Let Qui-gons be Qui-gons

About three years ago, shortly after my great-grandma died, four of us (me, Mom, Kevin, and Brandon) piled into my car to drive to her house and clean up the yard in order to sell the place. When I climbed into the driver's seat, Kevin began howling and pleading for mercy in a Jar Jar Binks type of voice, moaning "Wesa gonna die!" He was just teasing, of course, but it riled me nonetheless.

"I'm not that bad a driver!" I snapped at him as I started the engine.

Two seconds later I backed into his car.

The family has not quit laughing over the incident since.

Why do I repeat this mortifying experience (well, mortifying at the time -- now it's funny as all get out)? To get a point across -- the point being that I'm not as good of a driver as I'd like to think. I've gone up to twenty miles over the speed limit, I've run stop signs and red lights, I've almost driven off the road while admiring the scenery or fishing for my cell phone, I even took a merry jaunt the wrong way up a one-way before (NOT the freeway, thankfully!). I've been fortunate enough to not get any traffic tickets and only experience one minor car accident, but that's due less to my driving skills than it is to the fact that God must be looking out for this hopeless geek.

And today only served to illustrate that point as Vader attempted to give me flying lessons today. Key word being "attempted."

"You're using too much force on the steergrip," he informs me over my comm. "Remember, in space there is no air resistance, nothing to stop you once you go into a spin. It only takes the slightest nudge to turn the ship in the proper direction. Try again."

I grit my teeth and struggle to pilot my Delta-class starfighter -- the same type used by Obi-wan in AOTC -- on the little obstacle course he's chosen. The space around Earth is NOT empty, people -- it's so full of garbage that one has to wonder how ships can even land here. Burnt-out satellites, old rockets, clouds of debris... it's a deadly accident waiting to happen. I even see a wrecked TIE floating around in the flotsom, which Vader identifies as a former member of the Imperial 181st who had an unfortunate collision with a chunk of the MIR space station.

"Around that satellite," he orders. "Make it as tight as you can without hitting it."

I carefully guide the starfighter around the burnt-out contraption. Easy does it, I remind myself. No use making yourself sick going in circles...

"Good," he tells me. "But watch your starboard side..."

"Poodoo!" I hiss as I graze the satellite. "Too tight!"

"Better than your last attempt," he tells me.

"Don't remind me."

"Time to land. We'll work more on this tomorrow."

At least I have landing down pat. His TIE and my Delta touch down next to the Phoenix in Rose's yard, and I hop out of the ship and head for the house. Prime's main engineer, Wheeljack, constructed the two fighters for us (yes, the ships are actually Transformers, don't laugh), knowing Vader would most likely fight with the space forces in our upcoming battle... and also guessing (correctly) that I would most likely demand to join Vader in the battle.

Of course, that means flying lessons if I want to get out of said battle in one piece. At this point, though, if Unicron attacks right now I'll be useless for about anything except spinning in circles...

"Anything hot in the kitchen?" I ask Trisha. "I'm taking dinner to Rose again."

"Yoda made stew, but no one's touched it," she replies.

"I don't blame them. What's everyone else having?"

"Maul ordered pizza. There should still be some left. Check in the kitchen."

I go in and filch several slices of pizza as well as some cold sodas. Several of the guys are at the table playing sabaac, and out of curiosity I take a glimpse to see who's winning.

And just about drop dinner all over my feet.

Five guys are seated at the table, holding cards and surveying their odds. Maul's here, as is Megatron, Han, Starscream... and a new face.

I should have something intelligent to say to this guy, seeing as I admired and respected him despite his untimely demise. But the only thing to pop out of my mouth is "How the heck are you guys popping back from the dead?"

Qui-gon Jinn looks up from his cards and offers me a smile. "Sorry, it's not something I'm at liberty to tell."

"And just what's possessed you to start playing cards with the guy who stabbed you in the gut?"

Maul manages to look sheepish and turns to Qui-gon. "If it's any consolation... sorry about that."

