Su'cuy! Welcome to chapter 1 of Syzygy! As usual, all comments are welcome. Many thanks to those who show a continued interest in Galactic War, despite my few and far between updates :-/

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, nor did I develop the Mandalorian culture and language. I do, however, take credit for creating the majority of characters who play any part in the Galactic War series. [Note: most of the characters are not made "from scratch" (i.e., pure figments of my wild imagination); many are based on people who play (or played) major roles in my life.]

Syzygy is dedicated to all the peeps on fanfiction who encouraged me to finish this series (you all know who you are ;-)) You guys are the best! Syzygy is also a tribute to my best friend, whom I quote at the beginning of this chapter. He was the one who inspired me to think, to act, to be first and foremost a martial artist.

Chapter 1

"No, she's not a born fighter: she was born to take a hit. It's my job to take that resilience to a punch and nurture it so that it will grow into the strength to kayo the person who dared to sock her in the nose." – Jacen Palgwebb, in response to various Jedi Masters' astonishment at his Apprentice's incredible tenacity.

✶ The Fortitude, in transit, 406 days ABG✶

"Ma'am! Are you awake? General ell Talaan! Wake up!" Wolf yelled, pressing his mouth against the closed door. Kan stood by patiently as the soldier frustratedly tried to raise his commanding officer on his wrist link, only to become even more irritated as Adriaan's comm continually beeped on the other side of the door as no one bothered to pick it up and answer it.

"She's normally not a heavy sleeper," the clone commented when it became undeniable that General ell Talaan was not going to answer the door. The Captain – metamorphosing precipitately from stentorian and infuriated to equanimous and astute – replaced his helmet and turned to the Padawan questioningly. "Well, Commander, what do you suggest we do?"

Kan Enik did not like clones, but they always managed to butter him up with their compulsion to call him "sir" or "commander". It gave him a feeling of distance from them, a sense of authority and prestige. "Walk in," he suggested offhandedly, flicking his Padawan braid over his shoulder.

The soldier shifted uncomfortably, a patent indication that Kan had given him an order that was incompatible with the intrinsic moral code that was a congenital defect present in all clones. "But sir, she's sleeping –"

"And her presence is required on the bridge, not requested," Adriaan's student answered. "Besides, it's not like her to sleep deeply; she probably just has her music player headphones in, so she can't hear us knocking."

Wolf still temporized, which was unusual, for he was normally a pretty spontaneous guy. "It's not, well – it's against trooper protocol to enter the women's quarters, and…it's just not right to break down a lady's door like that!" he burst out finally.

Kan sighed, because he really didn't know how to respond to that statement without looking ignoble. So he merely shrugged and insouciantly Force-pushed the door open.

Jedi General Adriaan ell Talaan of Ade Verda Brigade was perched on top of a chair, her right leg hooked behind her head and her hands folded in front of her in some sort of bizarre meditative stance. Her entire body weight was being held up by her left foot's big toe. Her posture was so alien and unreal that both Jedi Apprentice and clone could do nothing but stare at her in shocked silence for a good ten minutes. Eventually, Kan rallied enough of his senses to choke out, "Adriaan, Jordin just recontacted us on the bridge. She wants to finish her conversation with you immediately."

The Jedi was taciturn; her eyes were squeezed shut, wisps of blond hair blowing across her face as her normally taut lips slack in a chimerical state. She looked so utterly relaxed in such an impossible, contortionist-type position, that Kan feared she had died.

And then her right calf muscle twitched the slightest bit, and her lips began to quiver, to mouth incomprehensible words under her breath. Her eyebrows sank down against her eyelids, and sweat popped out on her face. Her whole body began to flutter.

"I'm not tired; I'm fine, stop treating me like a little kid!" she screamed suddenly. "Put me down, put me down now!" Her leg whipped out from behind her head and began popping machine-gun kicks as her hands snapped into a warrior stance.

"Adriaan!" Wolf shouted, moving toward her. He grabbed her by the arm to haul her off her perch, but she whacked him away with a middle knife block and began to expertly pummel him with her feet and fists.

"I told you to just put me down! Don't kill yourself just to save me!" she screamed. Suddenly her eyes clicked open, all blue ice and yellowy heat and wide with an inexplicable terror. "Jacen!" she yelped, and then she crashed unceremoniously to the floor.

