehicle. The boy's father is still pounding on the horn.

Anakin locates the motorist whose beefy hand is pressed firmly on the horn. Anakin's stride quickens as he closes in on his target. The motorist is sweating profusely from the forehead and temples.

Clark feels a heavy thud on the roof of his speeder. Deirdre and the boy look up. Anakin speaks before leaning in the driver side window.

"What's the hurry, pal?"

Clark is prepared to confront the visitor at his car.

"I am trying to get to my son's grav-ball game but you're holding up traffic."

"Excuse me?"

"I said…"

The boy in the back seat recognizes Anakin immediately.

"Dad? Dad!"

"Don't interrupt me, son. Daddy's trying to reason with the crazy man in the green shirt." He is not looking directly at Anakin as he continues to chide him. "You know that the speed is 88 kilometers on this road. There is a penalty for driving below the speed limit and coming to a complete stop. If you are familiar with the traffic laws in this town…or are you one of these yahoos from Tatooine who think that the highway is a big desert roadway?"

"What?"

Deirdre smiles and apologizes for her husband.

"Oh, he didn't mean that, sir. He's in a bit of a hurry, that's all."

The boy in the back seat unlocks his seatbelt and leans against the back of the driver seat.

"Dad!"

"Asher, don't interrupt! Daddy's trying to talk to the ridiculous man."

His mother turns in her seat.

"Listen to your father, dear…hey! Why aren't you fastened in? Put your seatbelt back on and sit down!"

"Okay…but you're gonna be sor-ry…" Asher lets out an exasperated sigh and sits back in his seat.

Clark ignores everyone in the vehicle and looks out the window.

"Listen, buddy, you're holding up traffic. I'm trying to get my son to his junior grav-ball game. Speed it up or I'll have to make a citizen's arrest."

"What?"

"You heard me. Stalling in traffic is a 75 credit fine."

Just as the 'discussion' is heating up. Someone else walks over to the vehicle.

"What's the trouble, now?"

"Who are you?"

The skinny officer adjusts waistband of his pants that are two sizes too large. He leans in the driver's window.

"I'm the law around here. Why are you holding up traffic?"

Clark becomes defensive and raises his voice.

"I'm holding up traffic?" He points to Anakin almost poking him in the stomach. "He's holding up traffic!"

The skinny officer looks up, hands on hips and squints. He reaches for his cap and tilts the visor back to get a good look at the figure towering over him. A crooked antennae pops from beneath the cap. Suddenly, a surprised smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if it isn't Anakin Skywalker! As I live and breathe! What are you doing here?"

It is repeated felon Elan Sel'Sabagno. His name badge is imprinted with one of his many aliases.

"This motorist is honking his horn which is a violation of Coruscant Highway Ordinance 86." As Anakin speaks, multitudes of other motorists begin honking their horns. Anakin turns to the mounting traffic." Hey! Quiet!" He waves his hand to silence the horns. "Excessive honking is fine of 45 credits."

Clark decides to press his horn again. Anakin reaches inside the vehicle as Clark protests.

"You can't do that!" Clark frantically bats Anakin's hand away. "Officer, see? He's trying to break into my car. That's assault and breaking and entering. I know the law. Aren't you going to do anything?"

Elan nods in agreement.

"Mr. Skywalker, you did sorta break into his vehicle…as a witness and quasi-officer of the law, I have to report you…or not…ahem…So…Mr. Skywalker, what brings you to this part of town?"

"My wife is dragging me to a class. What's with the new threads, Elan? I almost didn't recognize you in the uniform. How did you get this gig?"

"Oh, it was a stipulation by my P.O?"

"Your P.O.?"

"Elan whispers.

"Parole officer."

Clark rolls his eyes.

"Oh great! Lawbreakers and felons…what a surprise."

Anakin is somewhat amused by Elan's new job.

"What crackpot decided you should be in law enforcement?"

"Certain parties, who shall remain nameless, due to their affiliations with branches of the military and government. I'm a Coruscant Auxiliary Officer. I got no blaster or bully club 'cause of my criminal record but I got a radio to call the CPD. So…you're going someplace with the Missus?"

"Marriage stuff."

Deirdre smiles and leans over her husband. She speaks to Anakin.

"Oh, that's lovely. I've been begging Clark to go to marriage counseling."

Clark scowls at his wife.

"Excuse me, how long will this criminal intent love fest go on? I have a child sweltering in the back seat."

Anakin leans over and looks into the backseat.

"Oh, uhm, hey kid."

Asher perks up and smiles.

"Hi, Mr. Skywalker, Sir."

Clark glances at his son then turns to look at Anakin. Anakin feels a bit foolish for making a scene. Isabel would never forgive him for behaving this way in the presence of a child.

"So…you like grav-ball?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're not saying that because your dad is forcing you to?"

"No sir, Mr. Skywalker. He yells at the coach and the referees a lot though."