"No hard feelings at all," Qui-gon replies. "You were only doing what you were trained to do."

I shake my head, wondering if I have a screw loose.

"What's going on in here..." begins Vader, entering the kitchen. Upon seeing Qui-gon, he freezes, and I swear his eyes are bugging out under his mask.

"Anakin," smiles Qui-gon, folding his hand and standing to greet Vader.

Vader shakes his own head, though out of denial rather than disbelief. "I am no longer worthy of that name, Master Qui-gon. I'm not the innocent boy you rescued from Tatooine anymore."

"That makes no difference to me, Anakin," he replies.

I regain my senses quickly, and I kick Han's chair. "Pick up the game and take it to another room. Give these guys some privacy."

"No, it's all right," Qui-gon says. "We'll take our discussion to another room."

Vader and Qui-gon leave. The others watch them go, then return to their game as if nothing had happened. I just roll my eyes and head to the Ark to eat and visit with Rose.

Rose and Prime, it looks like you have the help of Jedi Master Qui-gon Jinn, a compassionate and slightly renegade Knight with a penchant for doing things his own way despite anyone's objections, in your battle against Unicron. He hopes to be of service to you and to learn more about Prime's people in the process. And he hopes to reforge his relationship with Vader as well.

It also looks like I'm going to be having another houseguest come time to go home...

A Chosen One By Any Other Name

I had told Mom I was planning on coming home once Prime had recovered from his wounds, but I see I'm going to have to go back on that. Because things are heating up over here.

For those not following the events in Kentucky on Rose's blog, let me sum it up for you. Optimus Prime is back in action... but Nemesis Prime showed up and proceeded to pull a Palpatine on poor Rose -- basically the "I'll fulfill your desires if you switch sides and join me" act that the not-so-dearly departed Emperor loved to pull. Rose rejected him, Nemesis nearly killed her, and Prime, Vader, Yoda, Roddy, and Vector Prime chased him off.

So the good news is our Prime has been healed... but the bad news is that Nemesis has been blown off once again and will probably be back for nothing less than blood next time.

I watch as Vader, Roddy, and Yoda escort Rose out of the house -- and overhear something about the brig on the Ark. Geez, Rose was the one attacked and she's going to the brig? Talk about a death-defying leap in logic...

My comm goes off, and I answer it. "Starflight speaking."

"When are you coming home?!!"

I sigh. "Look, 652, you volunteered to take my place at the library..."

"Your children's librarian and one of the front-desk workers just both quit! I'm stuck shelving the children's books now! As if there wasn't enough to do! And speaking of children, what's this poodoo about not being allowed to stun-blast the little shaved Ewoks when they climb on the shelves and knock books all over the floor? I spent half an hour cleaning up after the storytime crowd..."

"You know, you didn't HAVE to take the assignment by yourself," I point out. "You could have asked for backup."

"Yeah, but where do you think we get our stubbornness, girl?"

I sigh. Sometimes I forget I'm talking to a copy of myself. "Tomorrow take backup. Just don't let patrons see both of you in the same area. It'll be tricky, but at least it'll avoid a scene."

652 sighs. "Fine. Oh, and your father called. Your Uncle Patrick* died two days ago."

It takes me a minute to remember Uncle Patrick -- I'm not very familiar with my dad's side of the family. I finally remember him as the uncle who loved tormenting us kids with spooky ghoul masks and rubber spiders. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. It was on your voice mail."

"Have someone call him back and offer condolences. One of you can even go to the funeral if you want. Remember to wear black -- I should still have that black velvet dress in my closet."

"Roger, Starflight. 652 out."

I sigh as I disconnect the comm. Glad it's them and not me. Don't get me wrong, I feel bad that Uncle Patrick died. But for years I've disliked funerals, even those of close family members. I guess it stems from my father dragging me to the funerals of people I had never even heard of when I was a kid. Or maybe I just have separation issues...

"What's going on?" comes a voice from behind.

"Work's going nuts and my uncle just died," I tell Prime.