"General? Ma'am…Adriaan, are you all right?" Clone and Padawan said at the same time, both rushing forward simultaneously to help her. The Jedi was on her feet even before they reached her, and she looked so feral and menacing they didn't dare to move any closer, for fear that she would attack. "Adriaan?" Wolf asked cautiously. Kan glared at the clone. He shouldn't be calling her by her first name…

She abruptly relaxed her fighter's stance as she seemed to recognize them as friendlies. "Who just called me Adriaan?" she demanded sternly.

Kan heard the soldier gulp. "Um, sorry, ma'am; I just wasn't thinking," Wolf admitted, hangdog-like.

She stared him down. "What happened to calling me Ori'vod?" she asked. "Why do you no longer call me your big sister? Was it something I did?"

The clone scuffed his boots on the floor. "No, it was something I did," he said quietly.

Her face once again slid into a cool mask of torpor. "You are no doubt referring to saving my life by conducting mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," she said with plainly expressed ennui.

Wolf cleared his throat. "Actually, ma'am, I want to apologize for that –"

"No thank you," Adriaan said, her temper flaring. "I don't want your apology because there's nothing to be sorry about. Now, suppose you two explain why you barged in here without my permission."

"You promised Jordin you'd contact her once we were aboard the Fortitude, since you couldn't trust the communication systems down on the planet," Kan pointed out.

His Master passed a hand over her forehead, instantly placid. "Quite right; I completely forgot. I didn't know I would meditate for so long. Usually I can only stand the equanimity and acedia for about five minutes."

"You were tired," Kan hastened to comfort her.

"And an exhausted general is unacceptable," Adriaan remarked, pulling on her outer tunic. "Very well, let's go."

"What sort of information do you want?" Jordin inquired.

"Look up files on the Death Watch, and any Mandalorian warriors under the appellations of Rune and Atoya. Also, it would be a great help if you sent us a tracking report of General Grievous –"

She looks tired, Kan noted with some concern as his tireless tutor continued to add names to an increasingly tedious list of Intel to a clearly weary Padawan. Adriaan's first Padawan stood off a little to the side, feeling excruciatingly self-conscious looking upon his best friend for the first time in several weeks. She had always been a thin, spritely little girl, but now she was emaciated, almost lifeless. And he still couldn't get over the fact that her long tresses of red hair had been shorn off. What had possessed the girl to get a crewcut? He longed to ask her, but something in her tone and bearing made him hesitate. She was no longer the bright, cheerful girl he once knew. Fourteen-year-old Kan Enik found himself looking upon a strange, gorgeous, alien woman.

"I'll do my best, ah…what was your name again?" Jordin said when her Master finally got to the end of her spiel.

"Ree –" the Jedi Knight froze, and her expression became taut. "I mean, Adriaan ell Talaan. Your Master."

"Oh, yes. Forgive me." The brain-fried Padawan floundered for a painful moment, as if it took all of her concentration and focus to remember what she wanted to say next.

"So, um, I'll let you get to work now," Adriaan prompted, making a move to cut the communication. "Take care, Jordin."

"And keep an eye on Rez for me, will you?" Rez's commanding officer broke in. "I don't trust the scrawny little imp out on Triple Zero alone."

"Oh, but he's not alone," Jordin replied with an unexpected burst of radiance and verve. "He's with Synta."

Adriaan hemmed and hawed histrionically.

"Synta?" Ember asked, a jet-black eyebrow shooting up quizzically. "Oh, the acting CO on Triple Zero, I suppose?"

Adriaan cleared her throat again, in earnest this time. "Well, ah, she is a soldier," she said. "Ah, that is…preparing to join the GAR, anyway."

"'She'." The ELF Commando's voice was suspicious, dangerously apoplectic. "So you mean to say that my little brother is running around Coruscant with a woman I have not approved of, and you've known about it and deliberately withheld this information from me, his superior?"

"Do not forget that I am also his superior, and that I outrank you as well," The General retorted, her cheeks flushing at her subordinate's patronizing tenor. "Before we went black ops on Kuat, Rez sent me a text explaining the situation. I've exchanged a few communications with Synta on a secure link. She seems to be a…wholesome girl."