Clark rolls his eyes.

"I do not yell at the referees…they just idiots sometimes…and your couch is a lazy…"

Anakin interrupts him.

"Listen, can we just forget this if I get you to your son's game? My wife is going to make me suffer if I don't get back to our car."

Clark is reluctant to make peace. He wants justice. He looks in the rearview mirror at his son and then shrugs his shoulders as he looks up at Anakin.

"Gee, I don't know. What's it worth to you? As you can see, I have been inconvenienced for quite some time now."

"Fine."

Deirdre speaks to Anakin again.

"I must say, Mr. Skywalker, that green gingham shirt brings out the blue in your eyes. It's very becoming. You're a lot handsomer in person."

Clark stares at his wife.

"Are you done?"

Elan has to deal with the wrath of waiting motorists. He is nearly run over by several angry drivers. When Anakin finally returns to his speeder Isabel glances at him.

"I see an entire lane cleared. What happened?"

"Nothing. Everything is fine."

The Chester family cruises along the highway in the lane that Anakin opens up for them. Anakin remains quiet on the way into the city.

The class is not far from the University of Coruscant campus. The building is a modern structure surrounded by fragrant gardens and sounds of nature. Anakin is certain he hears ducks and chickens in the distance, as he is lead into the building by his wife.

They arrive at the registration table. A pleasant looking woman with white hair and blue apron greets the couple. She smiles up at them. She is wearing a badge with the name 'Edith' neatly stenciled within a filigree border. The registration table is covered with a crisp linen table drape with trays of nametags and information folders.

"Good morning! Welcome to Mothma's Kitchen. So glad to see you. My name is Edith. Is this your first time?"

Isabel answers before Anakin comes up with an inappropriate wisecrack.

"Good morning. Yes. This is our first time here. We registered online."

"Name?"

"Skywalker…Anakin and Isabel."

The woman at the table looks at the data pad and swipes the device with her stylus.

Anakin cannot restrain himself. He is compelled to speak.

"Hey, Edith, how are you doing? Listen; is the sign-in process as long as the class? 'Cause I've got things to do."

Edith is about to have them sign the data pad.

"Oh…goodness gracious…Ahh. It won't take long at all." She points to the data pad "Yes…here you are. Just sign in and we'll get you set up as quickly as possible. Wonderful! Now, the classroom is two doors down the hall to the left. You'll have a splendid time!"

Isabel smiles and ignores Anakin.

"Thank you."

Isabel slips her nametag lanyard around her neck. A younger woman directs them down a hallway where a young man just outside the classroom greets them. The male greeter is thin, blond with a polished appearance. His straight sandy blond hair is parted on the side. He is wearing khakis and a mint green gingham checked shirt. He is also wearing a blue bib apron with a nametag. He sees Anakin and Isabel approaching and raises his hand.

"Hi! Over here! Good morning. Welcome to Mothma's 'Cooking with Couples Workshop.' My name is Brad…"

He points to his staff nametag then looks at Isabel's badge.

"And you are Isabel! He checks his data pad and then looks up at Anakin who is less than thrilled to be there. "And I assume this is your better half…oh, you're not wearing your name tag. How about I help you with that-"

Brad is about to take Anakin's lanyard to place it over his head. Anakin stares at Brad and holds onto the badge.

"Not if you want to live…"

Isabel quickly interrupts.

"I'll help him with that." She snatches the lanyard and quickly slips it over Anakin's head. She treats him like the children when they were younger if they were behaving unreasonably ornery in the morning. She adjusts the collar of Anakin's green gingham shirt. "There! We're ready. Thank you, Brad." She grabs Anakin by the hand and leads him inside the classroom.

The kitchen classroom is large. There is a full workstation for each couple to use. On the granite counter are two bundles tied with Mothma's signature pale green grosgrain ribbon. Each bundle contains an apron, chef's hat, oven mitts, potholders, and a set of tea towels. All of the participants don their new attire; Isabel prepares to put on her apron. Anakin stares at his wife in disbelief. He has not yet untied his bundle.

"Really, Isabel? We're going to be stuck here all day with these people?"

"Yes. It's going to be fun. Turn around."

She promptly helps him with his apron as he protests.

"I'm not wearing that…stop…ouch! You're tying it too tight…"

He gives her a dirty look then begins to rifle through the drawers and cabinets of the workstation. Someone enters the room to the sounds of whispers and thunderous applause.

Isabel nudges him. Anakin runs his fingers through his hair then leans over to whisper to his wife.

"I didn't know I was going to have an audience. How do I look?"

"This isn't for you."

Anakin looks towards the front of the room and sees a woman in her mid-sixties. She smiles at the crowd and shakes hands with a few obvious admirers as she walks to a workstation.

"Thank you for that generous greeting. My name is Mothma Bircher and welcome to my workshop, 'Cooking with Couples' which is also the title of my 600th book."