He winces behind his mask. "Do you need to leave?"

"No, that's okay. My uncle and I weren't close at all. And the troops can handle work if they just let go of their stubbornness for awhile."

He laughs. "Sounds as if you can be as stubborn as Anakin."

"Huh? Oh, Vader. Sorry, I never got used to the Anakin bit."

Prime broods on that a bit. "Why do you continue to call Anakin by his Sith name? He is no longer a Sith."

"Force of habit, I guess."

"Habits can be broken."

"I know, but... Vader's used to it too. I've noticed he doesn't always answer right away when people call him Anakin. After twenty-plus years as Vader, he can't exactly revert back to Anakin overnight."

"I concede that point." He sits down beside me. "But it seems to me that if he wanted to fully renounce the dark side, he would go back to using Anakin."

"Maybe he doesn't feel worthy of the name anymore. Or maybe he doesn't want the entire galaxy to make the connection between Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader. After all, just because most of Earth knows doesn't mean the entire universe has to know."

Prime's silent for a few minutes. "Perhaps I shouldn't judge. After all, I, likewise, don't go by my real name by choice."

"Orion Pax?"

He nods.

"You don't mind Rose calling you that."

"True. But because I love her I allow that. Just as I'm sure Anakin would allow you to call him by his real name if you so chose."

"If I chose, yes. But for now I'm sticking with Vader unless I hear otherwise."

"Very well. Though I suppose it's a trivial matter in the end. Anakin Skywalker or Darth Vader, it makes no difference."

The overgrown Mack truck has a point. Vader's gone by a lot of names and titles over the years, from simple "Boy" under Watto to Padawan, Knight, Dark Lord, Sith Apprentice, Resistance Leader, etc. But none have changed who he is -- the Chosen One, destined to overthrow the Sith and bring balance to the Force.

"I'm glad to see you up and about," I tell Prime.

"Thank you," he replies. "And thank you for coming to our aid."

"No problem. And thank YOU for helping me when the Emperor was stuck in my head."

"I couldn't have done less..."

Peals of laughter cut off the conversation, and we look over to see Jango, Altia, and Shyan chuckling over Megatron and his new girlfriend, Meleficent, whom they apparently caught lip-locking behind one of the Resistance tents. Now the two Padawans and the bounty hunter are enduring some withering looks from the fairy and Decepticon.

"Mele and Megs are sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N..."

Their singsong teasing leaves off abruptly as Meleficent raises her staff, and after the fireworks abate all that remains of the three of them are a trio of highly detailed stone statues, capturing the singers in poses of surprise.

"Um... you're not going to leave them like that, are you?" I ask.

Meleficent smiles. "I'll restore them... eventually." She takes Megatron's arm, and they move off, presumably to someplace more private.

Prime rolls his optics. "I sincerely hope Rose and I aren't like THAT."

"And I hope Vader and I aren't like that." I kick a stone across the driveway. "Speaking of Rose, why's she being dragged to the brig?"

"For her protection." He gives me a wry look. "You might find yourself locked up for your own good yourself, so watch your back."

"Anyone tries throwing me in a brig, I bite them," I retort.

He just laughs.

I wave at the turned-to-stone Padawans and hunter as I head back for the house for a bite to eat and some sleep. With Nemesis and Unicron on the move, who knows when I'll have a chance for either of those things again in the near future?

James Taylor Says It All

Honest truth -- I've never had a curfew in my life. Mom never needed to set one, actually. Things like that were handled on a case-by-case basis. If us kids wanted to go somewhere, be it a date, party, or convention, Mom wanted to know where we would be, who we would be with, a phone number where she could reach us, and what time we thought we'd be home. If we couldn't provide the above, we couldn't go. Plain and simple.

Even though I'm technically an adult, I still subscribe to the above rule of letting Mom know the details of an excursion. Partly because I'm living under Mom's roof and still need to respect her rules, but mostly because it's a dang good idea to let someone know where you'll be. Even if it's about a dozen states away.