"But if she's planning to join the GAR, she must be at least seventeen," Ember pointed out. "That means she's three years Rez's senior in biological years, and six years chronologically. That's just wrong; I will not allow Rez to be led about by this woman –"

"Rez isn't one to be 'led about'" Adriaan contradicted sharply. "And Synta isn't a manipulative woman. She's the only thing that's kept Rez stable his entire stay on Coruscant. Give the girl a chance, for stars' sake, and trust my judgement in this matter. Face it, I have more worldly experience than you do, and I've judged her character as appropriate."

The Commander said nothing, but his scowl didn't lessen the tiniest fraction.

The Jedi was also incandescent, but she disguised her emotions better. Putting on her sabacc face, she turned back to the holo. "Thank you so much for contacting us and alerting us of your recovery, Jordin. It's so good to see you alive and well again," she said. "I'm not sure when we'll be able to talk to you again, but we'll get back to you when we can. May the Force be with you."

"May it also be with you," Jordin said rapidly, as if she wanted to get it all over with. "Now may I speak to Kan?"

Adriaan's deadpan expression didn't change, but her voice communicated her puzzlement. "Kan?"

"Yes. I haven't spoken to him for weeks," Jordin said in her usual matter-of-fact humor. "He's my best friend, and I want to speak to him in private, if you don't mind…you do understand, don't you, Master?"

An artless smile cracked the icy demeanor shielding Adriaan's pale form. "Of course I understand, Jordin." She beckoned for Kan to advance as she and the other members of the team turned away to leave. "You can transfer the call to your room, so you won't be disturbed," she whispered in his ear as she passed. "Come down to Storage Area 2B when you're finished. I've come up with another training session that I think you'll all benefit from."

Oh, great. Kan grimaced at the thought of another hellish workout, but he pasted on a synthetic smile and said with an alacrity that only penetrated his facial expression, "Okay, thanks Master. See you later."

A few minutes later, he had closed the door to his room securely behind him and had flicked back on the communication. Jordin's pale, thin, bluish image shimmered into view on the holotable. "Hello, Kan," she said cheerfully, but her joviality sounded a bit labored.

"Hey, Jordin," Kan replied, and he was surprised at how equally tired his voice sounded.

There was a pause that went on for too long. Then, finally, Jordin said, "I got your letter."

"Oh?" Kan tried to maintain a casual appearance as his heart rate spiked. I wonder if she disapproves of what I asked her to do. Will she tell on me? "Well, are you in?" he prompted.

"How could you ask such a thing?" Jordin chided gently. "You're like a big brother to me, Kan; I'd die for you. So of course I'm in. I'll contact you when I get results." She sighed and ran her hand unconsciously over her cleanly shaven head.

"Snazzy haircut," Kan said chivalrously.

Jordin grimaced. "Thanks. Rez cut it for me." She paused delicately. "He's a really sweet boy, Kan; I don't understand why you don't like him."

Kan's lips involuntarily pursed together. Jordin had deliberately tread on forbidden ground by bringing up the matter of his prejudice against the clone troopers. And she of all people should understand, he thought angrily. She was there on Geonosis with me; she saw my Master die. It's not the clones themselves that I hate; it's who they represent. They are copies of my Master's murderer. Until I can see past their faces, I can't love them. "I don't think it wise for you to broach that subject with me," he announced frostily.

Jordin's face crumpled as if she had been slapped, and though her dejected stance melted the ice in his heart, it did not soften the iron resolve in his soul, nor heal the wound which still bled unstintingly inside him. "I'm sorry, Kan," she said. "It's just that I can't despise Rez because, well, he saved my life, and he's been so kind to me this entire time. I know you won't understand, but I can't hate him just because his face happens to remind me of a cold-blooded killer."

Kan sighed. "So you are asking for my approval of you liking clones?" he said. "Very well, I approve of it, but I am sorry to say I cannot follow in your footsteps. Not everyone is an angel like you, Jordin."

"Oh, but I'm not an angel," Jordin protested. "Far from it; I commit errors just as often as anyone. Don't ever think yourself incapable of loving, Kan, for it is our very natureto love."

"Just give me some time," Kan pleaded. "This is just a mental block I need to hurdle. I'll get over it someday. I promise."

"Okay," Jordin said, with a smile that did not touch her melancholy eyes. "Just please, please try harder to stop hating them. For my sake. Could you do that for me?"

Could he do it for her? Kan smiled; it was the same question he had asked of her earlier. "How could you ask such a thing?" he replied. "Of course I'll do it, if only for your sake."

