EPILOG
"As you requested, Master: his lightsaber."
"And with his genetic material splashed over it. An excellent find."
"Did the analyses reveal it to be of sufficient quality to permit its use in the cloning process?"
"Yes. Take the lightsaber to Kamino. Have the cloners begin the quadruple-speed experiment. The donor's Force sensitivity should aid their work immensely. All we require is his body; all the better for us if his mind be left vacant."
"Indeed, my Lord. His blood will serve many a purpose for us in the coming storm."
"Quite so, Lord Tyranus. Quite so."
Ten years later...
As the fires of the Clone Wars spread throughout the galaxy, the last member of a rogue sect of Jedi from Bpfassh splashed his pod into the turgid waters of Dagobah. He clambered up the side of the pod as its hatch opened, letting the swamp into its depths and swallow it. The Dark Jedi reached the tip of the pod while the waters ravaged the delicate electronics of the pod, sizzling and snapping them to impotence.
Just before the last vestige of the pod's hull disappeared beneath the bog's surface, the Dark Jedi made a heroic leap from the middle of the water to its banks may meters away. Amid the surprised protests of the myriad denizens of the teeming world, his footfalls quickened as he fled toward the nearest glade of gnarltrees.
Long after his form disappeared into the ground-hugging murk, a slight thud reverberated throughout the foggy cover, barely distorted by the cries of the wildlife.
A second pod then touched down gently on the bank onto which the Dark Jedi had alighted. The pod's door descended gently to the marshy surface, and a wizened, green form waddled down to the planet's squishy surface. His gaze surveyed the scene intently, his head slowly swiveling to take in the new sights.
His quarry would not escape him this time.
Gingerly, he ambled toward the nearest vergence in the Force, taking care to tread lightly so that his opponent would not detect his approach. As his gimer stick tapped with each step, his long, pointed ears waggled in the air currents stirred by the beating of millions of wings, seen and unseen.
But it was his eyes that detected the approaching Force sensitive, rather than his own exquisitely tuned Force sense. The nebulous form gradually took shape as it grew larger, revealing a slight stoop to the posture accentuating the aged appearance given by the form's grayed crown and beard. The form's dilapidated robes drooped under years of caked grime; its right hand shaking slightly with an arthritic gimp.
In a husky rasp, it spoke to the interloper. "Master Yoda, I believe I've found the rascal you've been chasing. He shouldn't pose much of a problem, though I'd forgotten how much it hurts when you actually have to make contact with someone's jaw with your fist to stop him."
The eyes of the Jedi Grand Master widened in disbelief, his gimer stick dropping to the ground unheard. "Master Sifo-Dyas?..."