"Remind me again why you had to go to Kentucky?" Mom asks over the communicator.

"To help out a friend," I reply. "Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, but it takes awhile to explain."

"If it takes awhile to explain, maybe I don't want to know," Mom says with a chuckle.

I laugh. "Drache should've left a few troops there. Feel free to boss them around. They're not afraid of heavy work."

"Will do. When do you think you'll be home?"

"Don't know. We don't know when Unicron's supposed to attack yet. I'll call you every night and keep you updated. Oh, and call us if you notice anything weird going on -- troops, explosions, whatever."

"All right. Love you, sweetie. If it looks like it'll be longer than a week, let me know."

"Okay. Love you too. 'Bye."

Megatron smirks as I turn off the comm. "Not much fazes your mother, does it?" he observes.

"Eh, depends," I reply. "She wasn't too thrilled when I left a roast in the slow cooker all day without turning the slow cooker on."

I scan Rose's backyard, feeling a little sorry for her. Believe me, I know from experience how difficult it is to put up with dozens of creatures from many different worlds camped on your property. In addition to my crew (who ALL decided they had to be present, not just Vader and Luke and Drache and I), there's Rose's live-ins, two LOTR elves, Meleficent (I remember her best from "Sleeping Beauty," though apparently she's got a big "Kingdom Hearts" following now), Supersonic and Dash, the Doctor, Rogue Squadron, Daleks, Gung Ho Guns, and other creatures I couldn't pick out of a lineup to save my life. And in the sky overhead I can make out the forms of Asgard ships, the Executor, several other Star Wars ships, and goodness knows what else. I just hope that, with so many different universes involved, infighting can be kept to a minimum.

"Miss Starflight?"

I turn to face the speaker, a Transformer I don't recognize. "Um... Sunstreaker?" I only recently started reading up on the Transformers, so most of them are still unfamiliar to me. I wonder if I should have made myself some flash cards before coming...

"Nope, Sideswipe," he replies with a grin. "Sunstreaker's getting his skidplate kicked by Maul on the Playstation."

I have to laugh at that. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, Vader's in the house. He'd like a word with you."

I follow Sideswipe into the house and to a room where Optimus Prime (whom I DO recognize and would anywhere) is lying on a bed, peacefully asleep by the look of things. The Autobot medic, Ratchet, is busy tending to his wounded leader while Rose looks on. Vader, meanwhile, is talking softly to Sentinel and Xam -- former Sith Lords from another Star Wars universe who joined the Resistance -- but once I enter the room they bid him polite goodbyes and take their leave.

"How is he?" I ask, nodding at Optimus.

"Improving," Vader replies. "He will recover. But it will take time."

Rose, frankly, looks like a wreck. I can't say as I blame her. I know if it were Vader lying here wounded, I'd be deeply upset too. She and her loved ones came to my aid before. I can't let her suffer alone, not when I owe her so much.

Not sure what else to do, I give her a hug.

"Thanks," she murmurs.

"Anytime," I tell her. "I'm right here if you need to talk, vent, or just want a shoulder to cry on."

She nods, then returns to her vigil at her beloved's side. Vader stands at her side and places a hand on her shoulder, his eyes never leaving Prime's face. I go to Rose's other side, and I find myself singing softly as I do so:

When you're down and troubled
And you need some love and care
And nothin', nothin' is going right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there
You've got a friend

We're here for you, Rose and Prime. To the end.

The Dark Lord Speaks IX: En Route to Kentucky

When the Terran Resistance was first formed, its original purpose was to see to the overthrow of Emperor Palpatine. When that was accomplished, the goal changed to protecting the galaxy from the Emperor's allies. Most recently, the Resistance rebanded to save Kenya from Palpatine's twisted soul, for which I am eternally grateful.

Now, I must ask the Terran Resistance to regroup again. For one of our own is in peril.

