Historians concerned primarily with the cause of the rise of the Empire under the self-styled 'Emperor Palpatine' have pin-pointed a series of events occurring in the years leading up to the invasion of Naboo, which acted as a focus for pivotal change, and culminated in the dark decades of rule by the most evil despot in recorded Galactic history, the self-styled 'Emperor Palpatine'.

One such event was the death of a little known Jedi Knight who became the consort of Palpatine's Aide, the Zabrak known as Lord Khameir Sarin. While Sarin, a warrior monk,  was a rising star at the court of Governor Palpatine, (as the Emperor was then known), owing to his supreme skills as a diplomat and bodyguard, the Jedi was a roving Knight answerable only to the ruling Jedi Council and the Supreme Chancellor of the day.  A human, she possessed a previously unknown genetic mutation which made possible the instant attraction between herself and the Zabrak, an attraction so strong she fulfilled the Zabrak definition of 'Tai Shan', to which Sarin was compelled to respond, despite the canon of his order which enjoined the practice of celibacy.

Her death, insignificant in itself, propelled the Zabrak into such a state of grief and near insanity, that he swore allegiance to the Sith, Darth Sidious, and dedicated the rest of his life to avenging her.

Such a violent response to the death of a much loved consort, or Tai Shan, is unknown among the Zabrak tribes.  Decline following such an event, when it occurs, is acknowledged to be swift and tragic, but of a gentler nature, not the swift descent into madness and savagery of the kind experienced by this man.

The historian must ask therefore, if more subtle influences than those of sentient creatures were at work during those years. Why should a human female possess such a mutation that she can detect a scent as subtle as that possessed by a Zabrak and respond to it fully in a manner that is not customary to her species?  Not only that, the bio-chemical and physical response between them was fully compatible, suggesting a corresponding mutation in Sarin. An odd state of affairs to exist between two totally unrelated species with different genetic structures and incapable of producing viable offspring between them. Was her reason for existence ultimately her death, to precipitate the vicious revenge and subsequent activities of Sarin, later to be known as Darth Maul, Sith Apprentice?

This question must also be asked - was this series of events a precursor to those which took place when Anakin Skywalker renewed his aquaintance with Amidala, but as a grown adult, when the most powerful Jedi Padawan ever known turned to the dark side because of his frustrated love for the Queen of Naboo?  Anakin Skywalker, or Darth Vader as he is more widely known, was reputed to be the Chosen One, a messiah-like Jedi  who would bring peace and plenty to the galaxy.  Yet passion ruled him as it ruled Khameir Sarin, and pitched him also into the dark side of the Force because he could not control those passions.

Research continues to explore the rationale behind these events.  The interested reader is referred to the Galactic Infonet at encyclopoedia.galactica.net, and the proceedings of the Institute of Bio-Chemistry at Coruscant at inst.bio.chem.cor/midichlor. The Jedi Temple also has researches pertaining to the midi-chlorians and their suspected influence (not always benign) on Galactic affairs, as the Force continually seeks to balance itself in the age-old conflict between light and dark, or, as they are more usually interpreted, good and evil.  Another interpretation might be not conflict, but tension, the tension between creation and destruction, each of which cannot exist without the opposing force to balance and counteract it, and ultimately provide the impetus for those processes which are the very basis of existence and life itself.

A summary of what is known currently about Khameir Sarin and Hanshara Sinn-Tau the Jedi, follows prior to the main text of this book. Information is difficult to obtain about this period of galactic history which, for obvious reasons, is known as the Dark Age, and what there is, is very limited. If you have any knowledge of the events described in these pages that is not covered by the text, the author would be grateful to receive it at dl.midi@galuniv.net. All contributions will be acknowledged by email and in any subsequent texts.

The Zabrak Warrior - Lord Khameir Sarin

Khameir Sarin was a man of honour.  A civilised and cultivated man, well educated, and trained as a warrior at the finest military school on Iridonia. Always a follower of custom and protocol to smooth the path of social interaction, he especially respected and followed the customs of his forebears, knowing their value and worth.

Innately talented and gifted abundantly with the ability to use the Force, Khameir led a most austere life. He wore only the black robes and accoutrements of his military order, and maintained their disciplines with a fierceness of soul and dedication that was a marvel to his mentor and master, Sidious. He ate simply and sparingly with a thought to maintaining the fitness and health of his body, and readiness for combat.  Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he appreciated simple things such as the clarity and purity of fresh clean water, and being of a carnivorous species, the taste of fresh caught and grilled flesh.  Everything about him was spare and lean, even his quarters were sparsely furnished with little thought for bodily comfort.  He maintained only that which was necessary to enable him to function as his revered master desired, a fighting machine always at the pinnacle of fitness.

To complement his physical gifts, Khameir Sarin had a fine mind, somewhat like a razor, capable of quickly discerning the truth of a situation, and then turning that situation about so that  it benefited himself and Sidious.  He enjoyed the mind-games of politics, and had a dry laconic wit that was rarely expressed, except in private to his master.

An expert swordsman he trained relentlessly to perfect his skill with the double bladed light sabre, a weapon he wielded with grace and finesse to deadly effect.  In his own words, he was 'an efficient killer', and a trained assassin, an expert in covert operations.  Like all his race, he screamed when the occasion demanded, and howled a challenge to battle like many warriors.  Sometimes he growled, but this was considered a primitive response by his species, and was ruthlessly suppressed, only to surface at times of great hostility, when hate itself became his world and dominated his thoughts and actions.

He was reserved, and thought aloof, which suited him, for he cared little for the company of others. He regarded the casual camaraderie of the drinking dens and the false chatter of the diplomatic party with equal disdain. The ephemeral delights of the pleasure houses were abhorrent to him. Taciturn as he was, this did not mean he lacked the ability to make charming and amusing conversation when he deemed necessary, quite the contrary.  This was a fine counter-point to his impatience with fools, and his anger, for which he had a justifiable reputation and which made him greatly feared.

At 29 Khameir had not yet taken a woman and was still virgin. He was unconcerned by this, for as a warrior monk, his order recommended chastity, to enable the mind to focus without distraction upon the vagaries of the Force, and thus more easily learn its subtleties.   Equally, there was also little or no opportunity to meet suitable females, and Zabrak were few and far between in this corner of the galaxy.  The odds against meeting his Tai Shan, or lifelong mate, were long indeed and this was the way he preferred it, for he had ambition, and lusted after power rather than pleasures of the flesh.  A consort would distract his mind from achieving such power as his master held.

Despite the richness of his gifts, under Palpatine's tutelage he was becoming hard and arrogant, beginning to covet Palpatine's power and influence, and thinking to pursue his master's interests at almost any cost, for ultimately they would benefit him.  He would soon be ripe for final turning to the dark side of the Force, and Palpatine was looking for an opportunity, for Khameir Sarin would make a most excellent Sith.

During his short time with Hanshara Sinn Tau the Jedi, there was little change in his demeanour, and towards others, his manner in public was much the same as before.  She, however, he always treated with great courtesy and charm, often lightly bowing when greeting her and softly calling her 'My Lady'.  In the Zabrak culture, the use of personal names is regarded as a private matter, to be kept for intimate moments, and it was only at such times that he called her by her name.  The only public show of affection between them (and this accorded with Zabrak custom) was his habit of taking her hand as if to take her with him, and after a long parting, a light touch of the cheek with the fingers. To the outsider there was nothing to perceive in this short physical exchange, but the erotic charge between them at such a time was immense, and could sometimes be discerned by those gifted strongly with the force.

In private, Khameir was a passionate and ardent lover, as was Hanshara. They cared for each other beyond reason and they delighted in frequent lovemaking of the most physical kind at all and every opportunity. This love included a spiritual aspect achieved by very few, and 'touched the infinite', again in accordance with Zabrak custom.

In contrast to the spartan quality of his physical life, Khameir developed the sensual aspect of his spiritual life assiduously, as if he had access to rare books and exotic manuscripts devoted to the concept of sexual congress and its use to heighten the mind, and thereby raise awareness to 'beyond self'.  It is entirely possible that this was so, for in ancient times, both the Jedi and Sith orders used this technique, and not all the Sith books of old magick had been destroyed by the Jedi purges.  This ancient, and now outmoded concept, runs parallel with the Zabrak custom of Tai Shan, where two minds become one, where intense physical pleasure becomes religious experience, or ecstasy.

Thus it was, that to achieve this sublime state with more ease and proficiency, Khameir began using the Force to enhance his personal pleasure - something he taught Hanshara to devastating effect for them both.

The Jedi Knight - Lady Hanshara Sinn-Tau

Hanshara Sinn-Tau was the only daughter of a human couple who had both gladly and sorrowfully given her up to be a Jedi apprentice when she was found to be rich in the gifts of the Force. Her parents were of old Earth origin, and her genetic heritage had not offered her beauty, but a thin and lean comeliness which must have appealed greatly to Sarin.  She was graced with pale skin, liquid brown eyes, and black hair which she wore in a short crew-cut style. She also had an exceptionally keen sense of smell inherited from her father who had been a blender of fine oils. 

As apprentice Padawan to the Jedi Knight Mistress Ledora Ikume, Hanshara had become accomplished and skilled in all manner of things, while discipline and training had given her formidable and esoteric abilities. Her light sabre had been made by her in her mistress' workshop, and was of a standard weight and size, no concession being made to 'frail' femininity, for the Lady Sinn Tau made no concessions, and allowed no compromises. She handled the weapon very proficiently and would stand her ground against any assailant. Indeed, while not yet fully battle seasoned, she bore the scars of many skirmishes fought in the name of peace and justice.

Having recently passed the trials and attained the status of full knighthood, she was seconded to Ledora for a short time as Aide, during negotiations for a hospital station in the Cirellian space lane near Naboo.  The trade route was dangerous, much frequented by pirates who plundered legitimate shipping without mercy.  Mining operations in the nearby asteroid belt were also dangerous, and many died there, or were injured and crippled.  The Jedi order hoped to maintain a hospital presence here, for charity's sake, and perhaps also to discover the nests of criminals and deviants perpetrating these crimes, with the intention of exterminating them.  Ledora and Hanshara were charged with setting the plans for the hospital station in motion, and Ledora had been working on the plan for many months.

Following Jedi custom, Hanshara dressed in simple garments of breeches, tunic, and boots, with a plain flowing hooded cloak of warm brown material. Her light sabre she wore clipped at her belt. Although expected of her in the exalted company of dignitaries assembled on the ship, and those who did not know of Jedi custom and set too great a store by outward appearances and the display of wealth, she wore no court clothing, cosmetics, or personal adornment of any kind, but stood straight and tall, reflecting her inner serenity and personal dignity.

Like Khameir, she was still virgin. The Jedi order did not, and still does not, permit any apprentice a close personal relationship, in the belief that this distracts from training and study. It is also thought that such relationships place the individuals in question at risk of being vulnerable to coercion or force. For this reason, such relationships formed even by fully trained knights are discouraged, and as such, they are few and far between.

It is neither known nor recorded whether she knew of Khameir's predilection for cruelty, violence, and his involvement with the Sith.  If she knew, she must have disregarded it, or blinded herself to the fact, although given her gifts, it is hard to understand how she could not have known.  Unusually, the Jedi Library have little official record of her membership, and are unable to throw any light on the matter, and only the fact of her mysterious disappearance during her mission to Nurius III and the discredited R'ill, has been made public.

Known facts about Iridonia and the Zabrak

In it's early history the climate of Iridonia was warm and wet, allowing life to flourish and develop quickly. The atmosphere was more dense than that of Coruscant standard, but the oxygen available for life processes is around the same as it is today. Mammalian creatures bearing live young never evolved beyond a small species which lacked vigour and became extinct almost as soon as it attained a viable population.  The Zabrak race of beings are descended, many millennia ago, from an aggressive carnivorous reptile-type ancestor which inhabited the edges of the great forests which, in that  far distant past, almost covered the planet from pole to pole.  The species is warm-blooded, and bear live young, yet they are hairless and from birth, feed their young  on fruit and meat masticated by the mother.

To survive, these early reptiles and amphibians adopted highly colourful skin patterning to frighten potential predators, which was carried down through the ages to their descendants. When the need for combat arose, the use of sharp hooked and pointed teeth and claws determined the bloody outcome, defining the strong imprint of aggression so evident in the warrior race of today.

Zabrakian ancestors were successful in the competitive struggle for food and territory and thus became the dominant race, developing intelligence and speech at the same time as a complex social structure. Particular physical attributes also carried down to the present inhabitants include an acute sense of smell, and particularly fine eyesight as befits a hunter. Eye colour generally complements the skin colour, yellow with red being dominant although sometimes green and yellow arise. In the atmosphere of Iridonia, language is liquid and fluid, but the composition of a standard Coruscant atmosphere causes the voice to be 'breathy'.

The planet is now harsh and arid, and life is difficult to sustain.  Many reasons have been postulated for this, including internecine nuclear conflict, denudation of the forests and prairies by a previously unknown civilisation, and climactic change.  None of these hypotheses have been proven, and it is as easy to give credence to the old legend of a primordial conflict between a Sith goddess and rapacious Jedi knight, as it is to one of these theories.

The Zabrak race is now very ancient, and it's reproductive vigour is under threat as the sun becomes more active in its current cycle of development, throwing off increasing radiation and heat.  The radiation has lead to an increased rate of mutation, and thus to preserve genetic purity, offspring must sometimes be abandoned to die in the old manner.  The custom has developed of the ritual question upon the birth of a child, as to the child's viability, and if the child is not fit ti live, it is the hard and sorrowful duty of a father to perform the rite of 'passage to the infinite'.  To avoid this distressing duty, for the Zabrak love their children, many leave their homeworld to conceive viable children on other worlds, returning only when the fetus is developed and the danger of mutation has passed.

Pairing involves the custom of Tai Shan, which is based upon the use of the acute sense of smell to recognize compatible pheromones secreted by a female (and rarely a male) as a subtle scent or musk, which leads to a rapid attraction and then to successful pairing for life. Matched pheromones create chemicals with powerful aphrodisiac properties which lead to very rapid courtship and stable life bonds being undertaken. Under certain conditions, these bio-chemicals cause mind expanding drugs to be manufactured within the bodies of the paired couple. When ingested by each from the other, the drug enhances power derived from the Force and generates a transcendental state of being which reinforces the pair-bond during the mating process. It is the responsibility of the male partner to initiate the activities which create these bio-chemicals and to aid their ingestion.

Such is the immediacy and power of this attraction, and realisation that each is meant for the other, that In very ancient times the 'courtship' frequently consisted of acts approaching 'consensual rape' and sexual violence, which transmuted to a deep and abiding love once the female had submitted. It is the suddenness and violence of the act which is distressing, for the female is less able to resist the violence, even though she is in the same state of need as the male, who often, in his confusion, will heedlessly beat her senseless lest she fail to accept him.

As civilisation gained ascendancy and a social structure formed,  techniques of self control were developed and taught to all children, and courtship was formalised to eliminate the more violent aspects. The male generally being more powerful and stronger than the female, the custom arose requiring him to exercise great control over his instinctive responses, and ask the female formally for a decision about undertaking the commitment to be his consort, or Tai Shan, and whether she truly wished to mate with him. Custom requires also that this question be asked just before the final commitment to each other and in a state of extreme sexual excitement. This gives the female the illusion that she exercises some sort of final control although in reality, both partners are almost totally controlled by their biochemistry at this point in the proceedings. The female also has certain responsibilities to perform to the male, including ritualistic expressions of love before the male is able to ask for her commitment.

The custom and ritual surrounding courtship is so ingrained into the young that great restraint is exercised as adults, and the natural violent responses are effectively controlled. Even so, the first experience of it's effects can be overpowering and result in temporary physical disorientation.  The punishment for rape, even under these conditions, is final and conclusive.  While some may consider such extreme justice to be immoral and unjustified in these civilised days, consider that for the Zabrak, laxity in this matter has the potential to lead to chaos and anarchy within a very close-knit community, and the disintegration of society.  It should be noted, also, that there has been no need to invoke such punishment for many millennia of recorded history, such is the success of their education program.

Not all males find their partner, and this, combined with the lowering natural birth rate due to the increasing radiation, has forced the Zabrak to develop successful reproductive technologies, particularly in the use of cloning.

Both sexes are human-like, and handsome and graceful in movement,  They are also quick in both physical and mental response with a gift for the use of weapons which gives a natural edge to those taking up the craft of the warrior or mercenary. Teeth are sharp, pointed, and mottled, and these attributes are sometimes accentuated for beauty's sake, depending on the culture of the clan to which the individual belongs. Slender five fingered hands with an opposable thumb end in short black claws. Short jagged horns are present on the heads of the males, and the skin is very sensitive with highly developed nerve-endings. The base of the horns, especially the temple horns, is supplied with very many nerve endings and is thought by some xeno-biologists to be an erogenous zone.  It should be noted that  the Zabrak themselves remain silent upon the matter.

The race long-since developed religion, ethics, writing, and the arts and sciences of the natural world in which they live. Social structure is clan based, with conventional divisions into priest, warrior, scientist, artist, trader, and other. There is considerable movement across these divisions as all members are aware of the mutual dependence of each upon the other, and because of this, respect is accorded to all classes.  The custom of 'Tai Shan' leads to fairly indiscriminate pairings across social boundaries which helps to ensure a more vigorous continuation of the race than would otherwise be the case.

Some things are best told as a story.  Leave the dry academic treatise to record the bare bones of events, and dates, and the names of the protagonists.  Can such a treatise stored in a deserted library of musty papers and scratched data discs convey the feelings, and the passions, which exist between two people?  Can it tell of the deep and abiding love a man has for a woman, or a woman for a man?  A passion that transcends the rivers of time and space, and even the abyss of death?  Can it tell of a passion that changes the galaxy?

The first meeting of Khameir Sarin and Hanshara Sinn-Tau

On the busy conference deck of the Trade Federation battleship 'Oberon', the two Jedi Knights quietly discussed their tactics for the next phase of the negotiations in this charitable matter of the hospital station.  A small matter, of little importance, but one that was close to the heart of the Jedi Knight, Ledora Ikume.  They discussed how the Trade Federation might be coerced into offering concessions on freight fees for medical supplies, without gaining exclusive mining rights on Nurius III - mining rights which seemed, to all practical purposes, to be controlled by one called 'Palpatine', the Governor of the little-known planet of Naboo above which the ship orbited, by his grace and favour.

Naboo. A planet of unrestrained elegance.  Where design meant that form was beautiful and function was well fulfilled in all that was carefully made there.  A planet of sudden interest to the Nemoidians, who had encouraged and developed a discerning market on Coruscant for the exquisitely made artifacts that were traded in the internal economy of Naboo to such effect that the lush planet was rich, and not one of its citizens went hungry to bed.  The Trade Federation was hoping that once the trade with Naboo was more developed, and the demand was established, that the quality of the trade goods could be gradually reduced, and the profit to the Trade Federation correspondingly increased, but the democratic government of Naboo was opposed to this.  Not so Palpatine, who, as his hidden alter ego, the Sith Lord Darth Sidious, wanted to control the destiny of Naboo's trade and thus increase his wealth, wealth necessary for his ambitious goal of rule of the Republic, as Emperor.

The Jedi were unaware of the Sith involvement in this matter, as Palpatine desired, for the Sith were not ready to reveal their existence as yet, but the Jedi were aware of small undercurrents in the Force, some disturbances in the web that could not be explained.  Sometimes these were centred around Sidious, although but rarely.  Sometimes they were centred around his occasional companion or bodyguard, the feared warrior, Khameir Sarin, who was reputed to read minds and was possessed of a cold and vicious anger.  Hanshara had only caught glimpses of someone she thought may be Sarin, and the two Jedi were always watchful when Palpatine was in the vicinity, for though they did not fear him, they did not trust him, as they did not trust the Nemoidians.