Anakin whispers.

"Oh brother, this is what you signed us up for? There's not that much cooking going on to justify 600 books."

"Shhh!"

Mothma continues speaking.

"I see some familiar faces and a few new ones. For the next several hours, I will show you how to make 'Five Blossom Wedding Bread'. It is an old favorite of mine; and I think you will like it too. Husbands, I want you to help. So, shall we begin?"

After explaining the essentials, Mothma instructs the class to begin making the dough. Isabel dutifully follows directions while Anakin ridicules the other couples.

"Look at these guys, what a bunch of suckers." He looks at the neighboring workstation to his left. A heavyset couple beam as they fawn over their host Mothma.

"Mothma, we have all of your books and the recipes are all delightful!"

Anakin mocks them.

"Oh, geez. 'We bought all of your books.' I bet they ate the books too. That's why they're taking this class; they don't have the recipes anymore."

Anakin examines some of the utensils; he stops to catch his reflection in a metal spatula and begins to smooth his hair.

Isabel combines the ingredients and kneads the dough. Anakin watches. He sees Mothma slowly walking by each workstation to observe everyone's progress. Anakin quickly grabs the dough and begins pressing it.

"Let me do that."

"You need to listen to the instructions."

"I know what to do. How hard can it be? We're a team, right? Throw some more of those chunky green things in the dough."

"What?'

"That stuff that looks like boiled celery."

"You mean 'citron'?"

"Yeah. See? I'm helping. You know, this is kind of fun..."

"Stop poking it. Put the dough in the bowl. It has to rise."

"I know. You thought I wasn't paying attention."

Mothma observes the students as she walks around the room. She stops at the workstation where Isabel and Anakin are standing. She glances at the mound of dough in the glass mixing bowl.

"Very nice…oh-oh…" She takes a closer look at the bowl. Anakin stares at her.

"What do you mean, 'Oh-oh'?"

Isabel knows that tone. It is not good. Anakin could strike at any moment. Mothma begins to explain.

"It appears that someone was a bit too liberal with the fruit mix. It's going to weigh down the dough and you will never get a good rise….what you want is a light, airy dough with the fruit distributed evenly throughout."

"Really?"

A few days later, they are back in Doctor Melfi's office. Anakin and Isabel sit quietly as Melfi reads some notes. She removes her glasses and sighs before finally looking up at them.

"Well, I see cooking class is not an activity you do well together."

"Hey, Doc, we were fine until that busy body guy next to us starting laughing at our bread."

Isabel turns to her husband.

"Anakin, you didn't have to hit him in the face with the hot bread."

"He was being a jerk."

"He suffered first degree burns."

"So he got a couple of blisters…It'll unblock his pores."

"He could have sued you."

"He was thrilled to meet me."

"I have no words."

Dr. Melfi looks at Anakin for a moment then speaks.

"Clearly this class did not work for you. Let's try something different. There is a church auction and a charity garage sale. The garage sale is next week. Let's see how that goes. Your couple's coach will send me a report."

"Yes, ma'am. Are we done here?"

"Yes, Mr. Skywalker…we're done." Just as Anakin is about to stand up and leave, Dr. Melfi calls him back. "One moment, Mr. Skywalker…Who is Clark Chester?" She pulls a one of Anakin's personalized notes from her folder. She reads the attached business card.

"It's a referral. I'm drumming up business for you."

Isabel shakes her head in disbelief.

"I'll be outside in the waiting area. I don't think I want to know about this." She leaves.

Melfi looks at Anakin who stands behind the chair where he was sitting. She is somewhat agitated.

"You're 'drumming' up business for me?"

"Yeah, I thought you'd be happy."

"Since when do you do referrals? My job is to assess the need of counseling and determine solutions for couples. I am not here to round up your friends and neighbors for treatment."

"Gee, you're ungrateful! I do something nice for you and you don't even say 'Thank-you.' You got a lava flea up your bonnet?"

"Any referral from you is suspect."

"Hey, you'll thank me. You think I'm a handful, wait til you get a load of Clark and Deirdre Chester! Furthermore, I find your lack of faith disturbing, Doc. I am truly hurt. I wouldn't refer just anyone to you. You're a pain in my ass but I have a lot of respect for you. Mark my words, I'm a picnic compared to this guy."

Doctor Melfi abruptly ends the conversation. She has had enough of the Dark Lord for the day. She looks at her notes.

"Thank you, Mr. Skywalker."

"Let me know how it works out."

"I would never tell you that. I don't discuss my patients to other patients."

A crooked smile creeps across his face.

"If you say so, Doc."

"Good-bye, Mr. Skywalker."

Anakin starts out the door. He throws up his hands in frustration.

"Good-bye, Doc."

"Thank-you for the referral, Mr. Skywalker."

He smiles as he pokes his head back inside her office.

"You're welcome!"