It is my personal opinion that Earth is not merely another world on our galactic charts -- it is the meeting point for many alternate realities. In my dealings on this planet in the past year I have met many so-called fictional characters, including Severus Snape and other wizards, the Phantom of the Opera, Eragon and his foes and allies, the Asgard, lycanthropes of every variety, V, the infamous Doctor, a Sith Lord from an alternate "Star Wars" universe, Vash the Stampede, and many others (if I neglected to mention your name here, I deeply apologize). One being in particular, regarded as fictional by many, has become a close friend to me, and I have vowed to repay him for his services.

His name is Prime. Optimus Prime.

I am not very familiar with the Transformers' universe, but thanks to our mutual friend Roseprincess I and Kenya have become acquainted with several of its denizens, including the aforementioned Prime, Ratchet, Megatron, Rodimus, Prowl, and others. On her blog, she details her life with the Autobots and Decepticons (who appear to have made peace) and the various quandaries and adventures they have gotten her into.

Most recently, in a post entitled "Grim Developments, " Prime was seriously wounded by a hideous alter-ego named Nemesis Prime. Rose is an emotional wreck, a state I know all too well. Another war seems to be gearing up, this time in the Transformers' universe.

I am currently on my way to Kentucky to aid Rose and Prime however I can, accompanied by Kenya, Luke, and General Drache (Master Yoda and General Solo will tend to the Jedi Order and main body of Resistance troops back in Idaho). Prime came to me when I was in need, and I would be a fool to not repay him in kind.

I ask all who participated in the battle against the Emperor to come forward and fight again. We cannot let these valiant warriors stand alone against this menace. An attack upon one front is an attack upon us all, and if we do nothing, evil will have already won.

We fought for Kenya's sake. Let us now fight for Rose's sake.

Onward to Kentucky!

When the Nexu's Away, the Womp Rats Will Play...

FRIDAY, ABOUT 8:30 PM

Another lunar cycle, another full moon. I think I'm finally starting to get the hang of this lycanthropy business. I'm not dreading the change this month -- rather, I'm looking forward to it.

With the sun setting earlier in the day, my change is likewise coming about earlier in the day. So it's not long after dinner that Vader and I are saying goodbye to Mom (who's surprisingly accepting of the fact that she has a were-horse for a daughter) and the rest of the gang (who have demonic smiles on their faces) and heading out for the night.

Once I've shifted into horse mode, Vader saddles up and we're off for Celebration Park. It's a beautiful stretch of sagebrush wilderness about an hour's ride from where I live, and supposedly there are still a few herds of wild horses living out here. I figure I might as well get some use out of my horse form and see if I can get close to them.

"I think I see something," Vader informs me, pointing. There in a shallow gully a patch of dun-colored hide moves slightly, illuminated by the moonlight.

You might want to dismount, I tell him. They might panic when they see you on my back.

"I'm used to people panicking when they see me," Vader replies, a hint of resignation in his voice.

Hey now, don't be so hard on yourself, I chide, nudging his leg with my muzzle. They just don't have much pleasant experience with humans, that's all.

He slides off, takes the saddle and halter off, and hangs back while I approach the gulley.

There's about seven horses there, all settling in for the night. Most of them are brown or tan, so my gray-silver hide is rather conspicuous. One of them, however, is a blue roan, close to my own color, and it approaches cautiously.

One of the traits my lycanthropy's given me is the ability to understand horses, both their body language and their vocal language. Unfortunately, the domestic horses around our area are either stupid or just don't have much to say beyond "Got any carrots on you?" or "Not the saddle again!" Let's see if wild ones are any different.

Where's your herd? the roan asks, flicking its ears questioningly. It's dangerous to travel alone around here.

I'm... new here, I say evasively. I was just looking around.

He -- for now I realize I'm talking to the stallion of the herd -- raises his head, intrigued. You're free to join us, you know.

Thanks, but no thanks. I'm just fine...

I can protect you, he offers. There are many dangers -- coyotes, mountain lions, fires, the men who round us up... If you were part of our herd, you wouldn't have to worry about such things anymore.

Um, Darth? I send in his direction. A little help?

A mental chuckle. You got yourself into this mess, you can get yourself out.