Looking at the assembled delegates during this short recess, Ledora spotted the figure of Governor Palpatine headed towards them.  A dark figure walked behind him, and to the left.  Sarin was surely not acting as bodyguard, for his right arm, or sword arm, would not have been easily free to defend his master if it were necessary.

"Going well so far Mistress Ledora," said the Governor. "Shall we finish tomorrow do you think?"  The Governor smiled a bright politician's smile, and was bluff and hearty in his manner.  Hanshara wondered for a moment whether he might slap Ledora on the shoulder in manly fashion, but fortunately Palpatine appeared to restrain himself.  This was as well, for Ledora would have made some tart rejoinder to the man, if he had.

"Depends on the Nemoidians, Governor. They have this need to extract as much water as possible from stones, but they usually concede at the last minute and we are optimistic."  She returned his false smile with a bright and brittle one of her own.

"Good, good," boomed the Governor expansively, and he appraised Hanshara with a disdainful look, as if he knew what she was thinking.  Hanshara closed her mind, smiled frostily, and turned to her notes.

The dark companion was not introduced, but presented an imposing figure. A warrior belonging to an order unknown to Hanshara, he wore black tunic, breeches, and boots, topped by a cloak with a voluminous hood which rested on his back and shoulders.  Standing to one side of the Governor, he stood feet apart, hands clasped in front of him, looking coolly at the two Jedi.

Lord Khameir Sarin held no brief for Jedi,  and Hanshara felt some of his antipathy sweep over her.  She looked at him in surprise, for why were the two here to negotiate if they felt such a thing, or had they divorced such a patent dislike of the Jedi from the charitable matter in hand?  There must be a larger political gain in these simple negotiations than she had realised.  Suddenly the feeling disappeared, switched off like a light.  She looked back at her notes but covertly glanced at the two men, to find only that their expression and demeanor had not changed.  The arrogant expression of the dark one and the affability of the Governor remained undisturbed by any new emotion.  In fact, there was no emotion at all.  She could sense nothing from them, and the force was undisturbed by their presence, as though they did not exist.

She decided to take control of the situation.  Snapping closed the notes and book, she put them behind her back and held them there, and looked boldly at the silent warrior as if she was appraising him.  At first, she had been taken aback by Lord Sarin's countenance, which was bizarrely coloured with a mosaic-like pattern of red on black. But close up, she could see that his features were handsome, although with a cruel cast, and graced with an arrogant expression. His mouth was finely shaped but his teeth were pointed, mottled, and sharp, and he had a crown of vestigial horns on his head - the epitome of a mythical demon from old Coruscant -  but he had a lethal beauty, of a kind.  Close up, she saw that his hands were slender, also coloured red on black, and that the fingers ended in blunted claws.  Humanoid, not human, but even so, she thought he was very beautiful. His body seemed lithe and powerful, lean and sinewy from the little she could discern, and he moved with a fluidity and grace that was most pleasing to the eye. His most startling feature were his eyes - a glittering yellow and red, a hunter's eyes.  Moreover, there was a very faint musk about him which was other-worldly, and not unpleasant.

***

Later, in the privacy of their suite, she asked Ledora who he was.

"Governor Palpatine's Aide,"  said Ledora. "Lord Khameir Sarin. Fine military training and a superb swordsman."

"What species is he and where was he trained?" was Hanshara's next question.

"Oh, Zabrak I believe, from Iridonia. You don't see them very often, and he was trained at the Officers Training Academy there."

"And what is the relationship between the two of them? That of bodyguard, military advisor, diplomat?"

"Now, that we don't know," said Ledora musingly. "That is very much an unknown quantity and so I do not know how to factor it in when we decide tactics. Nothing is known of his views or advice on any matter at all, or indeed if he even gives advice or opinion." Then she added in a low voice as she turned away, "He has not been seen for some time, and you may sense that he seems to dislike Jedi.  There are some here who say he is a beast and has no soul. Do not listen to them. I find there is sometimes a disturbance in the Force when he is in the vicinity but it is not possible to read it. He must cloak his mind.  We must exercise caution for he may be force sensitive."

*****

Khameir Sarin looked at the younger Jedi witch only once.  All Jedi were abhorrent to him.  He  felt they interfered with the natural order of things, they tried to make life easy where life was meant to be hard, spreading peace and justice when strife and war brought about change and made people strong.  However, they were there, sometimes they were unwittingly useful, and they generally did not interfere with his work, so...  There was something about this one though, that was faintly disturbing. She was not beautiful, not by Zabrak standards certainly, was a little shorter than he, and wiry. Tall for a human female possibly. She moved gracefully and with purpose, she held herself regally. There was something, but what?  The human kind was not sexually attractive to him, no female was, or indeed, male for that matter, and he intended to continue his solitary life without  any entanglements of a romantic nature.  They would distract him from his purpose of attaining true mastery of the dark side of the force.

He turned his attention back to the Governor and said in a low and cultured voice "Rune Haako awaits Master," then for form's sake, nodded briskly to the two Jedi as they walked away.

Whatever his intentions, thoughts of her pre-occupied him for more than a little while, for she disquieted him.

Hanshara put the subject of Lord Khameir Sarin out of her mind until, on reentering the conference room the following day, she found that he was stationed at Palpatine's right hand, which meant he was almost opposite her. This gave each the opportunity to study the other, Hanshara somewhat more discreetly than Khameir, who could have been accused of blatantly staring at her. Not only did he wish to discover what had disquieted him about her, but also because he suddenly found the manner in which her neck curved to her shoulder and was then covered by her plain beige tunic disturbingly and unexpectedly erotic. When she caught him doing this, she shot him a cold look to desist and not embarrass her so, and he had the grace to drop his arrogant gaze and turn his attention elsewhere. For a while, until he decided to look again.

Hanshara was watching to see if he spoke or gestured to Palpatine, giving advice or indication of approval or disapproval in any matter in some way, but this was not the case. Unless, she thought, their communication was not vocal but by more subtle means.

The negotiants pursued the matter of mining concessions on Nurius III which the Senate, in the person of Ledora, were unwilling to concede to the Trade Federation at this time. A recess for refreshments was agreed, and stewards began to patrol the room with trays of comestibles for the assembled delegates, different kinds for the different species.  Plates piled high with crispy roast al'ar grubs for the Nemoidians, breadsticks and vegetable dips for the humans, live swimming creatures in delicate green crystal bowls for the Calemari, a different kind of dainty nibble for every kind of person.

While Hanshara was making her way to fetch a selection for Ledora and herself, a steward stumbled and fell against her, causing her to fall hard against a figure behind her. Plates and dishes flew to the floor, and she felt a surge in the Force as they were deflected away from her.  She was hungry, distracted, and unprepared for the stumble, but she was caught and firmly supported by a pair of gentle hands and strong arms against a black clad chest. She turned, and found Lord Sarin had hold of her, his yellow eyes showing amusement at this turn of events, that a Jedi should fall in front of him.  Momentarily she drowned in his golden eyes, but quickly recovered herself, and bowed to him as she dusted herself down.

"Your pardon, Lord Sarin. No offence was intended. I trust there is no hurt to you."

"None, lady," came the whispered reply, as with his help she righted herself. There was a slight smile on his face she noted, which looked well on such a severe countenance. Then Lord Sarin's eyes flickered as if a shutter had quickly fallen across and gone. His expression changed, he was no longer amused. He gave her a tight smile and a curt nod and turned away. She was annoyed by this discourtesy, even, for some strange reason, a little hurt, but decided to treat it as of no importance, and continued on her errand.

*****

Khameir Sarin, however, was most disturbed. The Jedi witch had been close enough for him to smell her, and the faint womanly scent of her had momentarily overwhelmed him.  To possibly find his Tai Shan, here, and not only a different species but a Jedi Knight?  The fit of 'Tai Shan' had come upon him!  He had hoped to avoid this, and thought not to experience this in his whole life.  He wondered whether she was aware of what had befallen them. He doubted it. He could detect her lingering scent even now. It was exciting and arousing, his body was responding to it in spite of the control he was imposing. He wanted her and he would have great difficulty dancing attendance on his Master now. Only once did he look in Hanshara's direction over the next few hours, and to try and ease his discomfiture, he outwardly paid no attention to her at all.

*****

Hanshara collected a plate of food sufficient for the two Jedi, and fruit juices to slake their thirst. Walking back to Ledora, she saw that Lord Sarin was gone from the vicinity, for which she was grateful. Then a wave of intense sexual desire surged through her body, directed at no one, just there, of itself. Her pupils widened, her heart started racing, and a pink flush spread up her neck and face. It was a delicate pink. She flowered like a rose, as the colour spread across her skin. Hanshara was startled, and quickly made her way to her seat to recover, where she fanned her face with assorted papers as she sought distraction in the study of clauses and amendments.

Over the following hours, concessions were made, clauses redrafted and agreed, and contracts re-written. The Trade Federation put aside the question of the mining concessions until the next phase. The pace was now fast moving and Ledora saw the hospital station within her grasp. Once, Hanshara looked up to meet the eyes of Lord Sarin, who she felt was looking at her with some sort of speculation, and perhaps, something else, which intrigued her.  She was not normally intrigued by the casual attentions of men, and this in itself made her curious.

*****

Later, as day was turning into night on the planet of Naboo, Lord Sarin studied the changing vista spread out before him from the deserted Gallery in the ship, high above the planet. At this time of day, there were few, if any, visitors. There was time to reflect, to plan for tomorrow, perhaps even relax a little from the service of his master. Now though, he was focused within himself, ordering his thoughts, planning the steps he needed to take regarding the Lady Sinn-Tau and this new awareness that had burst upon him.

His body ached for her even now. All he could do was control what it was possible to control and hope that would be sufficient for them both. For the Zabrak there was nothing to discuss, nothing to decide, it must be accepted.  He had not wanted or expected this ever in his lifetime, but this compulsion has been in Zabrak blood for millennia upon millennia, nothing would be different for him. He must respond to its demands, and he was unconcerned now with the fact that she was a Jedi, he just wanted her with every fibre of his being.  He was rather concerned with how a human female would react to him, for this cross-species attraction was unknown in the annals of his people.  She was not hostile to him certainly, but being of a different species, a relationship such as this required a commitment beyond that normally expected of a female, for even in this enlightened era there were those who preached racial purity above all.

And what of his master?  Palpatine was a jealous god and not always predictable, that he had learned in his years as his assistant and Aide. If he was not told about this he would find out, and then there could be danger to them both from a wrath and anger that was unsurpassed by anything that he had ever witnessed elsewhere.  Moreover, the punishments his master sometimes thought to inflict were cruel beyond measure.  Punishments that scarred the soul, and sometimes the body until death mercifully intervened.  Some of these punishments Khameir had inflicted in the course of his work, and merciless man that he was, he shuddered at the thought of them happening to her.

Another party?  Hanshara was more than a little shocked at the flagrant lifestyle of her betters.  She had been only twenty three standard days on board this ship, and this would be the fourth diplomatic party.  Her valuable time and effort would be spent stroking egos, buttering up representatives, and being pleasant to people she knew to be devious and cunning liars.

“These things are becoming a little repetitive!” Hanshara remarked to Ledora when asked to attend yet another party given in honour of Governor Palpatine’s latest success in the negotiations.

 “You must attend,” said Ledora, laughing at her obvious dismay.  “People are asking who you are, why they only see you in conference, examining papers and contracts when you plainly contribute more.  They wish to meet you.  I insist you go to this one, and there is an end to it.”

As Ledora’s Aide, Hanshara could only obey this command, however pleasantly put, and she set out her customary Jedi clothing, of tunic, breeches, and boots, to prepare herself for the evening ahead.

At the appointed time, Hanshara firmed her resolve, bathed, put on her best tunic, and so she should not waste her time if she was bored, brought along a small book to the conference hall where the reception was to be held. Picking up a pallie fruit juice, she greeted her host, Governor Palpatine, and made the obligatory round of the merchant barons, Trade Federation officials, statesmen, and sundry hangers-on. Some of the hangers-on she noted were brightly painted pleasure partners and Twi'lek dancers, some were mistresses displaying the grateful gifts of their lovers around their necks and wrists, others were professional courtesans who looked down their long elegant noses at the plain young Jedi in her beige and brown.

She cared little for the opinions of these vapid socialites, and continued the rounds of the assembled guests, made polite chatter, and searched the Force for lies and cunning in the voices of those with whom she talked.  Palpatine's Aide was not there, and when there was no-one else who interested her, she decided she had fulfilled her duty.  Finding a discreet corner in a secluded annexe, she sat at a small corner table and started reading her book, at first listening for the sound of approaching footsteps or the babble of voices, but she became engrossed.  After a while she heard a chair scrape on the floor and somewhat startled,  looked up to find the dark garbed figure of Lord Sarin setting a chair down in front of her, then folding his hands back into his long black sleeves.

He bowed a little, and greeted her with an old fashioned courtesy, saying,  “So, Lady Hanshara Sinn-Tau, the party is not to your liking?”  His voice was surprisingly smooth and seductive for one so savage in appearance, and as he spoke, he tilted his head a little to one side and almost smiled.   The 'almost' smile did not diminish his fearsome aspect in the least.   On the contrary.  Clad in his black cloak, and with his deep black hood pulled over his face, he stood there like some fierce guardian of all that was dark and evil, looking at her face with a disturbing intensity that would be alarming to a person unaccustomed to the company of aliens.  Perhaps to acknowledge this and to disarm her, he removed his hood, thus revealing his horns, which, she decided, made him look even more alarming.

She smiled shyly back at him and thought how beautiful his golden eyes were, and put the thought away, for it would be unseemly if he could sense such thoughts in her mind.  She replied with care.  "It has been a most pleasant evening, Lord Sarin, and I have fulfilled my duty.  I am not a party person really.  Please sit if we are to talk, it will be more comfortable for both of us, I think."

She gently placed the book on the table and gestured at the chair.  He grinned at her,  removed his gauntlets and tucked them into his belt, and with a sudden swift grace, turned the chair and sat astride it facing her, resting his elbows along the back, hands steepled in front of him, fingers in front of his mouth.  The grin banished his seriousness and made him look younger, much younger.  She wondered how old he was.  His mouth was open a little she saw, revealing his strange mottled teeth, which looked jagged and sharp.  A member of a carnivorous race, then, and a hunter, if the eyes and feral grace were anything to judge by.  She wondered if he was hunting now.  Now he was staring at her with an intensity which was disturbing.  She looked down in confusion.

The tension broke as he picked up her book and casually flipped through it's pages, losing her place along the way.  Fascinated, she watched his hands, slender and patterned, with blunted claws neatly cared for, as they played with the book.  The sleeves of his robe fell back over his wrists and the pattern continued up his arms defining the musculature, and unbidden, a thought entered her head.  Did a similar pattern cover his body, was it a tattoo, or his own natural skin?  And what of his skin? How would it feel? Was it...

Hastily she banished the errant thought, shocked at her own lasciviousness, and blushed.  He was quite close to her, and she found that she could smell a faint alien scent compounded of well burnished leather,  and man, and something else.  He continued to look at the book and did not see the colour tint her cheeks, for which she was most grateful.

"The Nubian 25J," he murmured, "a fine craft, fast and light.  Do you find she handles well in atmosphere?"  The exploded schematic of a landing strut seemed to occupy his attention for a while, and he turned the book to one side to scrutinise it more closely.

"Yes, if you modify the dorsal aileron, but it is slow to get to light speed, the hyperdrive is a little underpowered."  It was safe to reveal this information to someone who may be her enemy, for the characteristics of the 25J were well documented.

"Yes, I have seen your modification.  Give the aileron another two degrees towards the hull, you will be surprised.  And armament.  What laser canon is she fitted with, or do you prefer the plasma option?"

For some reason she was suddenly annoyed that he had taken an interest in her ship, but why should he not?  They were both professional warriors with common interests.

"The vessel is unarmed, the Naboo do not arm their ships."  It was also safe to reveal this information for the Naboo spent little on weaponry, and that was also commonly known.

"But the Jedi do..." he replied softly, still examining the schematic, turning it one way, and then the other.  "and the ship surely belongs to the Jedi."  There was a hint of animosity in his tone.

Aah, the cut and thrust of politics had returned.  A pity.  She was sorry the conversation had taken this turn for with his arrival the evening had become promising.  On familiar ground now she stretched out her hand for the book.  "Not this ship." she replied, firmly.

He looked up at her in mock surprise, closed the book and held it up, but did not pass it to her, she had to reach for it and she leaned forward.  Again, that elusive scent in her nostrils, tantalizing and different.   It was very pleasant.  She liked it, and found her heart had started to race.  The evening suddenly became promising again as he grinned at her.  The book became hers again as she snatched it from him and grinned back.  For some reason his eyes glazed over.  He blinked, and shook his head a little, then it was gone as he briskly put on his gauntlets.

"You are perhaps not Jedi then!  Come, how do you take your pleasure my lady?  For I have lost you your place in the manual and I must make amends, both for that and the evening which you have not enjoyed."  As gracefully as he had sat, he stood up from the chair, moved it away from him, and took her hand.  "I know of something which might amuse you.  Have you seen the view from the Gallery?"  Dazed at the speed with which he changed tack, she allowed herself to be taken by the hand as if she were being led at a formal dance.  The light formality pleased her, and she felt feminine, but not diminished by this attention.  Her hand rested lightly on his, her fingers held firmly between his thumb and the edge of his palm.  The soft leather gauntlet encasing his hand formed an unwanted barrier between her skin and his, she wondered whether he would feel hot, or cool to the touch...

He led her through echoing halls, and empty dark unfrequented companion ways which she had never seen before.  But she felt safer than she had ever been before.  Things scurried in dark corners, or slithered just out of sight, and old cleaning robots creaked up and down the floor.  In one passageway they came across a broken tech-bot lying on the floor, trailing wires and whirring softly to itself.  The disgust in Khameir's voice was plain, "They keep a dirty ship, these Nemoidians," he said, kicking the useless droid to one side so she could pass.   The 'bot skidded along the metal-plated floor, clanged against the wall, collapsed, then rattled against the floor again only to subside.  It made a plaintive high-pitched whine before it fell silent.

They must have walked a quarter of the way round the outer torus of the ship before they arrived at their destination, a circular air-lock set into the wall.  It opened smoothly when Khameir hit the control, and the iris slid open with a quiet 'swoosh', to reveal a small observation gallery set high up on the side of the ship.  Hanshara stepped in first, and Khameir followed.  He casually gestured at the door and it closed behind them, thus indicating that he was a Force user, and led her to one of the long tall transparasteel windows that lined the room.  Her attention was on the window, and the implications of the gesture escaped her.

He gestured again, at the lights this time, and they dimmed slowly, then extinguished, allowing the view of the planet below to be revealed in all its late afternoon glory.  He said nothing, perhaps not wanting to distract her from that glory.  She was stunned and pressed her hands on the window to get closer, then her nose against the cold transparasteel, an expression of total wonder on her face.

The planet was largely in full sunshine, although the dark horizon of night approached from the East as the sun set. The thin pearly envelope of Naboo’s atmosphere was clearly seen at the curve of the horizon, set against a backdrop of crystal sharp stars shining in the galactic dark.

"A fragile island of life set in a dark and turbulent sea…” she murmured, entranced by the beauty of it.

He stood behind her and pointed out the capital, Theed, and some of the larger settlements.  As the planet turned into the night, the towns and cities became lit, and warm lights and fires flickered in the clean clear atmosphere.  They watched together until the whole planet darkened, then he showed her where the ships of the visiting dignitaries were moored as the last of the sun gleamed off their hulls high above the planet - the sleek vessels of Naboo, the circular ships of the Nemoidian Trade federation, and the dumb-bell shaped ships from Malastere.  He was so close she could hear his breathing, although they did not touch, except when he pointed to Theed and his arm brushed hers.