Wolf tore off his shirt and jogged into the storage area. The room had been cleared; most of the boxes had been pushed back, forming a square arena in the center of the floor. As the shadow ops trooper loped between columns of crates, a cheer erupted from amongst the Padawans and soldiers standing on the sidelines. The ELF Captain, who had been expecting to walk in the room to find an intense training session, took his place alongside his brothers and turned to see what so engaged their attention.

Adriaan stood in the center of the floor, her knees coiled beneath her in a backstance, her arms windmilling around her in a complicated martial arts hand technique. Kay Lee stood off to the side, balancing what appeared to be slabs of duracrete. Suddenly she tossed one over Adriaan, and the Jedi's front leg snapped up and kicked a full meter above her head, smashing the board into smithereens. The crowd oohed and ahed as the Jedi Knight changed into a dragon stance and began her Taikaido form, called SamJang, the Form of Fire.

And she looked like a firesprite, kicking and punching and leaping in the air, never halting in the intricate movements of the martial arts dance. Air hissed between her teeth whenever she landed a move, and as she punched, she let out a roar of such virile ferocity that it rooted everyone to the spot, petrified. Her hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, flew loose from its holder and floated wildly in the air, dancing like yellow flames as she tornado kicked again and again, breaking each duracrete slab Kay Lee expertly tossed to her. Suddenly she came to a standstill, one hand poised above her head, the other extended out, her legs bent in a deep stance. Then she took a deep breath, and with a flick of her wrist, her arms closed into the 'at ease' position as she clicked her heels together and bowed amidst the ruins of about two dozen duracrete bricks.

Wolf joined enthusiastically in the thunderous applause. They had all seen their young and limber teacher in action before of course, but she had never really shown off for them. Now he could see why the Jedi Council valued her so highly; she was a truly magnificent martial artist. He wondered who had been her mentor; he or she surely must've been one of the greatest warriors of all time. The Padawans had all warned him that asking Adriaan about her past was tantamount to sticking your head in a rancor's mouth, but Wolf nevertheless resolved then and there to ask her who her teacher had been.

"Okay, okay, I know you're just applauding to flatter me so I'll go more easy on you guys in today's training session, so just can it," Adriaan said with mock sternness, tightening her ponytail and shaking her arms and legs out to loosen them up. "Everyone into the ring and begin warmup. Give me twenty-five phase five burpees to warm your muscles up and after a couple more dynamic exercises we'll do some static stretching."

The Padawans – especially the Wicked Club and Klamin, who hated exercise of any form – groaned and dropped down to crank out their set of burpees. Wolf and his brothers completed the exercise with relative ease and then did some sparring footwork drills until Adriaan instructed them all to stretch. Beginning with the legs, she made sure they stretched their hamstrings well, then had them go down into the splits for five minutes each. This exercise the clones found especially difficult and strenuous, so they were glad when the static stretching was done and their Master made them all get up and run a few laps around the ring to finish warming their muscles. As they were jogging, Adriaan rolled her head from side to side to stretch the tendons in her neck and began explaining to them what the training session for the day was going to be.

"Last class we had was a few weeks ago, on a cruiser in transit to our Umbria mission," she reminded them. "A few of you do not have the brain capacity to recall the nature of that session," at this she glared pointedly at the Wicked Club, "so I will remind you all what the point of the last class was. You were supposed to learn how to fight as a team. Since that session, all of you have demonstrated the ability to work together, even without my guidance. A special commendation goes to the twins, Aedan and Andora, for their demonstration of outstanding fortitude and versatility during our mission to Umbria. Together, they held their own against General Grievous, a warrior who has slain countless Jedi Knights but who failed to kill them, two mere Padawans." Her arm swept out to indicate the twins as she inclined her head in a rare display of respect. "I am proud to call myself the Master of these two young, brilliant warriors."

"I opine we are ineligible of your august laudation –" Andora stammered, her face turning red with embarrassment.

"Shut up, GOOD! Of course we are! At least, I am!" Aedan bragged, slowing from a jog to a smug swagger, striking superhero poses to show off nonexistent muscles as he strutted. "Well, what's our WICKED prize? What did we WICKEDLY win?"

"Aedan!" his sister cried, shocked. "Be not so avaricious! Our superior's approbation is indubitably ample perquisite."

"How is that a reward?" the Wicked King scoffed, nonchalantly resuming his run after several of his teammates had bumped into him, spoiling what he thought was an imperious – but was in fact farcical – parade. "I'm praised all the time!"