That's not fair! I'm getting hit on by a mustang, and you're the one getting the laughs...

The stallion whirls in Vader's direction as the former Dark Lord tries but fails to hold back his snicker. What's that?

You don't have to worry about him, I say quickly. He's not here to hurt you...

The stallion paces out of the gulley and approaches Vader, who manages to get his laughter under control and stand. He holds perfectly still as the stallion performs a quick inspection, smelling and studying.

Not like any human I've seen. Smells wrong, too. He came with you?

Um... yeah...

Vader reaches up and puts a hand on the stallion's neck. The horse shies a little, but then stands still as Vader speaks telepathically to him.

I have no desire to hurt you. I only came out here to see you and your kind. You have nothing to fear from me or my friends.

The stallion nods. You came from the falling stars?

Vader starts slightly. Falling stars?

A star fell from the sky awhile ago. Not a star like the lights that appear at night, but a star like an enormous metal bird. You came from one of those?

From something similar, only much longer ago. Where did you see this?

He stretches his neck out and points with his muzzle -- straight in the direction of home.

One thing about being a horse -- your stomach has a LOT more room to squirm around inside you. Thanks for telling us.

My pleasure. He nods deeply in my direction. Your friend seems to be a kind sort. But if you ever change your mind, you are welcome in our herd.

Yeah, fine, whatever, I grumble. Vader, saddle up! Something bad's going down back at the farm...

***

Meanwhile, back at the farm, the gang's having the time of their lives.

Mom's suffering from a headache, so early on in the evening she kicks everyone but Brandon out of the house. That doesn't stop the party, though -- someone drags the Playstation and TV out to the barn, and soon everyone's engaged in snacking, laughing, and playing cutthroat DDR.

"Grievous should be here," notes Han, pouring himself some Corellian ale. "Didn't you say he's a dancer?"

"He was more into ballroom dancing," Luke replies, pulling his boots back on after trouncing Altia again. "This is a different sort of style."

Spencer hoots and does a victory jig, having just kicked Maul's butt at last. Maul wipes sweat from his face and turns to the table for a drink while Trisha kicks off her sandals and goes to face off against Shyan.

"So how much longer are you and the Padawans going to be here?" asks Han. "Place is starting to burst at the seams."

"Not too terribly long," Luke answers. "The Temple reconstruction work was held up a little by a freighter crash; otherwise we'd be moved in by now. I'd say a couple more weeks."

"Too bad," Han grins. "I was growing fond of those Tuskens."

The terrible twins laugh gleefully from a corner, where they're hosing poor Jango down with silly string (courtesy of Sith Snoopy).

Luke laughs. "They're a little rambunctious. But I have high hopes for them. They're strong in the Force..."

A starship engine drowns out the festivities, and everyone quiets down and listens as the ship touches down. Footsteps, an opening door...

"Not you again," groans Han.

"Who reassembled IG-88?" demands Shyan.

The droid clumps into the room, leveling blasters at the crowd. Its blood-red photoreceptors take in the festivities with a calculating glare. It speaks in a deadly monotone:

"Lord Darth Vader is at large on this planet. You will turn him over to me, or you will die. The choice is yours."

Luke studies the droid. Then he turns to his Padawans and gives a slight nod.

And at that signal, the Tusken twins throw the cans of silly string at the assassin droid.

IG-88 shoots the canisters in midair, and they explode, showering him with bits of metal and colored spray. Stunned by the blast, he doesn't react immediately when Luke, Maul, Shyan, Gindy, Altia, and Valdin ignite lightsabers and dive in for the kill...

And that's about the time Vader and I came charging into the barn -- just in time to see bits and pieces of IG-88 go rolling every which way on the concrete floor.

"Well, this is certainly a blast from the past," Vader notes, observing the remains of the assassin droid. "I had thought we'd dispatched this thing last year."

"There's four IG-88 droids," Trisha chimes in. "Five if you count IG-76, but he's a slightly different make. So this makes two down..."