She watched until the planet was in complete darkness, and with her left hand, traced the now dark curve of the planet on the window.  “This has been wonderful and so enjoyable.  Thank you, Lord Sarin.”  She turned towards him and as she did so, she caught this musk, this subtle but so-desirable scent of his.  It made her feel heady, her heart raced, and her nerves were on fire.  The universe fell from under her feet and she became so disoriented she reeled and fell into his arms.

The last thing she saw, as her sight dimmed, was the much feared diplomat reaching for her with bared teeth and a hungry look in his glowing eyes.  Her awareness was focused so intently on the savagery on his face that he seemed to be standing on nothing but a swirling maelstrom - something dark and evil which roiled like a heavy sea in the grip of a violent storm.

The last thing she realised was that he was keeping himself between her and that darkness, and as she fell into his outstretched arms she felt a deep and abiding fear of it, lest it swallow her whole and suck her dry of all she held close and dear.

The last thing she felt were two strong arms holding her, and a strong body against her, keeping her upright.  And once held against him, she found he was aroused.

*****

Since he had stopped at her table, the evening for him had been like walking on a razor edge of brittle steel.  Her scent had distracted him almost totally, and all the time he had burned with a passion that was well-nigh uncontrollable.  At one point, when she had leaned forward to take her book, it had almost overwhelmed him, and his hands had started shaking, but he would never let his body betray him, and he had brought his autonomic system back under control almost as soon as the shaking had started.

Khameir stared at the back of her head, as the woman pressed herself against the window, then she turned, and covered her mouth as her body started to prepare for him, and the truth started to dawn on her.  She almost fell, so he caught her under her arms and pushed her against the window.  Gods!  How he wanted to spread her against the backdrop of stars and thrust himself into her.  Just to be inside her, to feel her arms around him, her warm body moving against him, her slickness enclosing him, wet for him. How he wanted her.  But all he did was stop her falling, and bury his head in her shoulder.

He regulated his breathing and held her upright, trying to stay sane in the maelstrom of this feeling of being so close to her yet not able to take her   Then she woke, held his face in her hands and started kissing him, tentatively at first, then she became more frantic and mewed at him.  The mew sounded like he felt; lost, adrift on an unfamiliar sea of turbulent emotion.  "What are you doing to me, how do you do this," she sobbed between kisses.  But she was not Jedi  for nothing, and after some minutes, just clung onto the collar of his tunic, weeping silent tears and trying to compose herself.

For which he was grateful, for despite his training, his control, everything he had studied, this was hard, so hard.  If she had kissed him more, he, and she, would have been lost.

*****

Hanshara came to very quickly, she was only unconscious for a second or two. When she again became aware of her surroundings, she found she was held, unmolested, against the broad chest of the man who had brought her here.  He was shaking, and his heart was pounding violently with a strange treble beat, as if it were trying to leap out of his rib-cage.  And he was hot, very hot.  A trickle of something warm trailed down her face, and when she touched it with tentative fingers - it was blood, from a scratch high on her cheek.  He must have grazed her with one of his jagged horns as he caught her.

Another wave of nausea and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her again, so she closed her eyes, and centred herself, bringing her body under conscious control.  This was immediately followed, like a hammer blow, by a wave of such intense sexual desire for her companion that she became disoriented again, and started kissing him.  Moreover, the impulse was so strong that she could barely resist the urge to tear off his tunic to explore his body, touch his skin, wrap her legs round him and open herself to him.  Rather than offend him, she grabbed the collar of his tunic and clenched it tight until her nails cut into her hands and made little crescent wounds which began to seep blood.

Sweat poured down her face, her skin was clammy and cold, then the sickness receded.  She breathed again, and relaxed, only to feel it sweep over her yet again, this desperate urge, this sexual need for a man she hardly knew, a man of another race - moreover, a man of another species.  Pulling hard at the soft cloth of his tunic she pushed her head onto his chest and battled again with the terrible compulsion.  He said nothing, just held her close against the window, feet braced to take the impact of her shaking and trembling.

Eventually the spasms ended, and a delicious fire settled low in her belly and a languorous feeling swept over her.  She felt voluptuous, and every nerve sparked with a new intensity that made her wonder if, before this, she had been only half alive.  The recycled air of the ship felt dead and laden with chemical purifiers.  The plastic surfaces of the gallery furnishings were lacklustre, and full of static.  Colours were dull and faded, and the faint hum of the ship's engines was an ever present annoyance to her hearing.  In contrast, the man who held her embodied vitality and life.  She opened her eyes and could see the blood pulsing in the great artery in his throat, feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, could smell that musk of his.  The heavy cloth of his tunic was soft under her fingers, and somehow she knew it had once grown and been alive.  Her hand slid up the tunic to his neck and her fingers touched and stroked his dark skin where the V of the tunic closed over his throat.  He was warm, and the skin felt like satin.

Such close contact with another being was something she had not experienced in many years, not since the creche-mother had dried her tears when she had transferred from  the children's school to the first Padawan class.  To attract the attention of one of her fellows, she must tug their sleeve, or clap her hands.  To hug was forbidden, to touch a male was unthinkable, and yet here she was, touching the skin of his throat, and being held so intimately  she could feel that he was sexually aroused and wanted her.  Moreover, she wanted him.  She wondered what  it would be like when they...

My vows, she thought, horrified, I promised... and looked up at him, into those fiery golden eyes, and started kissing him.  He tasted sweet, and his mouth was cool.  There was an exciting metallic taste that was alien, and strange.  She liked it and wanted to taste more.  After a few kisses, she stopped, and in a subdued voice, she asked, "What is happening to me, what are you doing to me?"

He pulled away a little and wiped the sweat and blood off her face with a corner of her tunic.

"Bio-chemistry does this, my lady, and I am not unwilling."  She did not resist when he folded his cloak about her like protective armour and laid her head on his breast, for she felt safe with him, despite what was happening to her.  Deep within her psyche, she knew instinctively that, whatever his nature, he would never harm her, and she always trusted her instincts, her feelings, for her empathy was a gift of the Force, her own most reliable gift which had always been true.

*****

She could have been taken then and she would have been most willing, but he would wait, not wanting or needing, to take advantage of her vulnerability. She would very soon grow accustomed to the inevitability of this thing that had overtaken them, and join with him when she was ready.  Her arms had found their way around his waist, pulling him to her. Her breathing gradually slowed to a steadier pace as the changes in her metabolism drew to a close, and so feeling that it was safe to do so, Khameir drew his clawed fingers up her neck and tilted her chin to raise her face to his. Looking at her with his glittering yellow eyes, he kissed her on the mouth, brushing her lips with his own.  Kissing was a new art-form to him, so he delicately explored how he might proceed.  He used his tongue to lightly touch her mouth, and then along the crease where her lips joined, and to push into her mouth.  She tasted like woman should, musky and exciting.  Inside, her mouth was soft and slippery; she had teeth of the finest bone, well spaced and smooth; her tongue touched his and came back  to touch again, enticing him to more.  His heart leapt at this response from her, that she accepted him, wanted him, in return.

A plethora of new sensations - not since his mother had died had anyone touched him.  Indeed, he did not like to touch other beings, unless it was to force them to his way, for he had been taught that absence of sensation would raise his awareness to a more spiritual state, and since childhood, he had been most assiduous in practice of this 'apartness'.  Now, all he wanted was to touch her and be touched in return, to revel in an orgy of physical sensation, skin to skin.

These new pursuits were soon interrupted.  Through the Force he sensed that others were coming this way, and that they would soon be disturbed as strangers entered the Gallery - now was not the time to be discovered, and he suppressed his anger at this incursion into their privacy.  "Someone comes, and I must attend my Master."  He gently disentangled them, giving her just one more kiss.  "We must go," he raised her hand and briefly touched it with his lips. "but we must talk, and perhaps..."  he left the sentence unfinished, but thought she might know what he meant by 'perhaps'.

He felt her laugh a little as she buried her face in his chest.  "Oh yes!  But do not let it be too long a time..."  then he raised the hood of her cloak over her head, and put on his own, and they turned to go, her hand on his, as before.  As the airlock irised open, they passed the ambassador from Malastere, and two giggling T'wileck girls dressed in diaphanous garments of sapphire blue and white.  As they passed, the two warriors looked at each other, and together, used the Force to turn the minds of the strangers away from them, and the chattering trio saw only the shadows of the Sith and the Jedi as they retraced their steps.

That night it was necessary for him to meditate for some time, before he could vanquish her from his mind for a while, and when he went to bed, his narrow cot appeared vast and lonely.  The hard pad on which he lay was unwelcoming, the thin cover let in the chill, and when he did stretch out to sleep, he dreamed of holding her in the Zabrak way, arms and legs wrapped around her to protect her during slumber, as a warrior should.

The first mission to Nurius III

Palpatine regarded the kneeling Khameir Sarin with speculation, wondering what it was about his Aide that was different.  He seemed more aware of his physical state, his mind was a little agitated, and digging deeper into the mind of his protégé, Palpatine found that he was in a state of sexual arousal.  This amused him, and he was interested in the sort of control that Khameir would impose upon himself.  He snapped his fingers.  "You may rise!" he said sharply, and turned to the window to stare at the constant stream of traffic flowing over the city.  His Aide may be behind him but he could watch his reflection in the transparasteel window, and invade his mind to test him.

"Is it better to 'marry', or burn, Lord Sarin?"  Palpatine's tone was cold and dismissive, and he watched the reflection for Khameir's reaction.  Saw, with satisfaction, that his Aide thought carefully before answering, despite the turmoil he could detect in his mind.

"Both states have their lessons, my Master." came the soft spoken reply.

"And which state will you choose, which will you experiment with first?"

"What would my Master suggest?"

Palpatine turned, "We are not Jedi, that we demand chastity for all time, but in your present state of spiritual development, which state is more fitting?  If one marries, one ceases to burn and the mystery of congress becomes commonplace, whereas if one burns, the senses are heightened, but one's mind is constantly on the easy sensation of physical pleasure and distracts from more important matters.  Which path do you wish to walk?"

"What is the mystery of which you speak, Master?"

Palpatine was not surprised at this answer, for his Aide constantly thought to experiment with ways of raising his awareness, greedy to control the Force as he was.  He thought about certain secret and esoteric texts stored in the remnants of the Sith library which  the Jedi thought they had destroyed so long ago.  Texts in which he had long held an interest, for he wished to discover the secret of the energies found in creation and destruction for himself, and these texts referred to it, albeit obliquely.  But these matters were for a man who was young and fit, and who could devote his not inconsiderable energies to such experimentation as was required.  The power of the Sith would be greatly enhanced by control of such a secret - perhaps the time was opportune to advance Khameir's knowledge of these matters, and thence his own, to the glory of the Sith.

"Creation and destruction.  To what are you attracted, is it female?"  He felt Khameir's revulsion at the use of the term 'female', and the disparaging way in which it was said, as if the female was merely to be an object of study.  Then he felt the revulsion to be ruthlessly suppressed.  He smiled with the control being exercised.  "Female then..."

"Is it the congress that is important Master, or the desire?"

"Both, but it must be the opposite of your own sex, such that a breeding pair is formed, and in your case therefore, a female.  Only the female has the power of creation, the male does not.  The tendency for violence in the male is so inextricably linked to the sexual act that it's only direction is to the destructive force.  It is rumoured that energies are created when such is mated with the nurturing and creative force..."

Khameir thought to the times when he had so delighted in the application of the military arts that his mind and body had felt as if they were a unified whole, and the dance of death with his sabre had been so perfect, that the pleasure in it had been most certainly of a sexual nature.  The spasms of ecstasy had been his more than once, as his seed had spilled at the moment of death of his opponent, although he was a virgin, in the conventional sense of the word.

"Then I shall not burn,"  he stated, and inclined his head to his Master.

"No, but do not marry, either, just yet.  Let your senses become more finely attuned and heightened as desire increases, and first, study the texts I will bring for you tomorrow."  He watched Khameir bow his assent, and heard his softly spoken reply, of 'Yes, my Master," then he turned to the matter of the spy.

 “What do we know of Chadran Hoth the spy?”

Khameir promptly switched his attention from the personal to the politic.   “Spy to Rune Haako Master, looks into the activities of the Malasterian Merchants Guild, the Jedi, and ourselves I have no doubt.  Good at intelligence gathering, does not know yet about Nurius III or the Fortress, has no home or family ties as such, but lives on-ship.”

“He is getting close,” said Palpatine. “We must be watchful.  Any intimation that he knows about these matters, destroy him.  The Trade Federation must have those mining concessions, and soon, time is getting short. Tomorrow, go to Nurius III.  Warn the R’Ill that our contract will expire soon, but that we may need to retain their services for another year.   Assess their response. Tell no one where you are going, report back to me when this is accomplished, and tonight, attend Rune Haako’s gaming circle.”

This was not pleasing to Khameir for he had made other plans of his own, but he suppressed his displeasure lest his Master chide him. “And the purpose of this, Master?”

“To discover any talk of Nurius III or other matters, the drift of their conversation.  You are the diplomat! Find out what you can!”

“Yes, Master,” agreed Khameir, bowing to Palpatine and now anticipating a long and tedious evening listening to tales of macho bravado in vicious trading circles. However, he would enliven it by his use of the force to change the outcome of the throw of the chance cube, or the turn of the cards.

*****

The gaming circle was a small selection of Rune Haako’s closest competitors, including the Head of The Merchants Guild of Malastere, and a pair of Glymphid pirates discreetly moving around the edge of the assembled company.  The Nemoidians flaunted their wealth, wearing flowing robes of exotic fabrics, precious metal chains, and rings set with rare and strange gems.  They vied with one another to tell stories of immense wealth lost and gained in the twinkling of an eye, or over millennia.  There were quieter stories of steady profit made from carrying slaves to Tattooine, and drugs to the prison planet of Xanadu.  During a lull in the games, during a fierce debate about the statistical probability of a chance cube throwing the same pattern twelve times in succession, (caused by Khameir using the Force for his amusement) he heard a whisper of strange beings seen on Nurius III, and the description of them was like the R’ill.

The game restarted, and while keeping his attention on the whispers and chatter going on round the room, Khameir saw a shadow standing in the doorway, a figure resembling Rune’s spy, Chadran Hoth.  He strolled to the side of the Head of the Merchants Guild on the pretext of greeting him, and using the guise of social chit-chat, focused on the conversation being held by the spy.  The pirates were also in the shadows, talking quietly to Hoth of R’ill, great heaps of Da’urium crystals lying on the surface of the planet, and the possibility of a giant fortress-like structure glimpsed in dark shadows under the mountain range.

‘Scum!” thought Khameir. ‘No matter what they know, the galaxy is better off without these ‘roaches living off the backs of civilisation.’ And he started to plan how the pirates could be destroyed, and the spy with them.  Listening for a little longer, he discovered when they planned to leave, the name of one of them, and where their ship was stationed in the bowels of the battleship.  Khameir then took his leave of the gaming circle, and made his way to his ship, which he prepared for flight.  Accessing the battleship's computer manifest and log, he found the name of the small fast cruiser used by the Glymphids.  Then he flew the Infiltrator out of the docking bay, and stationed it in the shadows, at the side of the Republican battleship, waiting  for the pirates to emerge.

He followed the pirates to Tattooine, landing his ship some distance away as the Glymphids left their ship for one of the many gambling dens.  Then he stationed himself in front of the loading ramp to their ship and waited for them. Patiently.

*****

After a night of roistering and bawdy celebration, the pirates returned to find Palpatine’s Aide standing arrogantly in front of their loading bay, arms folded, barring peaceful access to their ship.  Pirates do not have light sabres, they have blasters and laser guns, weapons more powerful than those of the Jedi, or  even the legendary Sith.  However, Khameir disdained the use of such toys, preferring to use the sabre to deflect the bolts with lightening swiftness. Focused totally on the task of destroying these vermin, he turned and spun, sending the bolts back to their origin, making the pirates disoriented and confused.  Then he killed them, leaving their remains for the Krayt, and made way to Nurius III.

The fortress

Regarding the watching Abyssin hounds with distaste, as they prowled the entrance and played in their own filth, Lord Sarin waited for the porter to open the gate to the fortress, and to admit him to the presence of the leader of the wardens, the R’ill.  It was difficult to know which of the two were the more odious, the dogs who disposed of their prey by shredding it with their poisoned fangs, eating it and chewing the bones, or their masters.

The R’ill were a strange and largely unknown race of beings, with a penchant for cruelty and despoliation beyond anything his Master Palpatine could devise for even his most bitter enemies. He was always reluctant to meet with these creatures. Even though he had great power and control of the Force, he knew that their auras and minds contaminated and spoilt insidiously, and even he had difficulty keeping himself pure of their influence and witchery, for they did not use the Force to do their unpleasant work, but something else, something alien to him.

When admitted to the presence of their leader, to whom he would not bow because of his disgust and hatred for them, he reminded them of their contract.  At the same time, while he dealt with them, he must resist their nibblings at his mind and memory, trying to steal from here, take from there, trying to change, degrade, and return something not quite the same. Patience exhausted, he drew his sabre and threatened, saying that they had agreed to desist from this practice.  The semi-circle of R'ill standing guard with their leader sniggered, and some laughed openly at Khameir, while the leader smirked, and said "the young will have their fun."

“Not for long!” snapped Khameir.  In one perfectly executed and flawless movement, he unclipped his lightsabre and ignited one end, and bringing the weapon around in a great arc to the side of him, separated the head of that R'ill who had made sport with his mind, from the body.  The head fell to the floor making a soft wet 'thud' and rolled a little way.  The body, in it's grey environment suit, collapsed to the floor, and an acrid yellow gas seeped out of the cut end of the suit, and dissipated into the fetid air of the hall.

The guards fell silent and some allowed their hands to leap to the blasters strapped at their sides.

Head lowered and balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, he stood glaring at the seated R'Ill, one gloved hand outstretched, the other holding the sabre to the side of him, still ignited.  There was a faint smell of ozone from the electrical discharge, and the blade hummed and sang as the smell of charred alien flesh filled the hall.  The leader's turquoise eyes flashed in anger inside his helmet, and the four upper tentacles gripped the arms of the stone chair as he started out of the chair in which he sat.  Khameir shifted the sabre in his hand, and pointed the unlit hilt at the R'ill.  He thumbed on the second blade, and the end of it leapt forward to almost touch the armour worn by the creature, who suddenly became very still, and stared at the blade and the death it promised.  "You will desist, as agreed."  hissed Maul, in a venomous, and threatening manner.  He stared at the R'ill and removed the sabre, thumbed it off, and clipped it to his belt.

The leader was silent, but Khameir felt a violent surge in the Force, as the warden vowed to have revenge on him for daring to kill one of his band in such a casual manner.  Avarice struggled with honour in the mind of the R'Ill and avarice won - he wanted paying for his guardianship of this stronghold, and he growled to his attendants to cease their games..

The contract was extended amidst great animosity, and negotiations finalised,  Khameir turned contemptuously on his heel, and made his way back to the Trade Delegation battleship to attend his Master, and to meet again with Hanshara.

For some time, Maul and Hanshara  were parted, as they went about the business their mentors demanded of them.  But busy though he was, she occupied his mind with a persistence that was both a blessing and a curse.  Distance in time and space did not make his inner vision of her fade.  On the contrary. When he thought of her, he became aroused and burned for her, and anger would claim him as he tried to subvert his all-consuming need for her.  He would try to assuage the turmoil he felt by assiduous practice and such arduous training, that he exhausted himself in the quest for inner peace.  The cautionary words of his Master flew into his mind, and he tried to subdue the passion he felt, and meditated often, but the desire increased as time passed on.

Eventually, he gave in to the need to think about her, and allowed himself to dream, reckoning that this would purge her from his mind for a while, and enable him to regain his focus on the here and now, not what might be.  Those dreams were mysterious and foreboding.  They hinted at life and death, bound inextricably together; they swept both him and her into places where darkness ruled, and then into terrible rivers of light which consumed them both and threatened his sanity; there were glimmerings of madness and grief, and intermingled with these, an overwhelming joy.  He filed them away in his mind for future analysis and thought, for he could not understand their meaning.

