The Sith and the Maiden - Part 4 By Dark Lady

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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..."

"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.

"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.

'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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

"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.

"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.

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."

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.

"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.

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.......

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Footnote: During the course of writing this and the previous chapter, I was diagnosed with a life threatening illness suffered by one in nine women throughtout the so-called 'civilised world'. The few people I have told about this have been staunch and loving, sending me gifts of healing thoughts and prayers for my full recovery. Escaping to Naboo in these few pages has been a true gift of the Force, and enabled me to live for a time, in a universe where I can think about something other than the terror of what has happened to me.

Yet another reason to be thankful for the comradeship and sisterhood (or should that be Sithsterhood?) which is found in the community of the original dmeb, and its continuation here.