"Three down," Jango puts in. "Boba Fett took one down."

Two to go, I realize. And with that bounty on Vader's head, we can probably expect the other two any time now.

Vader dismounts. "It does no good to worry about it now. We will deal with any further hunters or assassins when the time comes. For now..." He cocks his head at me. "IG-88 disrupted our evening together. It's most likely too late to go back to Celebration Park. Perhaps our friends would not mind if we joined them for the remainder of the night..."

"Um..." Valdin interrupts, pointing to the door. "You guys brought back friends, it looks like."

I turn -- and give the horse version of a dismayed groan. Six mustangs, led by a gleaming-eyed blue roan, are standing at the door of the barn.

Mom is going to wig out when she finds we've acquired new livestock overnight...

Any takers for horses, anyone?

Lunch Break and Fire Drill

Why do people make a big deal about the weirdest, littlest things and completely ignore other, seemingly bigger things? Case in point -- I come to work escorted by stormtroopers, no one bats an eyelash. I come to work with hair that's gone snow-white almost overnight and a blaster at my side, people don't even notice. General Grievous rides a book cart at top speed down the rows of books, and the only reaction from my co-workers is to step calmly out of the way. An astromech unit fries the motherboards on the children's computers... okay, bad example.

I casually tell someone over lunch that I have a date planned with Darth Vader this weekend, they flip out.

Okay, so maybe it doesn't help that this was Grace*, the new girl, who still hasn't gotten used to a co-worker who's followed to work by the denizens of other planets. But still, the principle of the matter...

"You're going out with WHO?"

"Darth Vader," I sigh, pulling my lunch out of the microwave in the break room. Leftover macaroni and cheese. Yippie. (Though really, not bad with some ketchup...)

"Um... you do know he..." She looks about ready to say "doesn't exist," but amends the question. "...that he's pretty evil?"

"He used to be," I tell her, going to the employee fridge for the ketchup. "But he's not anymore."

She stares at me, her salad-laden fork frozen halfway to her open mouth. "And how, may I ask, did you come to know him in the first place?" she asks in a tone that suggests I'd look great in a straitjacket.

I'm tempted to say "long story, read the blog" but think better of it. "Last year, around the time the newest Star Wars movie came out, he landed in Idaho and started hanging out at my place under the pretense of researching the fan following his world has here -- though he was actually plotting the Emperor's fall, and he succeeded at that. So yeah, now no more Emperor and Vader's pretty much a free agent, though he helps his son out with the Jedi Order from time to time."

She shakes her head. "You've lost it."

"Who do you think the guys in white are that come to work all the time?" I retort, peeling my banana while I'm waiting for the entree to cool down. "There aren't THAT many fans in Onehorsetown, Idaho. They're my bodyguards."

She sighs. "Kenya, I know you like Star Wars..."

Like? Oh no, not like, my friend. "Like" is far too mild a word. But saying that right now'll just convince Grace I need a time-out in the padded room.

"...but there comes a time when you have to separate fantasy from reality. I mean, Star Wars is okay, but it shouldn't be your life."

"Actually, it's been my life for the past year and four months," I retort, pausing to take a bite of banana and a nibble of macaroni. No meat on the menu -- full moon comes this Friday, and already my body's insisting on nothing carnivorous.

"This has to be the craziest conversation I've ever had," she mutters.

"Oh, I haven't gotten into the other things," I grin. "I haven't told you about being turned into a lycanthrope..."

"A WHAT?"

"Lycanthrope. Were-thing. Like werewolves -- except in my case, it was a were-horse. See, here's where the thing bit me." I roll back my sleeve to show her the crescent-shaped scar.

"Were-horse?"

"Yup. That's what this Friday's about. When the moon rises and I change form, Vader and I are riding out to Celebration Park to see if we can find the mustangs that live there." I'm looking forward to this experiment, actually. I found out last full moon that domestic horses seem to be okay with a were-horse in their midst. Now we'll see how wild ones do.