Awareness of his physical body increased, as he followed instruction from Sidious, and read from ancient manuscripts and eldritch tomes.  One such was inscribed upon human skin.  This greatly pleased Maul for despite the nature of his Master, he did not like the human.  Eventually, such was the acuity of his senses, that the faintest of sounds was his to hear; a feather falling into his hand felt like a stone; he could see like a hawk; even the feel of his garments against his skin chafed and irritated as if every small unfinished thread had become a barb.

When he related these things to Sidious, Sidous allowed Maul to know that he was pleased, and reminded him that his heightened senses would make him more effective in combat, whatever the outcome of his predisposition to the female.   Being interested only in the exploitation of his apprentice's state of being to his own ends, when Maul related the visions he had, Sidious murmured and smiled, "Yes, destruction and creation, you see Apprentice, do you not see the pattern?", and the lessons became harder.  When Maul alluded to the distraction he suffered, Sidious narrowed his eyes, and reminded him harshly of the need for control, lest he fail.  "Control is all, Apprentice, All!  You will not fail me, in this, or any other matter!", he hissed, and he dismissed the student to his studies once more.

The books Maul studied were dark.  Some told of pleasure obtained by the use of whips and chains, and exotic bindings.  One book told of the use of the Force by which a maiden might be sacrificed during the act of congress, and her terror channeled into the dark side that he might increase his power.  All these things he learned, and absorbed, and committed faithfully to memory as required by Sidious, but within himself, he knew that such devices would not be needed to touch the infinite with her.

As time passed, he found a measure of control.  The simmering fires of passion burned beneath everything, but outwardly, he was a still pool of meditative calm, of violence held back by will, alone.

*****

During this time of separation, Hanshara fasted and meditated to still her spirit, and banish the physical ache she felt.  Sometimes she wondered if all that had transpired in the Gallery had been but a dream.  But in spite of her spiritual exercises, her body would remind her that it was not, and she would ache again, to hold him.  Her arms would feel empty, her belly full and receptive, but unfulfilled.  She remembered every touch that she had experienced from him, every tiny nuance of scent and sound; the click of his boot heels on the metal floor; the graceful way he walked, somewhat like a cat; the fierce look in his golden eyes... and when she remembered how it  felt to have his arms around her, the close-up smell of him, the feel of his skin against her own, and how much he wanted her -  she would shiver and become dizzy, and suddenly need to find something of no consequence with which to busy herself.

At night she dreamed of him.  No matter how she disciplined her mind to be still, still she dreamed.  There were unasked for visions of twining limbs, delicious in their intensity, and whispered words in the dark, spoken in a tongue she did not understand.  There was satin skin stroking against hers, and a hard male body lying against her with his arms around her, keeping her safe from a nameless peril of unknowable immensity.

One dream recurred, and through it's course, changed from dream, to nightmare, and back to dream again.  She was spinning, on a deserted plain on a deserted planet, in a dark avenue of tall and sombre buildings made of massy stone. Dark clouds scudded across the lowering red sky, and and twin suns turned about the horizon.   Her would-be lover held her hands and spun her round him as he turned, faster and faster, until all she could see was a blur of black cloak.  The blur changed to a vortex, a sulky heaving mass of churning water which stretched from horizon to horizon, and she began to fall into it as if it were a well.  Fear started to overcome her,  Don't let me go...  she screamed and pleaded to him, clinging on to his hands, as if they were the last thing in creation.

But his hands gradually let her go, and they slipped inexorably from her grasp, to let her plunge slowly into what she thought was lightless oblivion.  In her sleep, she screamed again as she fell, twisting and turning helplessly, into the swirling murk far below her.  Then out of the dream-vortex walked Maul, towards her.

At first, he was a tiny figure in the far distance, but as he came closer, she saw he was unclothed.  The red and black pattern covered his body, although the pattern was hazy and indistinct, and she saw that he was aroused.  As he approached, he held out both hands to her and smiled.  Come with me... was the thought in her mind, and sobbing with terror, she reached for him, tried to grab both hands, to stop the fall.  He took her hands and kissed them, one by one, and then pulled her to him and kissed her full on the lips.

Let us join together... The hazy thought came into her mind, and his strong arms were around her, and as skin met skin, she felt that she also, was naked.  Then his hands touched her, roamed where he wanted, and the universe spun again as she surrendered to pleasures so new and intense that they left her breathless with wonder and delight that a body could experience such things. Then the dream faded, leaving her incomplete and wanting more.

The first few times she dreamed this dream, fear ruled her, and she struggled against her fall, and tried to wake, but when she realised that he did not desert her, that he came back for her, she braved the fall in order that she might enjoy what came afterwards.  Slowly, the fear faded, until she surrendered to the dark, and willingly gave herself to the void, throwing herself into it with joyous abandon, eagerly waiting for him to come back to her.

Lest she be tempted to touch herself while dreaming, she slept with her hands outside the covers, but the need for him grew sharper and more intense with each passing day, until...

Enough!  she thought, as she stared out of the Gallery window, where she was now wont to go in the little spare time available to her. This is not any way to live, being torn apart with need...

*****

Very shortly after this decision, their paths crossed  again, when Hanshara was inspecting and repairing the landing gear of the Jedi's small space cruiser.  The day had been unusually quiet, but she was never idle - there was always much to do, and the Jedi abhorred idleness. Catching up on routine maintenance, she was absorbed in testing control boards and replacing chips.  Maul was returning from a mission for his master, and was determined to see her, hoping against hope to consummate his desire for her.  After docking and securing the Infiltrator, he walked briskly across the hangar bay and then caught sight of Hanshara, immersed in her task.  His heart leapt to see her and he stopped to watch her work, while his body clamoured to hold her again, and his need for her became overwhelming.  Desire welled up, but Zabrak custom prevailed and training took over, and he waited, with one hand clasping and unclasping the hilt of his sabre, waiting for her to feel his presence in her mind, and turn to speak with him.

Closing the door of the inspection hatch and walking round one of the landing struts, she saw him and stopped in her tracks, and just stared at him.  He dipped into her mind and reveled in the delight and confusion that arose as she saw him watching her.  Then she found her tongue,  "Lord Sarin, welcome back.  Have you been far?" and saw her blush a little at the inanity of the words, and the snatches of her dreams which played in her thoughts.

What wonderful erotic fantasies he sensed  in her mind!  His golden eyes glittered with anticipation at the delights she unwittingly placed before him.  Then the fluent diplomat was overcome by the momentary tongue-tie of the smitten lover, and the ability to make rational conversation deserted him.  While he filled his mind with the sight of her again, he could only think of a banal and mundane answer .  His voice was husky with rising lust, when he said, "A mission, Lady. But I came past Cinthara, and the storms..."  Knowing of her newly found liking for the delights of the heavens, the thought crossed his mind that the beauty of those colours would be greatly enhanced if they played over her pale skin... over her body...  Perhaps she would let him take her there and he would see this marvel.

She took the bait willingly.  "I do not know Cinthara, perhaps I should see these storms?"  She looked down and fished around in a pocket for something, anything.  A thing to use, he thought as he watched the movement of those hands, something to ground her in reality, and reassure herself that she is not dreaming.  She retrieved a cloth and a remote and looked at him again.

 "You will lady, if you wish. Is it your wish?"  said Maul, his inner voice inviting her, and urging her to wish it so, for he dearly wanted to take her there and take her.

Securing the Jedi ship with the remote control, Hanshara said, "There, I am finished!" Then she stood in front of him, took a deep breath, and grinning broadly at him, wiped her hands on the cloth. "Now, how will I see the storms of Cinthara, my lord, if I do not know where Cinthara is?  Are you keeping such beauty to yourself, or will you share it with me as you shared the Gallery, and in the same manner perhaps." This last she said very softly, and she looked down at her hands, still wiping them, but only for something to do, something to occupy her while she waited in hope and agony for the answer she wanted.

Enough was enough, thought Maul, she has decided the matter now, and, in silence, he bowed to his fate and to her.  He took her hand in the formal manner he had done before, gazed intently at her for a moment, and without a word, led her to his ship.

*****

They departed the hangar bay, and when in open space, Maul demonstrated the controls and invited Hanshara to fly the craft.  He stood behind her as she flew competently back then around the battleship Oberon, snaking and weaving the little ship around the larger ship's superstructures.  Concentrating on the novelty of controlling the Infiltrator, she was not aware of his study of her.  He passed his hand within a hairs breadth of her velvety short cropped head, almost as if to caress it.  The curving of her neck to her shoulder was even more erotic to him than before, as was the elegant and decisive way she handled the controls.  She enjoyed the physicality of using the ship, she reveled in the sublime coordination of mind and body together to achieve perfection.  This augurs well, he thought, she will enjoy our union  when the time comes.

She turned quickly in the co-pilot's chair to comment on how maneuverable the little ship was, and to ask a question about the drives, but her voice tailed off in mid sentence as she saw his unguarded expression of hunger for her.  Then his eyes flickered, and suddenly he became again the controlled and reserved man that he was in public, and which she now knew him not to be in private.

Then a warning chime heralded the sudden appearance of a small meteor swarm. The last few minutes were forgotten as Maul went to the main flight control to check their position and coordinates.  Hanshara stood  to follow him, and the ship lurched, the automatic over-ride taking avoiding action to miss a stray rock.

Hanshara fell backwards, as Maul caught her with his left hand and his right caught the edge of the control bank for support.  He tightened his hold on her as the ship lurched again, and he sat with her held hard against his thigh.  When the ship had been navigated back to safety, he did not let her go.  Instead, he put both arms around her and his head against her, and waited.  To his utmost delight and relief, she turned within his arms, and looked at him saying "You cannot forever be just catching me chance-like in your arms my lord, or seducing me with pretty views."  She put her hands to his face and kissed him lightly on the mouth, then said, "In case you had forgotten..." and then another, but a fully committed kiss this time.  Sweeping her on to his lap, Lord Sarin cradled the Lady Sinn-Tau as if she were the most precious thing, giving kiss for kiss, inhaling her scent, becoming lost in the nearness of her.  He was shaking with the effort to control his overpowering need for her.

To calm himself, he stroked her hair, and rejoiced in her female softness and trust of him, the heady scent of her, the fine pale skin, the womanly curves, and the wiry body.  Raising his hand to her neck, he drew his fingers gently down to the curve of her shoulder, then he kissed her again.  Still uncertain, not yet fully knowing her mind, not wanting to alarm or frighten her, he drew his fingers along her collar bone to her throat, kissed her, and gently drew aside the collar of her tunic.  She sighed and arched her throat as he kissed it again, and then drew his lips along the collarbone to her shoulders.   He pulled the tunic off her shoulder exposing the swell of her breast, which he also kissed and lightly touched in delight, for in this, she was unlike the females of his own race, and he wondered what other differences there were in them.  She made a small mewing sound in the back of her throat as he caressed her, so thinking she was not ready, he soothed back the tunic to cover her, and kissed her mouth again, teasing her lips with his snake-like tongue.  Then he took her fingers, kissed them, and held them against his racing heart.

*****

They remained like this until Cinthara came within visual range, then he stationed the ship at the North Pole of the planet.  They drank cool water and ate tart fruit for refreshment, and sat cross-legged upon a pile of cloaks thrown upon the floor, to watch the storm. Hanshara was silent in the face of the splendour and magnificence of the display, as curtains of blue and green fire coruscated across the heavens.  Maul was also silent, and rather than watch the storm, he watched the colour reflect off her face, highlighting her pale skin with a strange and transcendent beauty.  He could not imagine how he had thought her anything other than beautiful, human though she was.  In fact, her humanity was of no matter to him, at all, now.

When he thought she might have watched her fill, he leaned towards her and turned her face to his.  He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, "What do you feel?"  His gaze on her was intent, and he did not smile.  He saw that she did not smile either, but looked at her hands.  I could test your mind, but I want you to tell me of your own free will...

"I feel I want you."  She looked out of the observation window and twisted her hands in her lap as she fell silent, waiting for his reaction.  Her hands became still and she folded them one in the other, and he looked at them, thinking, she has accepted...

"You have thought about this?"  His hand shook so he took it away from her cheek and stroked her short hair, which was miraculously soft, like finest velvet.  Another delight, for the Zabrak do not have any hair upon their bodies.  Is this the only place where you have hair?  What other intimate secrets will I discover, when you join your body with mine?

She closed her eyes and shivered.  "Nothing else, night and day.  I do not know man, neither do I understand, except that something in me is compelled towards you."

"Will you deny it?"  This question he asked with heart in mouth, for according to custom, he must give her the opportunity to withdraw, and he stopped the stroking, just rested his hand on the back of her head and closed his eyes, hoping upon hope.

"No.  I cannot."  she said.  He felt her lips touch his and strong wiry arms wind around his neck.  He breathed again and opened his eyes.  Neither can I.

"Are you afraid?"  he whispered, tightening his arms around her and pulling her even closer.  For I am afraid. My Master is a jealous god - if he knew of the strength of this, despite his schemes he would order me to kill you, and that I could not do.  Not now.

"Oh yes, but fear must be conquered for fear is the mind-killer."  This last was said in a sing-song fashion as though it was something she learned at the knee of a favourite teacher.  Then he felt her shake with laughter against his chest.  He smiled to himself and stroked his cheek against hers as he rocked her.

"Indeed," he affirmed, "we learned the same litany, you and I."  So much that is the same, for you are Jedi, and I am Sith, yet it is of no concern to me...

"And does it work?"

"Always!" then they laughed together at the similarity in their circumstances, and he pulled her onto his lap, facing him.  She wrapped her legs around him, and settled comfortably into the well formed by his crossed legs and hips.  She must feel him... the pressure of her against him was most exciting and he buried his head in her neck, and purred very softly, not with contentment, but sheer pleasure.  Until now, other than the savage joy he found in battle,  there had been very little pleasure in his life.  Sidious was a hard task-master, and cruel with it.  Maul had never suffered the same punishment twice, and Sidious dearly loved to find opportunity for punishment.  But now, Maul felt indulged, spoilt, pampered like a favourite child for whom a gifting festival had come seven times over in the same day!

Sidious had warned him of the dangers of pleasure, how it dulled the senses, and, more importantly, diminished the soul and shriveled the will.  How was it, then, that his senses were magnified, and that his soul sang because of this thing he shared with her, something that  the poorest man on Naboo took for granted, and until now, had been denied him.  He had not believed that such happiness existed, much less, that it could be his.  He wondered if Sidious knew what he would experience, and knew also, that he would take it from him if he did.

He began to wonder how far his teachings would let him take her, and he started to pull at her tunic with the intention of exploring her body, but she shifted her weight and moved her hips.  The feeling of her pressing against his sex was unbearably exquisite - he gave a soft grunt and clenched his fists tight against her back.  He closed his eyes and remained as still as he could to savour every iota of sensation, which threatened to take him over the edge of his control.  But not quite.

Then she put her hands on his horns, and he feverishly took her head in his hands and smothered her face with kisses - some movement, anything, to distract himself from that over-powering sensation in the lower half of his body.  In between kisses he murmured to her in his own language, something sweet that she would not understand lest she think him foolish.  Words which were thought long forgotten, and buried deep in a mind long accustomed to violence, pain, and death.

The Same Cloth But Of A Different Cut

The words were strange to her, and she could not understand them, for she did not know the language in which they were spoken.  The intensity of his voice, the almost crooning seductiveness of the words, lulled her into a dreamy state in which she wanted to just float with him forever in some private space of their own, undisturbed. With no little difficulty, she snapped her eyes open, to find she was still being held by him.

Her Jedi training took over and she hardened her will.  Much as she wanted him, events were flying too fast.  About this man, who was not a man but something else, she knew little or nothing, and if she was to risk all her future and negate her past by creating an alliance with him, she must know more about him.  The thought of an 'alliance' made her shiver with excitement and apprehension in equal measure.

She returned the kisses and wriggled gently out of his embrace, then stood with hands on hips, looking out of the view-screen again at the storm.

"So beautiful,"  she murmured, and turned her head to look at him.  "And so lethal..." 

He leapt to his feet with that easy natural grace which always delighted her, and came up behind her.  Arms snaked around her and pulled her tightly to him.  She leaned back into his embrace, and closed her eyes.

"You would not say that if you could not see 'blue', or 'green', or both.  The interplay of colours would be invisible to you.  Only the lethality would be apparent, and that through a device of some kind."  He nuzzled her neck with his lips, puzzled as to why she had moved.

"Perhaps there is more that I do not see."  She rested her hands on his hands and stared again at the lights.

"Then there would be more to discover.  You must explore the possibilities, and you must hone your senses to see further."

"Would that be a fateful thing to do, do you think?"

He turned her round, somewhat roughly, as if he was impatient. "There is no such thing as fate. You make of the universe what you will, choose the path you walk and decide your own future.  Look into yourself and ask your innermost being, 'What is in this for me?  Will I come to harm if I walk this path?'"

"No," she said, correcting him as she slid her arms round his neck, "What is in it for the universe!  For although I am nothing, what I do may yet benefit the Force."

"Aah, the self-sacrificing Jedi comes out in you now!"  Even though she felt his disdain at the arrogance of her words, she tightened her arms around him.

So it does, and so I have been taught...  "That is my heritage," she reminded him, resting her head on his shoulder,   "how could it be otherwise?"

He was silent for a while, and pressed against him as she was, she felt his heart pound steadily with it's strange triple beat, which reminded her that he was not of her own kind.

"Yet you will not deny it! Or do you play with words? Will you deny yourself and us while not denying what exists between us?"  She heard the bitterness in his voice, and sensed the bitter isolation of his spirit.  Have you been refused all closeness in your life? she wondered.

"I have chosen my path long since," she decided to speak freely, knowing that he would understand something of how she had been raised since being a very small child - raised in a similar manner to himself, most likely.  "It is only logic and reason which create doubt in me, when I should listen to what my heart tells me.  The Force is neutral upon the matter, there is no guidance for me there."  Taking his head in her slim hands, she looked into his fierce eyes and smiled, taking in his arrogant expression and proud demeanour.  "Throughout my life, my heart has served me well, and I will listen to that."

"Hai, And that is the right decision."   Taking her hand he pulled her to the command seat and sat her on his knee, while he activated the ship controls and started the engines .  "My Master will call me soon, and my time will then not be my own." He set course for Naboo, and when the ship broke out of the gravity well of Cinthara, made for home.  "Until then..."

The sub-light engines roared, the ship left the Lights behind, and they transited into the silent world of hyperspace.  Starlight streaked past them, and the hum of the hyperdrive pervaded her senses, as she settled back, resting on his chest.

*****

Close up to him, like this, she could see the weave of the cloth from which his garments were made, and feel the soft heavy texture of the fabric.  The stuff from which his outer coat was fashioned was of a similar home-spun nature as her own, and the tunic beneath was of a similar style.

"Our dress is so similar..."  Her light touch was respectful.  Her hand flitted over his tunic, and alighted on the scarf, draped carefully around his neck, and secured over the tunic by the belt.  The fabric of the garment seemed imbued with some sort of power, and her fingers felt as if they brushed with sparks of electricity.  Among warrior monks such as the order in which she served, such things had meaning.  Perhaps they did for him.

"Are you a priest then?" Her hands stroked the scarf she now thought to be a stole, and therefore of a ceremonial nature, for the narrow strip of cloth served no apparent useful purpose.  But if it were a stole it was a symbol of a power he held and he must be ordained, but as what?

"A priest?  Of a kind," he said, covering her hands with his, and bringing them to his lips for a kiss.

"Of what kind?  I do not know of an order that dresses in this manner."  She freed a hand and touched the stole again.

"We are warrior monks, dedicated to the art of war," he told her, "as are you Jedi.  There are many such orders, would you know them all?"  He wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled her to him for another kiss.

Now she was curious and protested a little,  "I would know most of them."