"I urbanely gainsay –"

"It seems you two still have some differences to work out," Adriaan remarked drily. "Anyhow, there is no need to argue, because I do have gifts – for all of you, in fact."

Andora moued. "I do not covet the largesse, Master…"

"Well, I don't care, because you're going to need it for the lesson today," their Master interrupted brusquely. "You may all stop running and return to your class spots." When they had done so, she continued, "you may all have a fairly good idea now of what today's lesson will be, but just in case, I will explain: you have now mastered the art of working together, so now you must learn to operate alone."

The group shifted, team members murmuring excitedly.

Adriaan hooked her fingers in her belt, her finger caressing the hilt of her lightsaber. "By operating alone, I mean you must learn how to not think, but to do: to accomplish this, I must train your bodies to the breaking point and rebuild them into weapons, weapons which act on pure instinct, the key to survival. But remember, the difference between who wins and loses is that the champion is the one who controls the contest. You cannot expect things to go your way if you simply react to your opponent's attacks. There is a dissimilarity to acting and reacting, and you must master both to become a successful fighter."

"And what does the gift have to do with operating alone?" Kay asked.

"The one who controls the fight is the one who figures out his opponent before the opponent figures him out," the Jedi said. "There are various ways to ensure that your adversary can't get the upper hand of you, and one technique is to develop a your own combat style instead of conforming to the traditional ones. If you use a new style on an opponent, that opponent is less likely to predict what you are going to do than if you are using a standard technique on him."

"So in other words, today we are going to be selfish beings, focusing only on ourselves and what style we are most comfortable with," Cor said.

The Knight grinned. "Well, that's one way to put it."

Klamin raised his hand as if he were in a classroom.

"Yes, Padawan J'Oli?" Adriaan sighed.

"I have a question: are there unique battle styles for firearms combat as well?" he asked with a pointed stare at the clones.

"As a matter of fact, yes, but I plan on giving the ELFs a further advantage by teaching them hand-to-hand Jedi combat as well," she said.

"You mean you're going to teach them Jedi skills?" the Shi'Odo yelped. "Is that even allowed?"

"Of course," General ell Talaan said with a frown. "Why else would the Council have given me the ELFs if they weren't going to let me teach them as I would my own Padawans?"

"Does this mean we're getting lightsabers?" Lance asked eagerly, before Klamin could protest any further.

The Knight grinned but shook her head. "No – lightsabers are tricky to handle for non-Force-adepts. Non-Jedi can do it, but they can't expect to become any better than a first-year Jedi Padawan. But don't worry, I'll give you an alternative weapon that is almost as good, and is non-Force-user friendly."

She sauntered over to one of the bins bordering the "arena" and aimed a kick at it, sending it tumbling over onto its side. The contents spilled out on the ground for everyone to see. Adriaan bent down over the assembled pile of various metal, plastoid, and even crystal objects, and selected several thin cylinders, which she held up for the clones to view. "These are energy swords called lightfoils," she explained. "They are not as clumsy as other energy weapons, nor are they as graceful and powerful as a lightsaber, but you will find they are a satisfactory substitution for a Jedi weapon. They are thinner than lightsaber blades, but they are heavier, which makes them accessible to non-Force-adepts."

"One would think the heavier weapon would be more awkward to handle than a lighter blade," Lance observed.

In answer, the General tossed him a lightsaber clipped to her belt. As he caught it one-handed, she activated her own and went into a guard stance. "Come on, then; give me your best shot."

Lance twirled the weapon from one hand to another and executed a figure eight to get a better feel for the balance of the blade. Then he charged, swinging at the Jedi with a quick upward thrust angled from the left to the right. Adriaan stood still, her sword held away from her body, and though Lance's form looked far from the graceful, seemingly effortless moves executed by even the most maladroit students in the Varactyl Clan, it certainly seemed certain he was going to score a hit on her. But at the last nanosecond, the warrior shifted her neck and shoulders, tilting her head and upper body to the side so that the saber passed millimeters from her neck and chest. The inexperienced soldier was unable to react fast enough to halt the movement and retaliate with a forty-five degree swipe as any first year Jedi Apprentice would, so he was forced to finish the first swing, costing him precious moments of his time. The spectators expected the General to whack him smartly over the head with her lightsaber, but all the Jedi did was simply grab the wrist of Lance's sword hand. Everyone gasped as the extra push sent the lightsaber spinning out of the clone's hands and landing, deactivated, with a solid clank on the floor.