She arches an eyebrow. "So if I'm hearing this correctly, you're going out with Darth Vader."

"Uh-huh."

"Which implies you two are a couple."

"Not married, but yeah, a couple."

She grins, and a sly light shines in her eyes. "So... what exactly have you two been doing?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I haven't seen the movies in a long time, but I do know he's a cyborg..."

"Girl, get your mind out of the gutter," I grumble. "No sex before marriage is what we've decided."

"Ooh, so there's going to be a wedding? Who's going to be best man, Captain Picard?"

"That's Star Trek, not Star Wars, and he hasn't even proposed."

She's on a roll now, and I can sense she's really enjoying teasing me. "So he wears a mask. How do you kiss him? Can he take it off or..."

"I don't see how any of this is your business."

"Well, you're the one who told me you had a date this weekend..."

"Only because you asked what my plans were for the weekend..."

"I wasn't expecting you to tell me you were going out with Mr. I'll-Choke-You-If-You-So-Much-As-Look-At-Me-Funny..."

I don't think she would have said that if she realized Mr. Choke was coming into the room at that very moment. But I have to say, the look on Grace's face when she makes eye contact with him is, in my opinion, ample revenge for the teasing I've endured.

"She's looking at me strangely," Vader remarks dryly. "Should I live up to the name she gave me?"

"Darth, don't tease her, she's petrified as it is." I turn to Grace. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you. He's just been here long enough to develop a sense of humor, however twisted it may be."

She squeaks something, probably "Oh."

"I didn't know you were going to come to work today, Darth," I tell him, throwing the banana peel across the break room and into the garbage. Not a bad shot...

"Your boss has agreed to let me take the old computer," he replies.

He's referring to the old computer that's been sitting in the back for about a month now, the beast that crashed on us for the final time during the height of the Summer Reading Program. And that's not the only old comp he's rescued -- the three or four dead computers packed up in storage at our place have been dragged out as well. Plus I've been hearing something about Holocrons...

"So what's the project?" I ask him. "Or is it top secret?"

"We're working on consolidating the Jedi Archives into one database," Vader replies. "At the moment they're a jumble of Holocrons, datapads, books, documents, and disks, and frankly, we don't have the time to organize and catalogue the mess. So once I have a workable computer constructed from the parts I have accumulated, we will transfer all the data to it and take it from there."

I nod. "Sounds like a plan. Hope you have a big enough hard drive, though..."

"What's the Jedi Archives?" Grace manages to get out.

"Essentially a library dedicated only to the history of the Jedi," Vader replies.

"This isn't going to cut into Friday evening, is..." I begin to ask.

A horrendous screeching interrupts me. Grace about hits the ceiling. I just groan and stand. Of course the monthly fire drill would happen in the middle of my lunch break.

"Vader, help me get the kids out of the children's room," I tell him. "Don't tell them it's a drill; just say the alarm's going off and they need to leave the building."

"I'm on it."

Stang, it's nice to have a Dark Lord on hand when trying to get the building evacuated. None of the usual headaches with kids completely ignoring the alarm or teenagers hiding in the stacks or parents asking if they can remain in the building until the drill's over. Everyone just silently lines up behind me, and the stormtroopers escort us to the designated meeting place on the other side of the parking lot, where we wait for the boss to do a head count of employees and run back inside to turn off the alarm.

"You need to be around for all our drills," notes the children's librarian.

Vader chuckles.

"Hey, can Vader do storytime again?" begs a young boy wearing a Bionicle shirt. "Please?"

"Yeah, I wanna hear Vader read the stories this time!" insists a little girl.

"No problem," I tell them. Storytime's usually my responsibility, and while I like reading aloud to kids, it gets monotonous. Nice to have someone else around to do it every so often.

Vader sighs. "Very well. One book."

The kids cheer. I just smile as we go back into the building.

"Well, at least he likes kids," notes Grace. "That's a good trait in a man."

"We haven't even discussed kids, don't go there."

"Well, you have to think about these things..."

"Just drop it, Grace."

*Name changed