He laughed.  "Would you indeed!  Would you know of the Seventh Circle of the Dathomir, and the followers of the Teras Kasi Path of Light?  Would even the Jedi penetrate the veil of secrecy that hides their presence from the common world?"  He stopped her mouth with a kiss that was breathtaking in its delicacy and depth.

She enjoyed the kiss greatly, and returned it with a passion, but was not yet distracted, even when he pulled at her tunic.  Agile fingers tugged slyly at her belt, and slender hands slipped under her garments, and stroked her breasts.  She closed her eyes and enjoyed that, also, and Maul sighed with contentment and pulled her tighter towards him.  Then he kissed her neck, and growled softly in the back of his throat as he pulled her tunic off her shoulders.  Now she was greatly distracted, and pulled at his clothes, in order to feel his skin next  to hers.  But then she wondered again, and stopped, and sat up, with her tunics falling in disarray about her shoulders and arms, "Did you promise... have you promised chastity?"

He pulled her back down to his chest, looked intently at her half-naked body, and continued to stroke it, uncovering her breast.  "My order takes a liberal view of such matters."

"I promised..." she said, wondering why the Jedi denied themselves such sweetness as she was experiencing now.  His body was hard underneath her, and she knew that he wanted her.  Was it not a wonderful thing that a man's body would do this for desire of her?

"That is how I understand the Jedi to be."  The comment was non-judgmental; merely an acknowledgement that he knew of Jedi customs and therefore must understand her predicament.  He kissed the side of her neck, and pushed both her tunics completely to one side exposing her body to her waist, then he started to pull at her belt, and having loosened it, slipped his hand under the loincloth and into her breeches and touched her belly and flanks.

"I promised, " she whispered to herself, and stretched herself under his hand, enjoying the pleasure he gave her, and wanting to return it.  "Be still for a while," she said to him, covering his hand with hers.  She had already made her decision, but the manner in which she would give herself was of great moment, and she would not be hasty.  Maul removed his hands and held them out, as if he was offering himself to her.  His head was tilted a little to one side, and he smiled at her.  She almost drowned in those golden eyes, that gazed at her with an intensity that thrilled and disturbed together.

He remained still while she sat up again and gravely pulled the stole out of his belt, folded it carefully, and laid it respectfully to one side.  What mantras did he murmur while dressing?  What special prayer did he perform while he placed the garment around his neck when he prepared himself for the day?  Her own garments were sanctified in such a manner.  Each piece of cloth meant something; the cloak, the tunics, the loincloth; all had their meaning.  The belt she wore symbolised the chastity she desperately wanted to forgo, as did the loincloth.  With determination, she undid her belt and placed it next to his stole, and removed her loincloth.  For some unknown reason she felt exposed and defenceless, such was the symbolic power of these simple garments, and the significance she had invested them with, over the years.  The Force said nothing to her, her world was encompassed only by Maul, and his presence with her.  There was no guidance, none at all, only her instincts.  But they had never failed her.  For a long while she was motionless on his knee, eyes closed and head bowed as she searched in her mind and heart for direction, and found it.  She looked up at him.

"Promise to me, instead," he whispered, as his hands found their way into her hair again.  "Let us come together," His voice was sweet, seductive, and promised that there would be much between them, if she did so.  The pupils of his eyes were wide with desire, and they burned with a fire that frightened her a little.  A frisson of apprehension ran up and down her spine.  It excited her, and she leaned forward to kiss him, her hands running up his tunic, which she started to unbutton from just below his throat.  The buttons were very small, and hidden, difficult to find.  There was no assistance from him, but his mouth opened a little, and his breath hitched when she parted the unfastened tunic, and drew her fingers down the centre-line of the black tattoo on his chest.  With both hands she traced the outline of  the pattern along the collar bones, along the ribs, and over his flat stomach.  But no further.  Not yet.  Hand on his chest over his heart, she felt the strange triple beat she had already come to love, and felt it beat faster.

"What should I promise to you?" she asked, thinking about the speed with which her life was moving.  There would be difficult consequences from what she was about to do, and she refused to think about them.  Her heart and soul told her that this was more important, much more important, but she did not know why, and she felt as though some power or fate outside her control compelled her, swept her along in it's wake.  A fate which did not exist.  For some reason, as she leaned forward to kiss him, the image of the swirling vortex came into her mind, and she felt as though she were falling endlessly into that terrible darkness again.  But again, he stood between her and it, held her safe and close. Was he protecting her from it?  Was this the meaning of her dream?   The image faded, banished by the scent and warm feel of him. A wave of desire swept over her and it was all she could do to just kiss him.

Maul closed his eyes and sighed, and hugged her very close.  "To be my life and my breath, my heart and soul, my body and mind," he whispered into her ear.  The ancient words of his people came back to him, even though he had thought them long forgotten, discarded along with the rest of his culture.

"Perhaps," she said, "and when should I promise?"

He held her so tight, she could not breathe for a moment.  "Now!"  So impatient he was. But why delay?  His hands and arms were shaking again with the intensity of his feelings, and she did not think he would ever take 'No', for an answer, to anything.

"And what must I do to fulfill that promise?" she asked.

"Take me, as I will take you.  Touch the infinite with me."  She felt his slender hands hold her firmly around her waist.  Strong hands, capable hands, hands that would hold her well when they came together.  Hands that must have dealt death many times.  This did not bother her at all, although she thought it should.

Take him?  Oh yes!  Touch the infinite with him?  If that was what  she hoped it was - well, yes indeed!  His hand moved to her breast and she put her own hand over it to keep him there. for she greatly liked the touch.  Now she became a little fearful, that he might toy with her for a while, then find some other distraction and leave her.  "What are the customs of your race?  Is this for..."

He interrupted her with yet another kiss.  "For ever and beyond.  It is a bond not to be broken. Promise to me, be Tai Shan to me?"  His voice persuaded and cajoled, and there was a hint of urgency in it, as if he could not wait. There was great impatience in his soul, she thought.

"What is 'Tai Shan' and how shall I promise?"

"Tai Shan?  It is everything!  Promise me here!  Promise me now!  Does it matter other than that the time and place have sufficient dignity?"

He did not tell her more what 'Tai Shan' was, but she thought she knew, and her mind was made up a long time ago.  But it would be unseemly to hurry or be thought to do so, however much she wanted him.  Not only that, there were preparations to make - his master, her mistress, how would they react?  They must prepare them, allow them to become accustomed to their new state.  The Jedi Council may well recall her from her duties, for this was forbidden to Jedi.  She shivered and turned that thought away. "Choose your time and place," she said gently, "but not now."

"Very well," and he nuzzled her neck most sweetly, "after my next mission, for I will be released from my duties for a while.  And we shall come here..."

*****

After their return, life almost returned to normality for a short while.  Their duties were many, and their tasks were onerous.  There were snatched moments only, no time to express their desire for one another; few self-indulgent times when they might sit or lie together and take joy in the company of the other.

When time permitted, which was rare, they would meet at the Gallery when it was deserted, and watch the planet slowly spinning beneath, and the traffic of ships to and fro between Naboo and the lanes between the stars.  Maul would stand behind her, holding her in front of him, as appreciative of its beauty as she was.

Once they went to Cinthara, where Maul showed her the blue ice-caves of Cinthara II, and the strange ice-shapes made by the vicious winds which encircled the planet.

Once they snatched a picnic on a mossy river-bank on Naboo, as Hanshara soaked up the life-giving sunlight, and Maul angrily chased away a small group of curious Gungan children disturbing their peace and solitude.  She teased him about this, saying that perhaps igniting the light sabre was an over-reaction for such a small band of marauders.  He arrogantly said the Gungans would have a story to tell their children, of a fierce dark warrior and his white skinned lady, and a flaming sword of power.

They were circumspect and told no one of their liaison.  Few saw that when in the same room, the Lady Hanshara was a little less regal and the Lord Maul had a softer expression.  No one noticed that following Zabrak custom, Maul greeted her with a light touch on her cheek, and a slight bow, saying, "My Lady," or that when walking together, he always took her hand and kept her close in the Zabrak manner.  Once, an amorous Nemoidian made whispered overtures to her, wanting to bribe her with unusual gems, and, proud warrior that he was, Maul was for angrily killing him when he chanced upon the conversation.  She reminded him that the Nemoidian was a Trade Baron, that this was their way, that no offence was intended and that it should be ignored.

Nothing was compromised by their relationship.  Ledora surmised and said nothing, but did not approve, fearing that Hanshara's safety would be put at risk by it. Palpatine also said nothing, but watched the relationship quickly grow and be cemented.  He was a little indulgent to his Aide, dipping into his mind and discovering the ferocity of the burning he felt, and suggesting that on such a day he would not have need of his attendance, or on another evening he was free to do whatever he wished.

***

When Maul's spirit was finely balanced upon the razor edge of desire, and Sidious felt that his senses were sufficiently heightened, he summoned him to his presence.

"Should I let you 'burn', Apprentice? Or should you 'marry'?" inquired Sidious, as Maul knelt before him in deferent submission.

"Whatever my Master wishes." spoke Maul in respectful tones, bowing his head.

"I have a mission for you..." Sidious waited for Maul to express some irritation but there was nothing.

"A mission to Abbyssin, in order to purchase certain dogs. A pack of hounds, those that have fangs with poison of the most subtle nature.  The breed which patrols Nurius III needs improvement ..." As Sidious droned on, outlining his requirements for a long and complicated set of tasks that would be achieved only with difficulty and much patience, he waited to pounce on any show of reluctance or anger from his Apprentice.  Again - nothing.  He concluded therefore.

"And upon your return you may make preparations to 'marry'."

"My Master is most gracious."  Maul bowed again, and Sidious felt the small amount of jubilation that Maul allowed himself, which caused him to adopt an expression of distaste at what  duties the pupil must undertake.

"You depart tonight, and do not fail me."  His manner was curt as he waved Maul away, then he stood watching the skylanes, musing upon what might be discovered when the conjunction of the forces of creation and destruction were unleashed by the coition of the Sith and the female.

*****

So Maul checked over the Infiltrator and prepared for his departure until the time Hanshara took her usual walk down the gallery.  When that time approached, he flew the ship out of the hangar and down the side of the battleship past the Gallery, rolling the Infiltrator as he did so.  Hanshara saw the distinctive craft and was dismayed to see it double back and then lift away into space above Naboo.  She used her power with the Force but felt nothing because, as his Master had instructed, he had cloaked his mind from everything.

Time passed.  For one hundred days she waited.  Every day she walked to the viewing gallery at the same time, but no Maul.  She was too proud to ask Palpatine for news of him, and there was something unsavoury about Palpatine that discouraged such an enquiry.

Every day was now a trial.  When she began to feel he wasn't coming back, she decided to fight the sombre mood by casting her mind towards him - wherever he was.  So, every day, after her meditation within the Force when her mind was at its most powerful, she searched for him.  Twice she thought she caught a trace, but the trail was old and he was not there.  Her heart told her that he would not abandon her, that he was not dead, but her head told her otherwise.  Hanshara threw herself into her work and Ledora, conscious of her plight and seeing her distress, gave her much to occupy her.  Even so, every day at the same time found Hanshara gazing at the skies above Naboo and hoping.

On the hundredth day she was lost in thought and contemplation, and so did not hear the light footfall behind her, but she felt the clawed hand gently lie on her shoulder.  Looking at the window rather than through it, she saw Maul's reflection and then she felt his presence in her mind.  Closing her eyes, she reached her hands behind her to touch him, grabbed his tunic and pulled it tight towards her.  A curious mix of relief and anger churned through her mind. Relief that he had returned, anger that he had been so long.  Jedi discipline and control seemed to have deserted her.  All she wanted to do was rail and scream at him, then collapse in his arms.  Self control returned and the impulse was ruthlessly suppressed.

 He kissed the back of her neck and catching her clenched fists, folded them in front of her with his arms around her.  He ran his tongue down the side of her neck and kissed it.

 "Come now and fly with me," he murmured.

Trembling with the effort not to weep, her eyes filled with unshed tears, Hanshara turned within the confines of his arms.  "I thought...I feared...." she said incoherently, taking his head in her hands and kissing him wildly. When this passed, she buried her head in his tunic, shaking, saying nothing. For answer, Maul folded his cloak about her and held her close.

"Do not 'think', my Lady, and do not fear. I would not be dead just yet!"

"Then let us fly," she said, in a voice muffled by quantities of coarse fabric.  "Enough is enough, I would delay no more."

Time stood still for Maul.  The time and place were upon him, he felt poised at the brink of a precipice of self-discovery.  The woman had decided upon the time, and there was only one small matter of custom to take care of.  Gently, he disentangled them both, and pushed her a step of two away from him.

"There is no turning back once we tread this path," he warned.

"No turning back..."  she echoed, and smiled at him.

Maul took her left hand, bowed, and brought her hand to his forehead in the ancient gesture of fealty.

"I will tell my Master."

"And I will tell Ledora."

*****

Sidious discovers the name and nature of the woman.

"You bowed to her!" Sidious' hate-filled glare was full of venom.  "You bowed?  To a woman?  Something to be used for this one purpose only and then discarded!"

Maul remained on his knees, silent, and with head bowed as low as was possible.  He had followed custom, nothing more, and Sidious' instructions had been followed to the letter.  In the context of his larger aim, to succeed his master, the bow meant nothing.  In the context of his more secret aim, the bow meant everything. It meant that he acceded to his fate, and that he would walk the path thus chosen for him.  In this way, he told himself, he made his own future.  Nevertheless, the wrath of his Master was a dreadful thing to witness, an even more dreadful thing to experience, and the often consequent punishments filled him with dread.

"Master..." he began.

"Silence!" Sidious paced the floor, brain racing with thoughts of punishment for the disloyalty of his prize pupil, the pupil who in all other respects, was most fitted to succeed him, in due course.  But not yet, for in order to challenge him, Maul must first attain a mastery of the Force which exceeded his own, and that would not be for many years.

Sidious stopped in front of his antique desk, made of real wood.  The wood had come from trees grown on Naboo, and the desk itself was of the finest craftmanship the skilled artisans of that world could offer.  They had died in mysterious circumstances a short time after completion of their task, and such delicacy of workmanship could not be found since.  Drawing a hand covetously over the highly polished surface seemed to soothe his spirit a little, and he decided to be generous.

"Why did you bow?"  Perhaps Maul had some reason for doing it, albeit that reason had better be a good one.

"It is custom on Iridonia, Master, for the suitor to acquiesce to the stated desire of the female.  It is a courtesy only."

"Knowing your oath of loyalty to me, why did you follow custom on this occasion?" Sidious manner was curt, but in spite of himself, he was curious.  A politician must always study the psychology of the people he must influence.  While Iridonia was on the Outer Rim of the Galaxy, and he was unlikely to visit there again, what he learned now may enable him to control his Apprentice better in the future.

"My biochemistry and very early childhood training, Master.  For the Iridonian, pairing is not by choice, it is determined by factors beyond the control of the individual.  The violent response to the compulsion is governed by the training received early in life, and the associated custom and ritual."

"Before you were chosen for the brotherhood...."  Sidious reflected briefly on the effectiveness of early indoctrination, and vowed that the next pupil, if there was one, would be selected and trained even earlier than Maul had been.  Give me a child until he is five standard years, and he is mine forever.  The words of an ancient religious cult came to mind.  It was not only the Sith and Jedi orders of knights, that had the good ideas, and few ideas were new.

"It does not signify loyalty, then?"  Sidious narrowed his eyes and gently invaded the mind of his pupil to find a lie, if lie there was.

"No Master."

Sidious nodded. There had been no lie, Maul believed all that he had said.  Which was good, for if it had been otherwise...  He decided to enquire about the woman fate had selected for Maul, for until now, he had been concerned merely with the mechanics of congress, and the effect on his student's spiritual state.  As a female, the woman herself was an important and necessary part of the experiment.  Who and what she was were totally immaterial, for she would be disposed of when all was ended and he had the key to what he wanted.

"Who is this female? What is her name? Tell me about her, for I am curious."

The woman is a Jedi, my Master."

Sidious stared at Maul.  Jedi?  He wanted to mate with a Jedi?  Even though this aberration was a compulsion, this was beyond his comprehension.  Jedi took vows of celibacy and followed a chaste life, although he knew of many who had had a mistress 'on the side', as it were.  Even Master Windu was reputed to have been quite a dandy in his youth, and to have partaken of pleasures of the flesh until brought to heel by the Council.  She might be renegade then.  Perhaps she could be turned, but the fact that she must use the Force would make Maul's work easier, surely.

Sidious shuddered inside. He found women repellent, even those of his own kind, human. The activities necessary during a period of cohabitation were disgusting and a means only to get heirs of the body.  He had chosen his heir, and that would be Maul.  If he lived up to expectations.  If he lived.

"Where is she stationed?"

"On the Oberon, Master."

Close to 'home' then.  But which Jedi Knight?  Surely not the frosty ice-maiden known as Sinn-Tau!  Maul seemed reluctant to divulge this knowledge.  He pressed him. "Which one?"

"The thin one, Master, that one named Hanshara Sinn-Tau."

So it was her! Sidious suppressed a shudder.  Thin and wiry, all muscle and no fat, prim and proper, not much excitement there then.  He certainly wished him joy of this union!  Not much of a Jedi either, no mind control to speak of.  And it was for life - or as long as he and Maul deigned to let her live.  A monotonous diet of Jedi to be sure.  However, as long as she sufficed for the experiment, that was of no matter, for she would be killed when her task was done.  There was a certain irony in who fate had chosen for Maul, for he had long wanted to kill Jedi, and his 'love' would be his first.

He felt Maul ruthlessly suppress a fear that his Master would attempt to debauch her, before he had taken her for himself.   It was an amusing thought that even Maul fell for the carefully placed publicity about Palpatine being a sophisticated 'man about town'; a roué, a charmer.  All in all, his Apprentice knew very little about the man who was his Master.  He would tease Maul a little.

"Shall I break her in for you?  But then - will she accede to a young man's impetuous ardour once she has discovered the experienced hand of a practiced lover?"  The question was purely rhetorical but Mauls inner shudder amused him, and he sent into Maul's mind thoughts of the woman under his Master's hands and body, greatly enjoying his most intimate caresses, and moving in rhythm to his thrusts with enthusiasm.

When I think about it more, thought Sidious, looking with a keen eye at the kneeling warrior, who was trying successfully not to react to the thoughts so sent to him, the Jedi bitch will add to the likelihood of success in this venture, for her power will augment that of my pupil, very nicely.  Very nicely indeed.

He nodded approval to Maul, who had suppressed his disgust and horror at Sidious' thoughts with the ease of long practice.

"I jest only," he said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture.  "The woman is of no interest to me except in the abstract.  You are most fortunate to have such delightful work ahead of you!  You may 'marry' forthwith."

Maul bowed more deeply and thanked Sidious for his compassion and generosity, whereupon Sidious allowed him to leave until he was next recalled for a task of some kind.

When Hanshara joins Maul on his ship...

Small haversack clutched in her right hand, and hood pulled close around her face with the other, Hanshara stood facing the side entrance hatch to the Infiltrator.  The ship dwarfed her, making her look small and insignificant.  It's great shovel-like nose swept above her, pointing at the open space-gate as if it were straining at gravity's leash.

An engine started to hum, and then the other.  The sub-light drives had started their ignition sequence, so Maul must be aboard and readying the ship.  As she pulled her communicator from her belt the hatchway opened with a small *swoosh*, and a short ramp extended from it.  It reached the ground, and came to a stop just in front of her feet, so she put the little device back into her belt-pouch.  He was not going to tarry then, once she had embarked.

"It's now or never!" she told herself, and stepped firmly onto the ramp, and walked briskly into the ship.  The ramp pulled up behind her and the hatch way slammed into its housing.  There was the double 'clunk' of an internal locking mechanism, and the inner hatch opened to reveal a small circular lift, which she entered.