"That is why," Adriaan said calmly, using the Force to bring the fallen sword back to her hand. "The lightsaber is the lightest weapon in the galaxy, and its lack of weight makes it extremely hard to control."

"Shab, boys, wielding one of those shiny sticks is harder than these Jedi make it look, Lance said in the subcutaneous link. "That toy was so light it almost felt I didn't have anything in my hand."

"In fact, it is extremely difficult – almost to the point of impossibility – for anyone without an inkling of Force sensitivity to be able to wield a lightsaber with any sort of control and precision. You will have much better luck developing your swordsmanship with lightfoils," the Jedi said, Force-tossing the weapons to the ELF Commandos.

Wolf intercepted his and held the object at eye level, examining it with a gaze well-experienced in assessing armament. The hilt was plain gunmetal gray, and unadorned except for a small red button situated on its side. Directing the barrel end away from his body, he flicked the button up, and was rewarded by a long shaft of blue-grey light projecting from the mouth, emitting a soft humming sound that was at a higher pitch than the sound the Jedi weapon emanated. As the clone looked around, he noticed that their General had solicitously given them all lightfoils with colored blades which corresponded to the markings on their armor. Ember held a smart red lightfoil, Nano sported a sunny yellow, Lance proudly swung a teal-colored blade, Onor looked at his aqua blue one apprehensively, while the others boasted similarly color-coordinated weapons. The ELF Commando looked away from his own new toy to see Adriaan holding out a dark green one to him. "I get double, ma'am?" he asked, astonished at his good fortune.

"No, this one is for Rez," she said, deactivating it and handing it over to him. Her former displeasure with the Captain seemed forgotten. "I trust you to take good care of it until he gets back."

"You can count on me, Ori'vod," he said happily.

"Now," the Jedi said, looking around. "As for the Padawans, I give you all one month to decide on and begin developing your new styles. I will critique your performances at the end of that time period." Catching the dirty look some of the lazier Apprentices – that is, Marya, the Wicked Club, and Klamin – gave her, she added, "You are lucky I have decided not to adopt my Master's method of selecting styles and forms for my own students, but to allow you all to figure out your own personal styles on your own. If you have any difficulties, you may ask me or any of your peers for assistance.

"In addition to learning your own form, you must also learn my custom combat form, which I will be employing to teach the ELFs how to wield their lightfoils with some degree of proficiency. I do not expect you to immediately replace your current lightsaber style with the new one; in fact, I advise against it. Last time I was at the Jedi Temple I took the opportunity to collect extra sets of generic lightsaber hilts, which you see scattered amongst this assortment of hilt adapters and customizations. There are double the amount of hilts than there are students in this pile, in the unlikely event that you all opt for a double-saber style of combat. You will spend the next week or so building your secondary lightsabers in the spare time between objectives. You are not under any circumstances to use these new swords for activities other than practice drills until I say you have become adept enough in the new technique to be reliable on a mission. In short, you will use your current fighting styles on all assignments and objectives while working on your custom forms in your spare time." She paused to make sure everyone had kept pace with her heteroclitically long-winded speech. "Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am!" everyone chorused.

"Good. Now…" Adriaan Force-pushed all the materials into the bin and slammed the lid back on. Everyone watched, baffled, as she hefted it onto her back and Force-threw it into a turbolift ten meters away. She then loped quickly to the lift and squeezed herself in after the crate. "Some idiot has smuggled in four hundred and sixty battle droids into this storage area," she said, rotating to address them. "Before you begin your assignments, it is your imperative duty for each of you to fix this…error. If you are a Padawan and have successfully taken care of twenty droids, come and see me to gather the hilt and customizations for your new lightsaber. If you are a clone, come and see me and –" she held out her hand, and Wolf felt an invisible force tear the lightfoil from his grasp, "– you will get your lightfoil back." She stuffed the foils into her pack and grinned as the turbolift began to close. "Have fun."

"What a flot,"The sloth-prone Shi'Odo muttered.

"GOOD!" the Wicked Club cried indignantly.

The disgruntled group turned and began to draw their weapons as the droids afore mentioned materialized out of the gloom and marched slowly into the arena.

"I really hate it when she does that," Kan growled through clenched teeth.