The interior of the ship had a bare military feel that was cold and forbidding.  The featureless walls were of a dull grey metal, the grey  floor of some softish compound with a spongy feel, and which absorbed all sounds of her footfall. The harsh bright lights were recessed into the wall and protected by simple metal grills.  The ambient temperature was warm enough, but the oppressiveness of her surroundings made her shiver.

A surveillance device turned to follow her as she moved, and the lift commenced its ascent to the control deck.  Jedi mantras came to the forefront of her mind.  She repeated them silently, the 'Litany To Welcome Change'; and the 'Entry To A New State Of Being'.  This was not the situation for which that old and revered Jedi Master Galgoven, had composed them, but they felt most appropriate, all the same, and they had always brought her joy, and peace.  The whine of the engines changed pitch, and the lights started to dim.

When the lift turned and the door opened to the cockpit, she saw the dark figure of Maul, clad in cloak and hood, hands folded into his wide sleeves, waiting for her.  He bowed, deeply and with an easy formality.  At the lowest point of the bow he said something which she could not understand, and she thought it might be in his own tongue, but he did not explain it to her, neither did he repeat it in their common tongue, Galactic Basic.  Then he straightened, and with a smile, indicated that she seat herself in the companion pilot's chair, which had been newly bolted to the floor of the deck.

Lighting on the control deck was red, and the instrumentation panel was very easy to see, even though her eyes were not yet quite accustomed to the low light level.  She stowed her pack into a compartment under the console, and belted herself into the chair set up for her.  She waited for Maul, who had divested himself of his hood and gauntlets, and she watched as he seated himself into his own command chair.

Maul said nothing, but busied himself with throwing switches and punching data into the flight computer.  At least, she assumed it was the flight computer.  She watched as his slender hands flew unerringly over switches and keyboard.  The pitch of the engines changed again and the whine disappeared to be replaced with a lowering roar, which settled to the steady vibrant hum of a well maintained machine.

The ship leapt forward and out of the star-gate.  Acceleration pushed them into their couches for a moment, then the inertia-less drive took over, and they were released from the grip of gravity.  The ship sped on, sunwards.  When they were almost one thousand klicks from Naboo, the hyperdrive took over, and starlight streaked past the observation port as they passed light speed.  It was several hours to their destination, and they would wait until they arrived.

A Toydarian possessed of quite unusual gifts, spun in his chair, which was made in the form of a chance cube.  He had recently awoken from a deep slumber, something in the Universe had stirred, to awaken his interest.  Being old, indeed, being very ancient in years, he had seen all that life and death had to offer, and consequently, was very bored.

To relieve the boredom, sometimes he slept, sometimes he gambled.  Living alone, he gambled against himself, using a set of five chance cubes which were exemplars of the jeweler's art, and very, very beautiful.  Finely made of crystal, which reflected light and the mood of it's owner, the numbers and runes were of the deepest black, drawing the eye inexorably into their strange depths.  He had an annoying habit of clenching and unclenching his fist around the jewels, making a repetitive clicking sound, which was very sharp and strident to those who heard it.

For something to awaken him, it must have been a very unusual event indeed, and he leaned forward in the chair, to inspect the Infiltrator as it sped to its destination through hyperspace.  Searching the Force, for he was a Force sensitive of extraordinary power, he found that the threads of the future were knotted about a vortex.  This vortex was centred about an event, not a person, and this in itself, was odd, for vortices were always centred about a being, a sentient being.  Until now. 

The Toydarian mulled over the plural of 'vortex'.  Was it 'vortexes' or was it 'vortices'?  Do I care? he asked himself.  Time was wasting while he considered the etymological rules which governed the formation of a word, when the little starship with its strange shovel-like nose,  was almost arrived at it's destination.  The event would soon take place, but to his disappointment, he saw it was only a coupling.

However, he was of a prurient nature and lascivious with it.  Having a touch of the voyeur about him, he liked to watch such things, for the variety and manner of coupling in the Universe were truly astounding, and he liked to think he was somewhat of an authority on the matter.  This particular coupling was between two unrelated species, and therefore might be of interest - he had not witnessed this particular combination before.

His mood brightened.  Something different might be evidenced.  He started to calculate the odds on the female being taken from the front or behind, and with or without some violence.  Iridonians were a violent race, and this one more so than most, for he knew Maul of old.  The female, however, was Jedi, and the likelihood of violence increased with that knowledge, for Jedi were puritanical and reputed to be chaste, and she would surely resist his advances.  At least, when Maul first pressed his suit.

In his younger days, he had masturbated vigorously as he watched, matching the rhythm of his strokes to the rhythm of the thrusts taking place before him.  But age had caught up with him, and recently, he had felt that the great wheel of life was slowing inexorably towards a cold and chilly end.  Indeed, he was very bored.

It had been a long time since he had felt the exquisite release of his seed as it spurted into the night, to fall in a shimmering arc of liquid into...  Into where?  He did not know for sure, for he was not a tidy person, but Night, with her shining eyes of starlight and velvet cloak of deepest black, was always grateful for what he gave her, and transmuted his life force into wonderful things.

His memory was piqued, he reminded himself that on occasion, it had been quite a pleasurable - if solitary - activity.  He might do this again, and hasten the spinning of the wheel. 

Clacking the chance cubes in an appropriate rhythm, as if to encourage the two protagonists, he made himself comfortable in the chair, and watched.

*****

Meanwhile, Maul turned to Hanshara.

While he was busy piloting the ship, she had used the meagre fresher, and changed her clothes.  Instead of tunic and breeches, and the formal clothing of a fully fledged Jedi knight, she wore a simple robe of rough-woven white cloth, which was girded about her waist with a leather thong. A scented flower picked from the meadows of Naboo was tucked into the knot and the sweet fragrance drifted about her as she moved.  The Jedi clothing she had stowed away into her small back pack, with her sabre, and she had placed the pack into the compartment under the console, out of the way.  Now she sat, waiting, watching Khameir with an intensity and eagerness that beguiled her natural reserve and modesty.

Khameir, she saw, was now barefoot, and the many layers of tunics and stole were replaced with a simple black vest, without sleeves, cut in a low 'v' shape which tied at the side, and loose black leggings.  The tattoos ran dramatically up his lean sinewy arms, defining the musculature.  Without his bulky robes, his shape was even more pleasing, and very masculine. Fascinated with the pattern of black on red, she leaned forward to touch his upper arm, running her fingers lightly down the boundary of one of his stripes, and then back up, again.  As she stroked, the pattern became erotic, and she started to wonder where the stripes would lead, then what he would look like when he was unclothed.  Resting her hand on his forearm, she looked up at him, to find him regarding her with equal intensity.

"We have time to spare..."  he leaned forward and reached for her hand.  "Spend it with me." His voice was smooth, seductive, and irresistable, and with the confident tone of a man in command of this and any situation.

Everything in her mind fled.  The moment crystallised.  The idle thoughts of where he had put his heavy boots; why was the control deck so spartan, more so than usual; why had everything been packed away, for there was nothing loose, or unsecured - all those thoughts vanished.  Then all she could see was Khameir, waiting for her, golden eyes glowing with lust, and his hand held out to her.

She came forward and kissed him tentatively on the lips, creating a jolt of tension between them.  With a casual expertness, he tugged her towards him and, unbalanced, she fell laughing onto his lap and onto his chest, while he ran his free hand up her thigh and buttocks, dragging up the thin robe she wore.  She fell forward, and was skillfully held by his strong hands, until she was secure against his body.  His vest and leggings were made of thin, insubstantial fabric.  As she lay on top of him, legs entangled with his, she could feel how warm he was, how soft his skin, how hard he was. His erect penis pressed against her thigh and she decided she could wait no longer.  Impatience tore at her, she wanted his body naked against hers, skin to skin, and her body strained against his with a fierce urgency.

One hand searched for the fastening to his vest, and she turned her face to more fully receive the kisses he was placing on her neck and throat, blindly reaching for his mouth.

*****

A small chime sounded.  Khameir growled softly, broke the kiss, and buried his head in her shoulder. He was gripping her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh.  Looking round at the viewscreen, she saw a wildly coruscating display of colours flickering across the screen.  The colours were dazzling. They reflected off the interior of the craft, and off her own skin.  For some reason this delighted her and, distracted, she stretched her hand out in the reflected glow, as if she were trying to catch the beams.  Khameir muttered what sounded like a mild expletive in his own tongue, and reached behind her while she played with her hand in the soft glow of ever-moving blues and greens, stretching and flexing her fingers in the light.

He punched aggressively at the bracelet-like control device he always wore, and the ship gracefully swung about, until the viewport at the front of the ship faced the lights, at their most splendid. Then he turned to her again. The ship was secure and in a stationery orbit above the nightside of the planet; all his attention would now be focussed upon her, and what they were going to do together. Khameir ran his hands over her body, and pulled her down and close.

"We are here." He took her head in his hands and took his tongue along her lips, and kissed her - only gently at first but then with an increasing urgency that she could not deny. Neither did she want to. This was the moment she had longed for - the final commitment to a man she hardly knew. And that was a thing she had never considered until now - for he was not a man, he was something else, a member of a species she had never encountered before. This fact excited her, and amidst the kissing, she began to wonder how he might be different from a human man. Above all, she wanted to know where he came from, so she could find out more about him, and perhaps learn how to please him.

"Where is your homeworld?" she asked, when she broke for breath.

Khameir pulled back, and his expression indicated surprise at her thoughts about his origins, at this point in time.

"Iridonia, and I have not been there for many years." He bent his mouth to hers again, but she evaded him and kissed under his jawbone instead.

"Tell me more," she whispered, pulling at his thin vest again, and then kissing her way along his collar bone.

"Later," he murmured, "I am busy with something which will not wait." Then she was lost in a maelstrom of touch, and feeling, and murmured words she could not understand.

There were little nips along the side of her neck. They made her shiver in anticipation as the nips travelled to her shoulder, then down her arm. A fleeting touch on her breast, and she gave a sharp intake of breath, wanting his hands and mouth everywhere on her bare skin. Then a warm hand insinuated itself into her robe, and she pushed herself against it, and flexed her body, while he kissed her.

Oh, the kisses! She was covered in kisses! Hard demanding kisses on her mouth, which stole her breath away. Gentle kisses on the back of her neck which felt like the wings of butterflies had caressed her, and made the hair on her head stand on end with their delicacy. This man may not be human and she did not know whether kissing was part of his culture, but he used his mouth to most wonderful effect. He pulled her under him, and ran his mouth over her chest, sucked at her nipples, and bit her breasts with a threatening mock-violence which made her moan with pleasure. Between the kisses, he spoke in a soft voice, strange words which sounded sweet but meant little or nothing to her. Sometimes he moaned, and when her hand touched his penis, he half-shouted, half-exclaimed and pressed her hand hard against him.

The words were soporific and made her head swim. The pattern on his body both fascinated and hypnotised, and as if of their own accord, her hands followed the stripes, pulling away his vest and leggings, until, like her, he was suddenly naked. If she had been asked when her robe fell to the floor, she could not have said - the memory of such a thing happening escaped her. Their limbs were twined, red and black striped, with pale olive, as though they were but one being. She raised herself a little, to look at this wonder, and marvelled at the savage beauty and violence of the pattern which covered his body. Each stripe, each diamond, accentuated the corded muscle and sinew of his form, and looking at him, she wanted to look at him forever.

Their eyes met. When he spoke, Khameir's voice was thick and husky, and his eyes pleaded an urgency that said he could wait no more.

"Will you take me, Tai Shan?"

For answer she held his head in her hands and reached her mouth to his. Sure hands pulled her legs around him, and something hard and thick pushed into her, between her legs where she was wet and slippery with desire. Although she was a Jedi Knight, she was foremost a woman, and something in her knew instinctively what to do, even now while her mind was swimming in these most delicious of new sensations. She pushed hard, just once, and suffered the little pain that flared in her belly. Then pleasure overwhelmed her, and she felt as if she were floating on a sea of voluptuous sensuality. Every nerve sparked. She felt earthy, abandoned, and she wallowed in the joy of the wonderful things forbidden to her, because she was Jedi.

All she could feel was Khameir's body. One hand under her hips and one round her shoulders supporting her, and she realised that they were, indeed, floating, that there was no gravity: and no sensation other than from Khameir's body, to distract her. When he started to move within her, she pushed back, clenching her legs around him, and with each thrust, felt a strange tautness grow in her body and mind. Her hands were round his back and her nails must have punctured his flesh, the way she was pulling him frantically to her. The taut feeling built, and she called his name again, and again. and placed urgent kisses on him.

"Please," she cried, when it became too much to bear, "Please..."

Her lover growled, and pushed himself into her one last time. Then his whole body quivered, and his spasming triggered her own orgasm and she was swept along in a tidal wave of pleasure which seemed to have no limits, no end.

As she swam in this new sea, where there was no distraction from what they were about, where all sensation and feeling was linked to Khameir, she felt a sliding within her mind. The certain knowledge that this was the ultimate joining together of hearts and minds came to her, and she reached out into the Force to find his being within the web. She opened her heart, and then her soul, and touched his. There was swirling darkness, and the void. There was the heaving vortex, destroying all in its path, and he stood before it, asking her to join him, and share it with him.

Gladly, she went, for it held no terror for her now, as long as he was there.

A little bit of herself she kept to herself.

That is how Jedi are.

 ...In Me

If Khameir could have hummed a pleasant tune, he would.  Sidious was half a galaxy away, Hanshara was on-ship, and there was the prospect of many a pleasant battle with her to come.  Not skirmishes in the conventional sense, to be sure, but he did not let that distract him from the pleasure of the moment.

However, he would not hum, as it was beneath him, so he contented himself with glowering pleasantly at the woman perched sideways on his knee.  She was describing, with considerable enthusiasm for a peace-loving Jedi, a sequence of lightsabre moves she thought belonged to the classic Form VI mode of battle.

She was wrong, and who better than he to tell her, for he was a master of all the forms of lightsabre combat, even the notoriously difficult Form VII.  While she demonstrated a refinement of the basic move with expressive gestures of her slim hands and long fingers, he idly drew his finger up and down her ribs, until she stopped, laughing.

"You are not listening!" she accused him.

"Oh, I am!" He pulled her down onto his chest and slipped his hand into her tunic, seeking to touch the silky smooth skin of her breast, and to play with the nipple.  Already, he wanted her again.  They had made love several times during the sleep period, again on waking, and again an hour after that.  And now his cock was stiffening again in anticipation of another engagement with her.  The loose rough textured tunic fell open and he pulled it down to reveal her small breasts, which he loved to look at, and touch, for they fascinated him.

But these engagements were of a different kind to the sort he usually enjoyed.  This quickening in his loins could be fast or slow, and he modulated his bodily response to slow it further, so he could more enjoy the sensation of growing warmth and hardness between his thighs.

Being on top of him, she felt him, and turned her face up to smile at him in delight.  This was the only woman who had ever smiled at him, and he still did not understand why she ever had, for his markings were intended to terrify all lesser beings.  Despite their savagery, she must see beauty in his terrible striped visage, and love in his fiercely glowing yellow eyes, although he was always at great pains not to show he had any feeling for her.  Unless they were alone and unobserved, as now.

He had been wondering if he needed to contain himself, lest she be tired, for his attentions on her were most demanding and very vigorous.  He need not have feared.  She responded to every delightful thing he did with just as much energy as he, and in return, gave him more pleasure than anything else he had ever experienced, even combat.  There was no sign from her that she needed respite, and here she was, wanting more!  Pleased and relieved that she was a match for him in the manner of their play, he continued, his tone cool and even, his voice smooth and seductive.

"You were saying that the downward parry with the forward stance in the manner of the 'Rearing Snake', was an effective block to the thrust from beneath," he smiled wickedly, took her hand to kiss it, then he placed it on his sex and gently pressed her hand.  "Had you thought..." He moved her hand to and fro, pressing while he did so, and then took her hand under the waist of his leggings, more than hinting that he wanted her to stroke him again.

"I think you have in mind some different moves," she murmured, undoing the fastening with the other hand, while he pulled up the skirts of her long tunic.  Her touch was exquisite.  Cool clever fingers made him grow even harder, and he grunted in appreciation.

"Indeed, and there are many variations on the type of movement which may be employed," he used his considerable strength to gently move her so she knelt astride him, and he raised her skirts fully to look, once more, at how she was made.  The hair fascinated him, for it was such a strange place to have it, and he twined his fingers in the short wiry hairs, and used his thumb to play with the little nub of flesh beneath it, which gave her so much joy.  She had guided his questing fingers there during the night before, and he had felt the warm flush of blood to her face as she laid her modesty to one side, blushing a little at her forwardness - as if it were not her right to take pleasure in what they did together.

"And with a different sabre," she whispered.  Her voice was low and husky, and all her attention was focused on what they did.

"Sometimes you must be bold, and strike before even the simple parry can be considered as a defence against the inevitable, as in Form VII," He suddenly pushed his hips upward as he pulled her down, hard.  He slid into her effortlessly, and she arched her back as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her.

She was very slippery, and the smell of her was hot and earthy. The delightful scent of her body made his head swim with desire.   His strong hands steadied her, and held her securely in the wide comfortable chair as she started to move against him.

"Is your focus always physical?" she managed to ask, looking for a small distraction from the physical sensation which was building up in her.

"There is a tradition of 'dun moech', that is used in conjunction with the physical expression of Form VII..."

"'Dun moech'?"  The expression was unfamiliar to her.

"Domination by the use of word, expression, and gesture."   He had great difficulty formulating a coherent reply.

There was no answer from her.  She was too far gone into the physical sensation between them, and the intense pleasure she was experiencing, to say anything except for a sob, a mew, as she abandoned herself to it.

Domination.  He must dominate her.  He pulled himself back from the brink of release. Her hands had been pushing on his chest as she moved, and he grabbed them and pulled her forward to stop her rise and fall and give him a little respite.  There was a sheen of sweat on her skin, and the white tunic was bunched about her waist, leaving her upper body bare.  He looked at her small shapely breasts while running his hands up and down her back, caressing the nape of her neck, and her shoulders, feeling her push herself back onto his touch.

He kissed her face, flushed with exertion, over and over again.

"Lose yourself in me.  Reach out to me, free your spirit to me."  His hands roamed her body as he cajoled her and kissed her, and she started to rise upon the heights of sensation again, moaning with pleasure.

"Use the Force, reach out to me, lose yourself..." He urged, and sent his mind into the Force, looking for her being in the web.  The strands in the dark web of sentience parted willingly for him and he reached out into the bright centre of the vergence that was her, trying to coax her into admitting him into her inner self.  The bright vergence resisted the darkness of his own, until he persuaded some more, and then it seemed as if there was a tentative yielding on her part.  He reached further towards her, hoping against hope that she would welcome this final union, but then his mind came up against the impregnable barrier of that inner core.

Beyond sense now, she started rising and falling upon him again, so that he perceived only her, only the joy she gave him, and the bliss of the release as his seed spurted into her.

For a long time he held her, as the warm glow of ecstasy receded a little.  As sensibility returned he sent his mind into the Force again, to try and touch her soul, but even though that barrier seemed a little less, it was a fruitless exercise and he could not reach her.

As he stroked her, she fell asleep on top of him, and he pulled the long tunic up over her bare back so she would not chill.  He was still hard, inside her, and this fact comforted him greatly.  The Iridonian male had the advantage of many species in this respect, and was something he had totally disregarded until now.  It was yet another thing which may explain why his species were as they were, why pairing was, for the most part, a lifelong affair.  But physical union was only the beginning.  There was the matter of 'touching the infinite' with her, and this, she resisted. Still, she kept that last little bit of herself, to herself.

*****

He was an impatient man who desired perfection in everything he attempted.  His Master had never accepted anything less.  Many and cruel punishments had been inflicted upon him for less-than-perfect missions, or training sessions that Sidious thought had been conducted in a perfunctory manner.  This union must be as perfect as any military accomplishment, and this perfection required the joining of souls; the 'touching the infinite' spoken of by the old gods and passed down from father to son since the Zabrak peoples had risen from the dust to reach for the stars.

He had tried again during the daytime hours, as the small faint sun sluggishly traversed the arc of the heavens, and set again behind the ice planet, where never ending winds howled through immense caverns of green ice, almost transparent in it's purity. Now tomorrow was the last day of their idyll, for Sidious had recalled him to his duty.

How he might achieve this exalted state of being between them, was all he could think about, as the long sweet night hours drifted by. Their common heritage of lightsabre combat might be used to good effect to achieve the ultimate bond with her.  Her favoured discipline of the somewhat stylised form of combat known as 'Form VI', the 'Diplomat's Form', the form which emphasised balance and moderation rather than forceful prowess with a killing blade, could be used to dominate her.  Khameir sneered to himself, as he stared into the darkness beyond the narrow bed, on which they lay.  Such an undemanding form of combat would be easy to overcome.  He would use the principles of 'Dun moech', with taunts and jibes to undermine her spirit, and the wildly kinetic Form VII to dominate her physically.  Once so dominated in all respects, surely the last bastion of her mind would be his for the taking.  Then they would achieve a joining of the heart and mind that would be like no other.

Holding her cradled in his arms, he finally drifted off to sleep himself.  That exercise would be for tomorrow.

Battle Moves.

'Tomorrow' dawned.  The star at the centre of the small system of 4 planets and two broken moons, rose high over the horizon of the dead and desolate planet over which they flew in geo-stationery orbit.  Once again they had made love several times during the course of the night, each time in a different manner, each time in a different mood.  Still she would not yield that last part of her 'self', no matter how he coaxed and persuaded, no matter how he touched her.  It remained out of reach, inaccessible and inviolate - a fortification so strong that it could only be breeched from within.  He would need to make her a traitor to herself, make her pull down those Jedi-constructed walls of reserve and apartness herself.  She must come to him, and he would make her do so, by fair means or foul. His ally in this respect would be fear. Fear of him and his raw physical power; fear that she had misjudged him; fear that he would betray her.

During conversation over a meal to break their fast, Khameir mentioned 'training' as he bit into his fifth protein bar.  He had an air of studied casualness which did not fool her.  She did not think that her lover could ever be 'casual', and she looked at him with a speculative gaze, wondering what he really wanted.  She bit into a second ration bar of her own, and gave him a big wide-eyed stare as he waved his hand in the air.  "You might learn a few useful things, I am prepared to divulge..."

Qui Gon himself had been her sword master at one time, such had been the promise in her!  And she had fulfilled it all.  This was the source of no small pride, for she had worked very hard to reach the standard of sword-play that Qui Gon had demanded of her.

She took another bite.  They were lounging in the spartan galley.  Everything about this ship was spartan, she thought.  Does he have no luxury or small fine thing?  Nothing to treasure?  The bare metal feel of the ship was oppressive to her.

Then she reflected on her own small set of possessions, all of which, ultimately, belonged to the Jedi order.  In truth, she owned nothing for herself.  The battered set of tools handed down to her from her Master, Jedi Knight Attan Wat whom she had not seen for a year or so, a dented communicator, an underwater breather, a datapad, the little star ship, a few miscellaneous bits and pieces - everything was owned by the order and  entrusted to her for safe keeping.  Anything she needed could be requisitioned from stores, at any time, and even her clothes were standard issue, albeit of good quality and fine  workmanship.  Some knights, she knew, varied the design of their garments within the permitted boundaries, but she had known some who liked more than a little luxury here and there, and she disapproved of such ostentation.  The only thing which she could reasonably call her own was her lightsabre, and that was a most personal treasure, because it was attuned to her essence, her very being, during her making of it.  Few knights could use the lightsabre of another knight.

This mood, she thought, was willful, for she had everything she needed, and more, and here she was, criticising what was, in effect, a military ship, and it's occupant, a warrior like herself.  Another bite and the bar was finished.  She brushed a few crumbs off the small pullout table at which they sat, and threw them, with the wrapper, into the disposal unit.

"And you might learn from me." she said.

Khameir narrowed his eyes at her. She could see he was not convinced by that last remark. "Perhaps! You are agreeable then!  Good!  We might prepare a space in the cargo hold."

Committed to a course of action, he did not wait, but rose, briskly crumpled his own wrapper as he did so, threw it into the disposal unit with hers, and headed off out of the galley.

We cannot make love all the time... She giggled to herself, Although it was a most pleasant way to spend the time.  And she followed him to the lift.

*****

Containers of varying sizes were stacked and secured against the walls and floor.  Each container could lock into the next, so that no space was wasted, and each was marked in a neat script which was illegible to her.  There were four small globular shaped black droids of alien manufacture racked up against one wall, and two full size humanoid shaped droids without forearms, set on another.   Curious, she walked up to them and studied them.  They were much battered, and with them, on the rack, were what appeared to be tools, or extensions, perhaps, of their arms, and sets of control modules in vacuum packs.  The maker's mark was known to her. It was that of Raith Sienar, the maker of the finest military equipment in the known galaxy.  If Khameir worked for Palpatine, she wondered about the funds required for this ship and it's accoutrements.  Surely the governor of a small provincial world such as Naboo would not possess wealth sufficient to purchase and maintain such expensive materiel and a personal bodyguard of such calibre as Khameir?

"Training droids." said Khameir, seeing her pause in front of the droids as he slid a pile of boxes along the immaculately clean floor of the hold.  She looked again.  The extensions were weapons of many different kinds.  Sleek curled metal whips, battle axes, metal sabres, pikes, staves, knives, fearsome looking weapons of many and varied kinds.

She had seen holo-recordings of Jedi using battle training droids as part of an evaluation exercise, but the Order maintained that such devices were mechanical evils, that induced an irreverence for life.  Besides, no droid, however cunningly programmed, could reproduce the vagaries and sometimes illogical manoevres used by live beings in combat situations.

"We do not use them,"  she said, looking at another rack holding two environment suits and blasters of varying kinds.  There were a couple of high precision laser rifles of the sort used for long distance sniping, and rangefinders.  All was of very high quality, and surely was more than a simple bodyguard would need.  There was much more to this man than she had first assumed, and she wondered whether he might be an assassin.

"I know.  But timing is everything," said Khameir.  "To win, one must be faster.  To be faster, a person must train harder."

How much does he know of the Jedi, she wondered, as she examined the droids further. She decided she did not care who or what he might be for she loved him, and turned from the racked weapons to help him move boxes and arrange a small arena in the hold. Khameir pushed great stacks of heavy containers, putting his back to the pile and shoving them easily along the floor to the position he wanted them. For her part, she moved the lighter ones, and studiously ignored his evil grin when he saw that she left the harder work to him.

*****

Boxes arranged, she watched as he prowled with dark and alien grace up and down a length of the floor, loosening muscles and focusing concentration inwards. 

The small arena was roughly circular, and she tossed her thick outer tunic out of the way, onto a box, and strode into the small space. A few stretches and bends to prepare limbs that had become used to another exercise, and she was almost ready. She pulled her lightsabre from her belt, set it to training mode, and ignited it. The snap of the blade was sharp, and the smell of ozone was in her nostrils, as she thrashed the air with the humming blade.

After switching the weapon off, and while she performed a further series of stretches and high kicks to loosen her own muscles ready for the forthcoming bout. Khameir paced out thirty paces to the opposite edge of the rough circle of cargo containers. Then he turned slowly and made his way back. He took her hand and pulled her into the centre of the makeshift arena, bowed, then unclipped his sabre and stepped back a little.

"I killed a Jedi, once," he mused, looking past her, into the distance.  Extending the weapon in front of him, he looked down it and towards her, as if it were the sight of a laser rifle, and then thumbed on the blade.  Hanshara did not flinch as the end of that blade leapt towards her throat, and he watched with narrowed eyes, as she unclipped her own sabre and after saluting him, took up a two-handed en-guarde position, blade aimed squarely at his neck.

His eyes snapped back to focus on her again.  "But not today," and flashing a boyish grin at her, he made a salute in the old-fashioned way; bringing the blade up in front of him as if to kiss it, then sweeping it elegantly to one side with a graceful fluidity of movement that could be achieved only by years of hard practice, and total self knowledge - a master at his chosen art.

As the product of many years of intense training in physical combat skills, Khameir considered himself a master of the Sith version of the highest form of lightsabre combat as espoused by the Jedi order - that known as Form VII.  Only high-level masters of multiple Forms could ever achieve and control this ultimate discipline, which was the most difficult and demanding of all Forms.  Desiring to attain the fantastic power and skill the mastery of this Form could confer, Khameir had been fanatical about training and practice ever since he had first made his double bladed sabre.

There was not only the physical mastery of the moves.  The inner control and self discipline required meditation and spiritual exercise of a very high degree.  Form VII drew upon a deeper well of emotion than any other Form, yet mastered it more fully. He needed to use that mastery now.

The outward bearing of a Form VII practitioner was one of calm, but the inner pressure verged on explosion.  Under his Master's tutelage, Khameir had advanced the art considerably beyond anything the Jedi had thought possible. He had no qualms about using the precepts inherent in the use of such an aggressive mode of battle, for his goal was always the rule of power.  In his eyes, true harmony and justice was achieved by the subjugation of his enemy, but what he hoped to achieve now, in this particular arena, was true harmony, and subjugation of another kind - spiritual subjugation of the woman that she may tear herself free of any Jedi-imposed constraints. He wanted her spirit set free so it may soar with his.

*****

Having saluted her, Khameir clicked off the weapon, shucked off his boots, and stood, bare feet apart, his hands clenched around the hilt of his lightsabre, which he held across his thighs. Hanshara clicked off her own blade, and finished with her preliminary exercises she looked towards him, smiled, and then her smile faded, and she looked again. He was not looking at her, he was totally focussed on their coming training and staring beyond her.

Training? she wondered, taking in his powerful stance, the supremely arrogant expression devoid of any tenderness towards her, and the menacing air of controlled violence. His black shirt and tunic were thrown, just like hers, onto a nearby box, and he was fighting bare chested. She recalled then that she had never seen him fight, and only knew of his reputation as a swordmaster from her mistress, Ledora.

So, it looks as though there will be no quarter given! she thought. And why should there be? They were fighting on level terms, warrior to warrior. She turned to his mind but it was closed, sealed. The web of the Force did not yield to the delicate pattering of her mind as she tried to find him within it. I will use any advantage... and she pulled off her own inner tunic and the sturdy undergarment beneath it, then pulled off her boots for greater purchase on the gleaming metal floor. The skin of her small breasts gleamed like fine satin in the harsh glare of the lights, and her nipples hardened in the cool air, as she stood opposite Khameir, head bowed, hands loose by her side, the sabre switched off and held in her right hand.

Khameir started. He clicked a button, and the sabre ignited. With an elegant sweep of the weapon he held the blade across his chest, waiting for her. His eyes focussed on her now, but there was no expression in his face at all.

I will fool him... Hanshara raised her lightsabre in front of her, and set herself in the basic en-guarde stance used by Jedi apprentices everywhere. One hand behind her back, the blade pointing towards her adversary. Her opponent smiled and he tapped her blade dismissively, with his own, and reverted to his former position.

The two blades, his red one, hers blue-green, snapped together and arced in a glare of white light. He has not set his blade to training mode... There was a rush of shock as she realised the tap was a warning, that this was not in play. She was disconcerted but recovered herself, and switched her own blade to battle mode and took up her previous stance for Form VI - the double-handed hold - and balanced lightly on the balls of her feet. She immersed herself in the ebb and flow of the Force, to try and anticipate his moves and the moment when he might strike. Her mind was clear, focussed, intent.

She struck first, and the blades clashed with a flare of light, and there was a sudden smell of ozone from the electrical discharge. From the next parry and thrust by Khameir, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Moreover, she could see that he was focussed on the training session to such a degree, that she was suddenly not sure of his intent.

Surely he cannot mean to injure me? Or can he mean to kill me? This terrible thought threw her concentration and she had to focus again to get back into the rhythm of the fight. She shook her head and pressed on, and her adversary seemed to give ground, but she knew within herself that this was an illusion.

He is playing with me? He would not, surely... But he would, and did. Desperately, she slashed her way out of an impasse when backed into a corner, only to be herded to the opposing wall of boxes, which tumbled around her when she crashed into them. Some were heavy and the sides scraped her thighs, and bruised her unprotected feet. Her strokes became wild as her focus started to desert her, then the pressure seemed to cease and her opponent withdrew a little, playing easier moves. She refocussed and became intent upon the game again, not her innermost feelings. The Force became her ally, and she immersed her mind within it's comforting ebb and flow to gain strength for the next sorti.

They struggled together for a moment, when the blades locked, and he pushed her back by virtue of his superior strength. Muscle and sinew stood from his arms and neck and it took only a little effort on his part.

"You call yourself 'Jedi'? I have killed apprentices who fought better than you!" He whispered in her ear as they grappled. As she struggled, their bodies touched, and she cound feel that he was aroused. She wondered at the connection there must be in his mind, between violence and the sexual act.

Then the Force seemed to desert her. Her world shrank to the three dimensions of space. All seemed flat and colourless. She felt crippled.

When they separated, she retook her battle stance and ignored his sneers, remaining serene and silent while he asked if a Ghamorrean had been her Sword Master. When she somersaulted backwards to escape a thrust, he opened his arms to her and gestured. "Is that all you can offer me? A training droid could provide me with more excitement than this!" he said. Then he laughed.

"Your misguided emotions will not save you from a timely death at my blade."

She turned her back on him and walked away, hoping that it was not his intention to hurt her. There was a sizzle and a smell of burning hair, a flash of pain down the back of her sword arm as she walked. A taunt, a threat. Perhaps it was his intention to kill her. Perhaps he hated Jedi so much he would inveigle himself into her heart and then betray her. The oldest trick in the book. All female Jedi were warned of such feigned affection and emotional guile lest betrayal ensue. Fear stabbed at her heart and mind. Doubt in her judgement assailed her. Her foolishness had betrayed both herself and the Order. Her face flamed. She felt sick and bitter, but resolved to sell her miserable life as dearly as she could, so she turned to face him. Standing firm, chin raised in defiance, she took up her two-handed stance, and silently vowed to better him if she could.

Khameir was standing, right hand on hip, unlit lightsabre in left, an evil smirk on his face. He was totally relaxed whereas she was sweating. It poured down her back and between her breasts in small rivulets and she felt cold in the chilly atmosphere of the hold. Fear paraded in her mind. Fear of being alone without him; fear of a life without the pleasure of his body; fear of his scorn and disdain. She quelled the fear, and placed it behind her. Before a shivering fit came over her, she darted forward and thrust at him, mustering all the grace and elegance she could muster. He fell back as he switched on the sabre, affecting a delighted surprise, and parried.

"You fight like a woman..."

"I am a woman." She ground out between clenched teeth, and took another swing at him.

"Then I will try some womanish tricks. .." His cynical laughter rang in her ears as she gave way to anger and fear, and hacked at him in desperation. She had lost. Weaving between the thrusts of the wildly swinging blade with an assured ease, he backed her against the cold metal wall of the hold. Her sabre fell from her hand and he rammed the hilt of his own under her chin. He held her there, his two hands either side of her throat, and pressed, slowly choking her.

Stark terror flooded her mind, then her world started to become grey at the edges. Khameir's voice seemed far away. as she struggled to free herself. She scrabbled at the hilt with both hands to gain some respite from the choking, and he pushed her up the wall with it. Then he kicked her feet from under her and shoved his thigh between her legs. He was still aroused, but by what? The thought of killing her? Khameir's face swam in front of her eyes. The grey returned and started to become black.

"You call yourself a woman? You imagine you are my consort? How dare you show me such weakness!"

Despair filled her mind, and tears started to fall from her eyes as she tried to stay concious.

"I shall kill you, slowly, and it shall be my pleasure to give you such pain that you will beg me for death." His voice was like velvet, seductive, as if he was making love to her.

How could he do this? She had thought he loved her. She had been such a fool!

He must have read her thoughts. "Love!" he whispered. "What a womanish and feeble concept that is, it is a thing truly fit for the accursed Jedi." He shoved her against the wall with his body, his powerful torso quelling her feeble struggles. She relaxed, trying to gather her strength for a final escape, but conciousness came and went. In desperation she thrust the fear and despair to one side, and tried to reach out to him with her mind. One last effort, made with all the strength and hope she possessed. He just pressed harder.

Sweet Harmony

She fell forward onto his shoulder as his lightsabre fell to the floor, making a muffled clang as it did so. He would check the electronics later, there was more important work to do now. He still held her upright, but he reached behind her and tore at her breeches, tearing them off her, ignoring the sobs from her limp and unresisting body. When she was naked, he pushed himself into her against the wall, unheeding of the little resistance she made and not caring, either.

She was slippery with sweat, and difficult to hold upright. Cursing, lest she get a chill because of his thoughtlessness, he withdrew, picked her up over his shoulder, and quickly carried her to where his tunics were thrown. He threw these on the floor and laid her on them, then knelt between her legs and over her, caressing the side of her face and kissing her.

"My little Jedi, reach out to me..." He pushed himself into her again, and felt her shaking hands claw frantically at his back and arms as he fastened his mouth on hers.

"Lose yourself, lose yourself..." He reached out for her mind and watched as relief flooded her. She clung to him, and he started to move within her. The pain left her, the fear she trampled underfoot. He watched in the Force and marvelled as she shattered the crystal carapace surrounding her inner self, and opened to him, all that she was, all that she had been, and all that she ever would be.

In reaching out for his mind, she was as greedy for that as for his body. He knew that this final surrender meant absolute trust between them. In return, he opened to her. Not since his Master had invaded his mind as a young boy had he felt such excitement. With mounting joy he felt her move in synchrony with him, and when their bodies found ecstasy together, so did their minds, in perfect unity.

*****

They were complete. Khameir woke and purred, giving way to a primitive impulse in which his species sometimes indulged when overcome with pleasure. Purring was a private family matter, something to be enjoyed between a mated couple, or a mother and her child, and even then, only rarely. It was not a thing to be paraded in public lest social ostracism result. Stretching his limbs against hers, satiny legs with their myriads of tiny hairs flexed against his, as she stirred. He liked the feel of the tiny hairs and brushed his hand up and down her thigh to enjoy the sensation of them brushing against his fingers. That just made him want her again, so he pulled her leg round his waist and pushed himself into her, thinking he might wait until she woke more fully. But suddenly he could not wait at all, and with a casual roughness, he rolled them both over on his narrow bed, and thrust into her for all he was worth.

He was barely concious, focussed on the pleasurable sensations between the two of them as totally as he focussed on the actions between himself and his opponent when doing battle. Stretching out into the web, he reached for her mind, and found a lazy blissful sentience basking in the Force. He reached further, found her again, and poured his soul into hers. Dark met light, and she did not flinch at the evil in him, even though she must see it all, and know him as completely as he knew her. She reached hungrily, and once again, they made their own heaven, turning and spinning about each other in a joining so close, so intimate, that all else ceased to exist for a time.

***

They were complete. Hanshara stretched against him and enjoyed the sensation of his hand running up and down her thigh, and then between her buttocks to her intimate places, where knowing fingers touched and caressed. The purring sound which came from him resonated in her chest and belly, and lazily, she turned to kiss him and felt him turn her over, and roll on top of her. She liked the way he did that, with the strength and sureness of a confident lover.

He thrust into her, and as he did, he started murmuring those words again, in his deep and velvety voice, like honey to her ears. But now, as she lost herself to him, she began to understand the gist of the meaning behind some of the words.

They sang of empty places between the stars, where the fabric of space and time were made and unmade, woven like coarse string and fine silk into a web of creation. This time, their coming together burst like a supernova in her mind.

...And Everything is The Force

When she woke, Hanshara was resting in the crook of his arm. The warm muddled scent of sleep was in her nostrils, and when she opened her eyes, he was leaning over her and studying her in his stern unsmiling way.

"You are rested?" He seemed to relent not smiling and bent to kiss her. "I must go to my master, he has need of me..." he said.

These words fell like lead into the pit of her stomach, but she thrust it from her mind. Then the words he had murmured the previous night came to her, and she wondered why he had spoken them. She repeated a phrase softly, trying to copy the lilt and tone in case they were important to denote the meaning of the words, for she did not know in what language they were spoken.

"'An hai Tak Beleth, Nimi' ak'haara tai.' What do those words mean? Why did you say them?" She asked, returning the kiss and playing with the earring in his left ear.

He laughed. There was relief in his voice, as if he might have been expecting some womanish outburst or entreaty. "They are words for children, meant to soothe. Tradition has it that they are spoken to a new wife, to tell her of the joy of union and giving of herself."

"But they tell of creation and destruction, and the weaving of reality within the Force. That is a large concept for children."

His expression was now sharp, and he looked more keenly at her.

"Indeed, that is one translation," and appearing to dismiss the subject, he turned to get off the narrow bed, and ready himself for the day. As he disappeared into the cramped fresher, she thought she heard...

"And is not the union of destruction and creation a parallel of any union? Is not everything the Force?"

***

She yawned, sat up and stretched, and in a few minutes he was striding back across the cramped room, tugging on baggy pants, throwing on vest, inner tunic, outer tunic, and buckling on his belt, as he went. He muttered words as he walked - mantras for the robes he wore? He tugged the outer tunic straight, and clipped his lightsabre to his belt. Then, slapping the weapon against him, said a word she did not know the meaning of. She judged it to be an expletive, from the way he said it - short and sharp, and with an annoyed expression on his savage face. He turned on his heel and looked at her, while fishing inside the breast of his tunic, reaching into a hidden pocket somewhere.

"There is this."

In his outstretched hand was a very fine cord of some string or silken stuff, and suspended from it, a black gem of incomparable beauty. The many facets played with light, reflected it, turned it upon itself, swallowed it, and subsumed the colour. They drew her eyes into each sparkling surface, and further, into the fiery heart of the gem itself, where it seemed that a living flame twisted and turned without ceasing.

In awe, she took it from him, and held the jewel suspended from its cord, and watched it turn and flicker in the half light of the cramped cabin, as the cord twisted and untwisted. With an anxious expression she looked up at him. "But I have nothing..."

He cut her short with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"That is of no importance," He took it from her, and placed it round her neck. As he fastened it, simply knotting the cord at the back of her neck, the gem fell between her breasts, and it felt cold. So cold. As cold as if it had been placed in a freezer or cold store, rather than kept in a pocket, against a wam body such as his. It made her shiver. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and her nipples hardened in response to the sudden chill.

She looked down at it, and tentatively touched the stone with a finger. To her surprise, it warmed, and as it did so, changed colour, weaving a flickering rainbow of all the shades there ever were, until it became a sparkling white. Then it glowed, and shone like a small star against her skin. The beauty of the jewel in it's new form, was at odds with the cord, which now looked rough and almost homespun. She did not care. She had been offered bribes, and sent expensive 'presents' (which were always returned) in an attempt to corrupt her or influence her in some way, but no-one had ever made her something for herself, just for the pleasure of seeing her wear it. There was a lump in her throat for some reason, and it was necessary to blink her eyes, for they were wet. She looked up and started to speak, but held her tongue, for Khameir's attention was purely on the stone, he might have forgotten she existed such was the intensity of his stare. He grabbed her hand and pulled it away from the gem with an unaccustomed roughness. Then he poked at the gem and stared some more, as if the jewel would leap from the cord and take flight. Their eyes met. He bent his head close to hers.

"Wear it!" His gaze returned to the gem.

"Of course," she wound her arms around his neck. "It is beautiful, thankyou." She kissed him, but he had made his mind ready for their parting, and he did not dally or play with her. He merely returned the kiss in a somewhat distracted manner, and only said one thing:

"Everything has a purpose. It will tell me of your mood." And with that, he turned and walked away.

*****

He had been silent for some time, eating his triple protein bars and staring at her plate, while she stirred the tasteless mush that the Jedi called 'food'. The flavour was dull and uninspiring. He knew because he had tasted it the first time she prepared it, dipping his finger into the beige mess after announcing that he might do so. It was called 'morning rations', according to her, but why it was called so he had no idea, for the mid-day rations were very similar, and the evening meal only slightly different, in that there were protein bars, vegetable bars and something crunchy that she sprinkled on top of the mush.

For himself, while acknowledging that his own rations were more than adequate, he liked the occasional hunt of a cunning and devious quarry which yielded it's meat reluctantly, and sometimes would indulge his rarified tastes on uninhabited planets far from Curuscant. Sometimes, he would hunt on Naboo; anywhere where such pursuits were permitted, stalking, killing, and then butchering his prey with competent efficiency. As for vegetable bars... Believing utterly in the intrinsic qualities of plants, he made sure that he made frequent use of them, whether for purging and purification, or food, and the thought of 'vegetable bars' was an abomination.

"Is everything the Jedi use so uninspiringly utilitarian?" he asked, stirring a bowl from which arose the savoury smell of hot spiced stew. Of necessity this was reconstituted, for they had been off-world now for some weeks. However, it was infinitely more enticing than the pallid food she professed to enjoy with so much relish.

"Yes," she replied, cheerfully, as her teeth crunched on a green bar which had a wrapper labelled 'Human - Crucifers, sulphoraphanes, essential vitamin factors'. He wondered what 'sulphoraphanes' were, for the Zabrak needed no such substance in their diet.

Disbelieving, he shook his head, and raised a spoon of stew to his mouth. The essential vitamin factors in his own food had come from once-living creatures, and the life-force could still be discerned in what he ate, albeit faintly. With a touch of spite, he stirred the stew to release gentle clouds of fragrant steam, and put the bowl under her nose.

"Try it!" he commanded. "That stuff of yours has no life in it. You will sicken and die."

A shocked expression came over her face.

"Oh no! We cannot steal the life of anything to sustain ourselves, it is a form of vampirism!" except that she used the word to describe the blood sucking rat-like creatures of Szandosz, a planet of hot steamy jungles, which was famed throughout the galaxy, for it's parasites.

"You mean that all your food is manufactured?" A horrific thought! Everything artificial, nothing natural - although like all Jedi, she looked well enough, and she was certainly energetic. She laughed at him.

"Of course, but don't forget that it will be made to the lowest tender, and flavourings are perhaps, well, not so important as the vitamins."

"What do you do when you run out of rations?"

She shuddered and looked concerned. "We get a dispensation."

The bureaucracy of his enemies was astounding. Permission must be gained for survival then.

"And do your Council obey this injunction about the source of their food, even when they entertain visitors, such as Vallorum and his cronies?"

"Of course!"

Her look was of wide-eyed innocence, but he knew for certain that as a guest of Yoda, both his Master and the diminutive Jedi had fed off the flesh of unborn Bantha, a proscribed meat with fine delicate texture and distinctive smoky flavour, which could only be purchased on Tattooine's black market. This corruption of the Jedi did not surprise him, for he had supplied this delicacy to Sidious' cook himself, but he would not disillusion her, not yet.

*****

Their fast broken, Khameir set course for Naboo. They spoke little, and he seemed pre-occupied with the duties required to fly the ship. To wile away the time she used her datapad and prepared some documents for the work she would be doing upon her return. From time to time she glanced across at Khameir, as he fingered a control, or recalibrated another, and wondered whether she would see him again, and when. She wished they could have spent the time in the same manner as on their way to Cinthara, but he seemed remote and not inclined to speak.

During the journey they ate, although in silence for the most part, and she could not remember what flavour of porridge she chose. All her future now seemed grey and dull, almost as dull as the food she was eating. Suddenly she hated her food, and wanted to throw it against the shiny metal wall of the galley, but instead she contented herself with a calming mantra, and an extra sprinkling of flavoured crunch from her pack.

When they arrived at Naboo and had landed, she stooped to pick up her back pack, and prepared to go. He did not look at her or speak to her, but remained seated staring at the screen, fists clenched on the console. As she turned to walk behind him to the lift, she touched him on the right shoulder, and she forced her voice into a sweet and loving tone, far from the rejection and despair that she really felt.

"Perhaps, when you have seen your Master..."

Lightening fast, his left hand caught hers in a grip so tight his hand was shaking and her knuckle bones cracking. He stared at the screen still, but stroked his cheek against the back of her hand.

"My Master governs my life, everything I do. I am not my own man - you must understand this, Beloved."

'Beloved'! Her heart sang again. She had thought that such gentle words were beyond his capability, despite the sweetness of his manner with her. She bent to kiss him, understanding now that he did not want to see her go, and that it troubled him, but that he would not say so, despite the bitterness she heard in his voice.

"Such is the way of Masters. And Mistresses for that matter, for I have my own duties to attend to now. We must use what time we have, and use it well."

Khameir turned, and his expression changed to one of dawning comprehension as he stood, and pulled her into his arms.

"Every moment the Force gives us, every moment..."

***

When she walked down the service gangway some hours later, her manner was jaunty, and she hummed some tune she had heard in a tavern some time ago, and thought forgotten. That seemed a millenium ago, eons ago. Her life was new, and wonderfully changed. Her lover had set her down in a meadow just outside Theed, the capital city of Naboo, and she was to meet Ledora in an hour or so. There was a contract to sign, and there was a possibility that the new young queen would oversee the signing herself. This Queen, Amidala, was reputed to be a warrior maid, with a political astuteness far beyond her years - Ledora had said that she looked forward to meeting with her.

Just as soon as she stepped off the ramp, the hum of the retraction mechanism started, and with a dull thud behind her, metal slammed home into it's housing in the hull, and the locking mechanism engaged. The engines increased in pitch. 'Always impatient', she thought, and she walked away out of reach of the hot backwash of the exhaust, then turned to smile and raise her hand in farewell, just as the ship lifted with a roar. He dipped the left wing for her, then the ship, far in the distance, disappeared.

She turned towards Theed and took a deep breath. Duty called, as it did for all Jedi, and, lover or no lover, she intended to fulfil that duty to the best of her ability. It would not be long before she would meet again with Khameir, and until then, she felt alive with new purpose. That purpose was hidden from her, but for now, the smell of the meadow was sweet in her nostrils, and her nerves sparked with a new intensity. All around her, everything was more alive than it was before she had taken a lover. The flowers had a stronger scent, than before, the sky was a deeper blue than before, the birds sang louder than before. Even the air tasted like a sparkling wine, fresh and invigorating.

'He calls me 'Beloved', Thinking only of this, she played with the bright gem in her right hand, and shouldered her pack, then she took the first brisk steps to the rest of her life and whatever destiny the Force had in store.

The Return

On his return from Cinthara, Maul was summoned to the presence of Sidious, who was wearing his mask of Palpatine, and his heavy black cloak of office thrown casually about his shoulders. Maul bowed deeply, placed his hands in the ornamental sleeves of his cloak, and stood to face his Master, who was surveying the cityscape of Coruscant from his window, as was his habit. Such a pastime aided his thinking, he had confided to Mail in times past. "So, Lord Maul, did you find it as wonderful as the poets describe? Has it come as a revelation? Are you content to be 'married'?"

Maul hoped that Palpatine would not require great detail of the way in which he had spent his time with the Jedi woman, although he was accustomed to relating matters of the most intimate nature for consideration. He considered lying, but was uneasy, and refrained from shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as something in his lower mind seemed to think was appropriate to the circumstance. Lying to lesser beings was second nature to him, for deception was a vital tool of his trade. Lying to his Master was another matter, and upto now, had always resulted in dire punishment. It was something he had not attempted for many years.

"There were few surprises, Master..." True. There were not many for he had trained thoroughly in advance of the engagement, but the magnitude of them? Although he had greatly looked forward to the union, the strength of his attachment to her was disconcerting and had unsettled him at first. It had made him question his motives in joining with her, and it came as a shock to realise that it was purely selfish. He cared no more about 'The Great Experiment', as Sidious had grandly titled it, during one of their talks. He cared only about her.

"Name them!"

"The pleasure which is obtained from the exercise; the difficulty in making the mental bond..."

Sidious interrupted.

"That such little pleasure is obtained is a necessary evil, Apprentice. You will not fail me by neglecting to court her as often as possible. Quell your repugnance for such fleshly pastimes. This unknown force which grants access to the greatest powers of all must be ours to use against the Jedi! They will never attain it, for they punish and cast out any of their number found fornicating, or engaged in dalliance. The secret, therefore, can never be theirs for the simple reason of their bigoted proscription."

Maul suppressed a look of astonishment, and inclined his head in humble acknowledgement of Sidious' greater wisdom. There had been no need to lie, for his Master had misunderstood. Maul had meant that the pleasure was much greater than he expected, whereas Sidious thought he had meant 'less'.

"As for the mental bond, you were successful in that, at least?" Sidious bent closer to his pupil, and looked hard, into his eyes. Under that penetrating stare, Maul decided not to lie.

"Yes, my Master."

"And now?" Sidious drew back, appearing satisfied with the answer he had been given.

"It is a question of practice, before the Forces we have spoken of can be harnessed. She is powerful, but less so than myself."

"That goes without saying," Sidious snorted dismissively, and made a gesture thought obscene by some.

"Foster her talent. Encourage it. Meet with her as often as you can, regard it as one of your prime duties. You may teach her some of the Lesser Ways To Power if necessary, as an aid to corruption. Remember that the use of pleasure is sometimes to be borne stoically, but other siddhi may be discovered on the Path To Power. When you have the key to the use of both destructive and creative mechanisms, you may destroy her in a manner of your choosing."

Elation had started to flood his heart, only to be dashed at Sidious' last words. 'Destroy' her? He was bound up with her now, heart and soul intertwined in the Zabrak manner. She was his 'Tai shan', a bond to be strengthened as time went on, not broken by betrayal. But why should he have ever imagined that he would be allowed to keep her once they had achieved their purpose? Sidious continued, much in thrall to the power of his own oratory.

"She will be your next Jedi kill, Lord Maul, and unlike the last one, who was disposed of well and efficiently, with this one, you may take your time and enjoy what pitiful screams and moans you may allow her. She should live for very many days under your most intimate attentions... " Sidious regarded his pupil for a while, then leaned forward for a moment, to speak in a confidential manner.

"Reparation of a kind, for the poor pleasure you get from her now." He drew back. It was well understood between them, what was meant by 'intimate attentions', for he had been directed thus before. Sidious was a most enthusiastic mentor in such matters as torture.

Sidious extended his hand, and the sonic knife eased itself from it's sheath, strapped to Maul's arm, under the sleeve of his tunic. A demonstration of power, to a degree which Maul understood well. Then, of necessity, would come a small demonstration of his own confidence in that power.

"A pretty knife," The slender blade, which used high pitched sound to amplify the pain of torture, smacked hard into Sidious' open hand. He withdrew his hand and the knife stayed poised in the air, then the blade turned, slowly at first, but gaining speed until it looked like a flashing wheel,. It started to hum with a faint but high pitched susuration, barely detectable even by his own ears, making a sound like a faint drill. Sidious smiled.

Now, thought Maul. Here it comes...

Sure enough, his Master opened his hand in an elegant gesture and the blade darted towards Maul. This time, the blade was not turning at least, but it was aimed straight at his heart. He caught it, the blade catching his hand as he did so. The end of his sleeve soaked up the blood, and the hand hurt, the deep cut inflamed by the ultrasonic pitch.

A good thing I had not thought to add poison, He cleaned the knife on his cloak, and slipped it into the sheath.

"Fast, but not accurate enough," said Sidious. "You have become sluggish since your nuptials. Perhaps some training is in order. And then you go to Nurius III."

Darth Maul listened to his instructions for his next mission. He was to go the R'ill, guardians of the planet Nurius III, who were hired by his Master some time prior, and tell them that their guardianship would end in 150 of Nurius' days. They were to be dismissed in due course, and replaced.

"In the interim, you will also need to improve the guardianship itself, Lord Maul. The R'Ill use their hounds to detect intrusion, and kill any who might stray into our area of operations. Abyssin hounds have the traits most useful for our purposes. They are fast, and their fangs have a poison in them, but this needs to be improved, made more powerful. They also eat what they kill, and are not fussy about the species they devour. A useful trait, for their victims are untraceable thereby. After you have returned we will ensure the trading concessions are made." 

So Maul went on another mission for his Master, and on his return, Hanshara was released by Ledora to greet him in the hanger bay. 

Rune Haako and the spy

Rune Haako walked alone to the hangar bay which was, he thought, deserted, to meet the Abyssin spy Cadran Hoth. Gliding between two parked shuttle craft to the rendezvous, he noticed movement by the Infiltrator, parked in the corner of the bay. Then he saw Lord Sarin, Palpatine's Aide, appeared to have backed someone closely to the side of the loading ramp, where the light was dim, and shadows played. Moving back into the shadows, puzzled, he watched as Sarin appeared to be threatening the other, whom he saw now was the subordinate Jedi female. Moreover, she did not appear to be offering any resistance.

'Perhaps she feels that she will survive this encounter if she takes a subservient stance,' thought Rune, who was even more surprised when Lord Sarin put his arm about the waist of the Jedi to pull her to him, and she did not reach for her lightsabre. 'Is he playing with her...?'

When Khameir raised his hand to the Jedi, pulled her head towards his and kissed her with a passion he would not have though possible, Rune thought the bay would explode into a play of light and sound expressed by lightsabres, so unbelieving was he that the scene he was witnessing was anything but one of aggression of one form or another. The realisation that he was witnessing the affectionate reunion of two people who had been parted for the few weeks that Sarin had been absent struck him when the female put her arms around him and reciprocated gladly.

So despite appearances, the Jedi and the Governor were linked by the Zabrak Aide. Rune was stunned by this. It certainly had implications for the diplomatic process. Such information could be used to barter with Palpatine and Lord Sidious. They could be played, one against the other, to the benefit of the Trade Federation.

He heard the female laugh softly in her colourless way, and then the Aide whispered something in her ear before he kissed the side of her neck and left her, striding towards the exit way with what might be described as a self satisfied expression.

Looking for the spy, Rune was unpleasantly surprised by Lord Sarin speaking to him from behind. Turning, he saw the Aide had his hand on his lightsabre and an unpleasant smile on his face. 

"You will forget what you think you have seen, Baron. Knowledge of such matters is not for the likes of you!" he said with an arrogant curl of the lip and in a very menacing tone. Rune was more than a little afraid of the Zabrak. He suspected he had a power beyond his, Rune's, comprehension.

Protesting, he said, "I saw nothing, my lord."

"Just my point exactly," said Maul as he made a strange gesture in front of the Nemoidian's eyes.

This was when Rune lost almost all memory of what he had witnessed, and of Khameir himself, as he responded helplessly to the control of the Force wielded by the Sith Lord. Not all was lost however. A fragment remained, sufficient to cause him to question when otherwise he would accept the evidence he saw before him. It was enough to set in motion events that otherwise would not have occurred.

Do gods play dice...

The Toydarian twisted and turned in his chair. He clenched his fist repeatedly, and the chance cubes clacked at a maddening speed, and irritating rhythm, reminiscent of the speed of Maul's somewhat frantic thrusts as he had bade farewell to his woman. The latest coupling had been a fine spectacle, accompanied by much heat and passion. The male had persuaded the Jedi female well. It had taken some time but he had used the well-chosen tools of fear and pain as only an expert could - the bond would stay forever, and that would cost the couple dear. But there might be amusement in it for him yet.

The Toydarian grinned to himself and rubbed the chance cubes together. He spat on them for luck, and threw them into the air. They spun and glittered and fell onto the small carved gaming table with a clatter.

When they came to rest, he leaned forward to examine the runes displayed on the upper surfaces. The Jedi needed to learn the nature of duality, and there were many ways in which the lesson could be dispensed. Would it be the easy way, or the difficult way?

To be continued.......